The Life and Times
by Jewels5
Summary: She was dramatic. He was dynamic. She was precise. He was impulsive. He was James, and she was Lily, and one day they shared a kiss, but before that they shared many arguments, for he was cocky, and she was sweet, and matters of the heart require time.
1. Prologue

AN: Hullo. Now, I'm just going to say straight off the bat that this is not the sequel to ITISNS. Rather, this is another Marauder-era school story, and I know you might be thinking: You've already DONE THIS, Jewels, but... well, you're right. Actually, mostly I wanted to write a _Deathly Hallows_ applicable Marauder era school story, and while originally I intended to revamp ITISNS, I eventually figured that the fans of the original might end up hating me, because it would mean dropping a few story lines (i.e. Frank and Alice) in place of others (i.e. Mary Macdonald existing and Snape being Lily's ex bestie). Otherwise, I'd get to a point where there would be way too many characters to keep track of. So, instead I just started from scratch... some of this might seem similar to ITISNS, but the plotline, villains, and OCs are different. It really is just my style and a few themes that have stuck around.

As with ITISNS, please note that James Potter is a human, teenage and—get this—_male_ character... not a twelve year old girl and not (I'm sorry, Stephanie) Edward Cullen. Don't hate.

Disclaimer: Shout out to JKR. Also to Regina Spektor for some inspiration :-)

Reviews are better than sex.

**Prologue**

"No one laughs at God when they're staring down the end of a wand."

Her words, emanating from that perfect little mouth as clearly as if they had been uttered just a moment before, resounded in James's head: over and over like the beat of a drum. In his mind, she was beautiful, sixteen-years-old and sitting in that corridor with the torchlight flickering against her pale, flawless skin and in her bright green eyes. That was almost two years ago, and how things had changed. She was still beautiful, of course, perhaps more so, but there must always be a difference in the way which one understands the beauty they possess and the beauty they covet from afar.

"No one laughs at God when they're staring down the end of the wand," he remembered her saying once again, and he smiled just a bit, because of course, Lily was right. Lily was usually right. With the tip of the enemy's wand pointed at the spot between his eyes, while his own wand lay out of reach, there was a God. There was meaning and significance, and there was a reason to survive, because there was order, truth, importance, and something beyond the tip of that wand. He made a mental note to tell Lily later that she was right: that such a threat makes cowards of intellectual skepticism. It was irrational, he supposed, but that did not matter. Late recognition of divinity may be an act of intellectual cowardice, but just now, it made him brave. Lily was usually right.

He felt himself begin to smile and awaited the curse—the curse that would end it, or at least bring about significant pain or unconsciousness. But it did not come. At last, the enemy opened his mouth, but no curse came out.

"She doesn't love you," he barked desperately. "She doesn't."

Apparently, no one laughed at God when they had lost the one they loved either.

James allowed the words to stab him, knowing they must be true. He allowed the pain to fill but not subdue him. He nodded. "Maybe," he replied at length. "But that's just something I'm going to have to deal with for myself."

Broken by James's apathy, the older wizard narrowed his brown eyes and pulled his mouth into a tight frown. The youthful handsomeness he had possessed only a year ago had vanished. "You'll be dead soon," he said.

James blinked. That was an odd thought: dead soon. Then he nodded once more. "Go ahead," he responded, with something like defiance. "I've made peace."

Because finally, he understood what that phrase meant.

* * *

**A/N:** None of this makes sense, so I'll just go ahead and post the first chapter now. It _still_ won't make sense but I'll feel better about myself.

Reviews are more cowbell!

Love,

Jewels


	2. Good Girls Say I Love You

A/N: Well, it just wouldn't be a chapter of mine if it weren't ridiculously long and complicated. Reviews make my day sunny!

Disclaimer: Own natta.

Chapter 2- "Good Girls Say 'I Love You'"

Or

"Like a Rolling Stone"

Sometimes, she thought that if she stepped off the Astronomy Tower, she would just float away.

He could not remember the last time he'd looked before taking a leap.

She believed in God.

He smoked too much.

She had her first kiss in a sun-soaked garden at the age of fifteen.

He lost his virginity to a girl named Sarah at the age of fifteen.

She wanted to write.

He wanted to play Quidditch.

She thought she was in love and disliked the fact.

He knew he was in love and positively hated it.

She smiled and laughed a great deal.

He did, too.

She was dramatic.

He was dynamic.

She was precise.

He was impulsive.

She excelled in diplomacy.

He excelled in diplomacy, but often resorted to throwing punches instead.

She served seven detentions in as many years.

He served seventy four.

She thought he was barking mad.

He thought she was positively insane.

Whatever else this may turn out to be, it is first and foremost a love story. It is the story of how a boy and a girl came to be—and then to realize that they were—in love with one another. You see, it is probable that falling in love was the most important thing that they ever accomplished, and they accomplished a number of quite important things. He was James, and she was Lily, and one day they shared a kiss, but before that they shared many arguments, for he was cocky, and she was sweet, and matters of the heart can require time.

It began—he would later speculate as he stared down the end of a wand that could very easily kill him—with a punch. A simple movement of his arm as his fist came into contact with Nicolai Mulciber's jaw, throwing the latter to the ground and causing quite a bit of a stir.

It began—she would later speculate as she stood by the threshold of a room wondering if this could ever work—with a kiss: the simple movement of standing on her toes and embracing Luke Harper on the train station platform at Hogsmeade village.

Whether he or she was _actually_ correct is not a matter for us to discern, but either way, both were agreed that "it" began on September 1st, 1975: the first day of their sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And, simply for the sake of chronology, this story begins with the event that _she_ claimed initiated everything. She stood on the Hogsmeade platform at approximately half past seven p.m. on September 1st, seeing her boyfriend of two months for the first time in two days, and they kissed.

_(I Love You)_

Luke Harper's lips were warm. He was soft, unassuming, and cautious, moving slowly and taking his cues from her. There was no music, but the kiss seemed to err on the side of romantic. That was fortunate—she thought—because her character was decidedly romantic. She watched black and white movies and liked the look of snow in her hair, for goodness sake; _of course_ romantic was a good thing. _Of course _she wanted... why the hell was her mind wandering like this? She was supposed to be making out with her boyfriend, not... Good Lord.

They broke apart, and he smiled his beautiful, classic, even-toothed smile. It was quite possibly his best feature, and it made the ensuing fifteen seconds or so of silence between them quite nice. Lily Evans had spent most of the summer with Luke Harper, so a kiss on the train platform was not, perhaps, as dramatic a gesture as it could have been, but they _had_ been separated for the past two days, so there was some sense of long-awaited reunion.

The sky had begun to grow dark, and the torches of Hogsmeade station had been lit when the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station some ten minutes prior; now, nearly all of the train's two hundred fifty or so passengers were disembarked and preparing to set off for the castle that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The dim moonlight just barely illuminated the lengthy path to the castle turned school doors. Hogwarts' first years had been shuttled off by the caretaker, Hagrid, towards the boats that would bear them across the lake and to the path, while the upperclassmen were starting for the horseless carriages that took the alternate path through the village of Hogsmeade.

In the poor lighting, Luke did not look his best, but that didn't mean he was not absolutely gorgeous, with smooth brown hair, tender brown eyes, and, naturally, that smile. Even when Lily found herself irritated with Luke—a rare occasion in and of itself—that smile made her stomach flip. Now, as her hands rested on his chest—one hand gently fingering his perfectly straight silver and blue uniform tie—she realized that the last two months (the duration of her relationship with Luke) had been really rather nice.

Luke was a decent kind of chap: he didn't much bother about politics or _serious_ things, but he was romantic and epitomized everything that a sixteen-year-old girl's seventeen-year-old boyfriend _should_ be. He lived in Hogsmeade, because his family owned a business there, which was why he did not ride the Hogwarts Express like all of the other students; however, he had met Lily on the platform, which was a lovely gesture... rather like something from a black and white movie, Lily thought.

In one moment, however, Lily's happy recollections of the summer were thoroughly shattered.

"I love you," said Luke.

Like his kiss, his tone was soft and unassuming, though the very gesture of professing his love after a mere two months was anything but cautious. Time froze at the utterance of those three words, and Lily's heart beat very quickly... not in the good way. She weighed her options.

He loved her. He _loved_ her. Love was big. Love was epic. Love was... Certainly, she _liked_ Luke a great deal. She liked the way his hands rested on her hips when they kissed and that he managed a moderately convincing show of enjoyment when they listened to her Led Zeppelin records. She liked that he had been ridiculously bashful in front of her mother and that he hadn't asked about her friendship with Snape _once. _She liked his smile and that he wasn't always trying to poke at what she was thinking. She liked that he didn't seem to mind "taking things slow" and that he said those silly romantic things just like the hero of a medieval poem.

_I like Luke_, she thought.

_I love someone else._

And that settled it in her mind.

"I can't say that back," Lily murmured after what seemed to her an eternity but was in reality only a few seconds. Still, the confusion in Lily's eyes had been cue enough for Luke to know what her reply would _not _be. He nodded dejectedly. "Luke, listen, it's not that I don't—that I don't care for you a great deal, because I do." The platform was becoming less and less populated as the other students filled the carriages. Lily did not even toy with the idea of giving Luke the _real _reason she could not say those three damned words to him... he wouldn't understand.

"I mean," she pressed on nervously, "you understand how I am. I have very specific ideas about love and all the rest, and I could theoretically say it back now, but—but it wouldn't mean enough to me. I just couldn't say _that_ unless I truly, completely, unrestrainedly _meant _it. We've only been together _two _months..."

"Ten weeks," Luke corrected.

"But when you say it like that, it just sounds shorter," Lily pointed out, frowning. He nodded submissively, and she sighed. "Are you angry?"

"No." The answer came immediately and without hesitation, marked by sincerity and the desire to assure her of it. "No, I'm not angry. And I understand—you're... you're a year younger than I am and it could be more difficult for you to make these kinds of commitments..."

Lily thought that idea contained more condescension than an age gap of only one year permitted, but did not argue the point, because it saved her an argument. Anyway, he had the moral high ground here: she _ought_ to have been able to say "_I love you, too_."

She moved her hands away from his chest, and the space opened up between the two adolescents. "We had better get a carriage," Luke said, brushing off the disappointment rather quickly. Lily mentally added that to the tally of admirable qualities this boy possessed: he didn't hold a grudge.

_Severus holds a grudge_, she thought.

This was a fact. Actually, at that very moment, Severus Snape was watching the unfolding scene from his carriage a short distance away and forming a grudge. Lily was still seeing Luke Harper, it appeared, and since he had no way of knowing the content of the conversation, the young Slytherin—pallid, plain, and in every way the opposite of Luke Harper—felt resentment boiling inside of him. Then, his carriage began to push away, and he hastily averted his stare so that the other Slytherins in the carriage would not notice where he had been looking.

"I'm sorry," Lily repeated, as the pair made their way towards the four remaining carriages.

"Don't think about it," Luke commanded affectionately. "It's not of any real consequence—I only wanted to tell you how _I_ felt."

Lily nodded, then, with a bit of reserve added: "Thank you." He smiled, kissed her on the top of the head—which he did quite a bit—and the pair entered a carriage. He really did seem to have forgotten, but Lily remained fixated.

The carriage was otherwise empty when they sat down. "I hope no one else gets in," Luke began to say, but the words had barely left his tongue before someone else stuck their head through the open carriage doors. He was handsome, had black hair and grey-blue eyes.

"Oh, hullo, Lily," said the boy. "Hullo... other person." He glanced at Luke as though the Ravenclaw really had no role in his purpose here.

"This is Luke, Sirius," Lily told the new arrival. "Luke Harper... he's in Ravenclaw."

"Bully for him," remarked the boy called Sirius. He directed the whole of his conversation towards Lily: "Have you seen James?"

"No..."

"You certain? He went missing when we disembarked from the train."

"I'm certain."

"What about you, Lucas?"

"It's Luke."

"I know. Have you seen James Potter?"

"No."

"Alright then. Have a lovely carriage ride. Stay chaste."

"Sirius, go," ordered Lily.

Sirius winked. "Goodbye, Lily. Goodbye... other person."

He was gone an instant later, and Luke shook his head. "What is it with him, anyway? He's so..." Luke, however, had no opportunity to finish the thought, as a tall, blond haired girl burst into the cabin and took a seat. Lily arched her eyebrows in surprise.

"Hullo, Mar, I thought you'd gone up to the castle with Miles."

"Miles Stimpson," began Marlene Price, fire in her blue eyes, "is the biggest, most intolerable _jerk_ I have _ever_ met."

"You've been dating him for almost two years," Lily reminded Marlene.

"He's a git," stated the blond. "Him and his whole stupid, evil, annoying Ravenclaw house!" As if noticing Luke for the first time, Marlene added: "No offense, Harper."

"None taken," replied Luke.

"What happened?" Lily asked cautiously.

"He's a prat!" Marlene quite nearly shrieked. "He ditched me for the majority of the train ride as _you_ well know, Lily, because you were with me, and then as we're getting off the train he asks me to wait for him on the platform while he runs back to his compartment to fetch something. So I wait, and _then_ not two minutes later I see him getting into a carriage with that _tart_ Alexa Kyle."

"Is Alexa Kyle a tart?" asked Lily skeptically.

"I don't know," Marlene admitted. "But probably. And do you know what else he did? He..."

Before Lily had any chance to learn of Miles Stimpson's further exploits as a rotten boyfriend, however, a fourth traveler joined the carriage. The door closed magically behind her, and almost instantaneously the carriage—having attained its four person quota—started towards the castle.

"Donna," noted Lily in surprise. A tall, athletically built black witch, with curly dark hair and amber colored eyes collapsed into the seat across from Luke. "I thought I saw you get into a carriage with Mary."

"I'm surprised you could see anything," the girl addressed as Donna replied curtly, "What with your being lip-locked with _this_ git." She jerked her head towards Luke. Lily placed an appeasing hand on her boyfriend's arm.

"Donna Shacklebolt," said the redhead firmly, "What did I tell you about being a bitch around people who don't understand that you're _always _a bitch?"

Donna scowled. "Fine. I'm sorry, Harper," she apologized without sounding at all sorry. "I'm not really angry with you, after all. I just hate all blokes."

"Me too!" cried Marlene at once.

"Something you two agree on," marveled Lily. "Maybe there is an upside to Marlene dating a prat and Donna... hating everyone."

"I don't hate everyone," Donna argued, but her statement was met with doubtful looks from all three of her companions. "I _don't_."

"You hate most people," Marlene told her, and when Donna opened her mouth to protest, the blonde pressed: "What percentage of people in this carriage right now _don't_ you hate?"

Donna looked around. "Twenty five percent, but this is a skewed statistic. _Obviously_ I hate myself, _obviously _I hate Harper, on account of his being a bloke, and _obviously_ I hate you, Marlene, on account of your being psychotic and emotional."

"What a sweetheart," said Marlene wryly. "So you hate men, who represent fifty percent of the population, and you hate emotional people. Don, face it, you hate most people. In fact you hate everybody except Lily and maybe you're ten-year-old sister."

"Shut it, Price." Marlene crossed her arms, a knowing expression on her pretty face. Donna rolled her eyes. "New topic," she demanded.

"Agreed," agreed Lily. She glanced out the window and saw the tips of the castle towers just beginning to appear over the hilltops. "Look," she said, "we'll have the first view of Hogwarts soon." And they did, a moment later, as the castle appeared glistening blue in the moonlight and every bit as surreally majestic as Lily had remembered it. Hogwarts was perhaps the only thing in the world that never failed to live up to Lily's romantic expectations. She told this to the others, and while Luke smiled affectionately at his pretty redheaded girlfriend, Lily's two friends exchanged looks.

"What?" Lily asked, noticing them.

"Summer Lily is gone," sighed Marlene, imitating nostalgic sorrow. "Hogwarts Lily is back. I like Hogwarts Lily a great deal, of course, but it's always sad to see Summer Lily depart."

"Summer Lily?" Luke repeated. "Is there more than one type of Lily?"

"There are more than sixty types of Lily," Donna told him, as though he were a great fool for not already knowing this.

"Summer Lily," Marlene clarified, "stays out late to see fireflies. Hogwarts Lily is melancholic."

"There used to be Summer Lily year round," Donna went on. "We had to put up with Percy Byshe Shelley quotes in the middle of Transfiguration class and observations on the _extraordinary beauty of candlelight_ during Potions. But then..." Here, Donna hesitated for the shortest of seconds, and then continued, "then, little Lily grew up, and we only have to endure Summer Lily at the end of term and over the holidays."

Luke put his arm over Lily's shoulders, having overlooked both the pause in Donna's explanation and the grateful look his girlfriend sent her immediately following. "And will I like Hogwarts Lily?" he asked.

"Everyone likes every kind of Lily," Marlene told him, rather defensively. She looked over her shoulder out the window. "We'll be at the castle soon." And they were.

_(He Said)_

"He said _I love you_?" echoed Donna disbelievingly. Let out of the horseless carriages, the girls—and most of the other Hogwarts students—were beginning the short trek towards the castle doors. Luke had departed to meet up with his Ravenclaw friends, with whom he would eat dinner, and Lily had just finished relating her awkward news. "Just like that? After two months of a _summer holiday_ relationship? Doesn't he know those things never last?"

"I'd been dating Miles more than a year before he said 'I love you,'" Marlene noted bitterly; "And I'm pretty sure he just said it to distract me from the fact that he was writing letters to Sandy Pitterton."

"First of all," said Donna, "Marlene, your boyfriend's a git; we know; you know; no one cares at this point. Second of all, what the hell did you say to Luke? He didn't seem angry... _You didn't say it back, did you_?"

"Of course she didn't," snapped Marlene. "Lily wouldn't lie about something like that... would you?"

"No, of course not," sighed Lily. "I just told him that I couldn't say it back, that's all. I said I could only say something like that when I _absolutely_ meant it."

"And he didn't break up with you on the spot?" marveled Marlene. Lily shook her head. "Some girls have all the luck."

"Like who?" asked a new voice, joining the group. A tiny brunette, with large gold hoop earrings and quite a bit of eye make up had arrived by Marlene's side. The blond slung an arm over the new arrival's shoulder.

"Hi, Mary," said Lily, "they were just talking about..."

"About how Luke Harper is an idiot and said 'I love you' to Lily."

"After only two months of a summer fling?" the girl called Mary asked incredulously. "That's funny!" Then, quite seriously: "You didn't lie and say it back, did you?"

"She told him she wasn't ready," said Donna.

"And he didn't break up with you on the spot?"

"No," Marlene told her. "In fact, he was thoroughly cheerful with her."

"Some girls _do_ have all the luck," Mary agreed.

"Where were you anyway?" Lily asked. "For the carriage ride, I mean..."

"You mean, after you lot ditched me?" Mary asked cheekily. "No, don't apologize... I had a compartment full of boys, which is better than you three anyway. Adam McKinnon sat next to me and, my God, has he grown up this summer? He must be about six feet tall..."

"Mary, you're forbidden from sleeping with Adam McKinnon," Marlene ordered firmly. "He's one of my best mates, and all of your relationships end in... well, usually they end in arson."

"Funny," said Mary sardonically. "Yes, I'm sure that your friendship with Adam is the reason you don't want me sleeping with him..."

"What is that supposed to...?"

"Has anyone seen James?"

The exhausted and breathless form of Peter Pettigrew interrupted, as he reached the top of the slope and approached the girls. "He's around here somewhere, James is, but no one can seem to find him."

"I haven't seen him," said Donna, and Marlene concurred.

"You know, I thought I noticed him climbing into one of the first carriages," Mary mused uncertainly. "I can't be sure... but it seems like maybe I did."

Peter thanked them and rushed away.

"Why's _he_ so nervous?" Lily wondered.

But hardly anyone heeded the last comment, for at that moment they entered the castle. Through the high wooden doors, the procession of students came into the Entrance Hall—large and dimly lit, with the great marble staircase to the left and tall doors into the Great Hall straight across the large room. These doors, however, were uncharacteristically closed, and it became apparent why a moment later. Professor McGonagall, the stern and imposing Transfiguration teacher, materialized seemingly out of nowhere and called for silence as the students gathered in the Entrance Hall.

"It appears," said Professor McGonagall, her thin mouth forming a disapproving frown, "That Peeves the Poltergeist has made something of a mess in the Great Hall in retaliation against Mr. Filch. Most of the damage has been attended to, but I ask you all to wait a few minutes while Mr. Filch and Professor Dawton finish."

Peeves the Poltergeist—just one of the many Hogwarts ghosts—was something of a nuisance as far as Lily was concerned, but he certainly possessed one thing in common with the Hogwarts students: a passionate dislike of Filch, the school caretaker. A few of the others in the large group of adolescents chuckled appreciatively at Peeves' antics, while one or two prefects muttered something about the ghost's "intolerable lack of respect for authority." Lily did not really mind waiting a few minutes to begin the proceedings (namely, the Sorting Ceremony and the Welcoming Feast), if it was at Filch's expense.

She listened with mild interest as Marlene and Mary caught one another up on the latest gossip, when a tap on her shoulder drew her away. Remus Lupin—best friend of Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and James Potter, as well as Lily's fellow Gryffindor prefect—stood at her side with an irritable expression on his thin, pale face.

"Lily, have you seen...?"

"Potter?" Lily finished for him. He nodded hopefully, but she shook her head. "I haven't, I'm afraid, although if you're interested in finding Sirius Black or Peter Pettigrew I might be able to lend a hand."

"No, I've found _them_," Remus grumbled. "It's James we're after now. Well, thanks anyhow..."

"Not at all," said Lily; she liked Remus. "'See you later." He started to go, and Lily returned her attentions to her girl friends, until she was once again distracted by a tap on her shoulder. "I still haven't seen him, Re..." It was not Remus Lupin this time. "Sev," Lily remarked in surprise. Severus Snape now stood just behind her. Lily tried to recall the last time he had appeared so tense in conversing with _her_ and estimated it to be the very first time they met, more than seven years before.

"Hi, Lily," Severus began in his least comfortable tone; "I was hoping we could talk for a minute."

Lily glanced around the hall in search of Severus's Slytherin friends. She finally located them in a spot quite a large distance and about a hundred students away, evidently unaware that Severus was no longer among their number. "I see," Lily said bitterly to the Slytherin, "it's quite safe to speak with me now. You're in no danger of Mulciber and Avery catching you in conversation with a muggleborn." She started to turn away again.

"It's not like that!" Severus protested, and she paused. Mary, Marlene, and Donna had ceased their conversation to watch.

"Then what's it like?" she demanded. When he had no answer, Lily went on: "Severus, I thought it was quite clear at the end of last term that we weren't going to _do_ this anymore. It's too much of a strain on the both of us."

"Lily..." Severus cast a cautious look towards her three friends. "Can't we talk about this elsewhere?"

"Why? _My_ friends have no problem with my speaking to you."

Donna started to argue, but Marlene kicked her.

"Lily," sighed Severus, wearily. "When are you going to forgive me?"

"I _have_ forgiven you, Sev," snapped the Gryffindor. "I simply don't think we can be mates anymore."

"But I didn't _mean_..."

"Yes, you did mean it, and there's no use in arguing the point. We only ever end up going 'round and 'round till we're both too angry to speak reasonably."

"We were friends for seven years..." said Severus in an undertone (then again, he always spoke so quietly). "That can't just go away overnight because of one little mistake."

"It was a very telling mistake, though," replied Lily softly. "Sev, please just go."

"_No_." Stubbornly. "Not until you tell me that we can be mates again. You didn't answer any of my owls this summer, and you practically sprinted away after the prefect meeting this morning."

Lily could not help but be a little impressed. Severus was never this vocal about personal things in front of others... much less her friends. In fact, in seven years of friendship, Lily could not recall a single instance in which he actually referred to their being mates in public. Perhaps his repentance was sincere...

She called her emotions to heel immediately. It didn't matter if he was sorry now... it was too difficult being mates with him. It was too difficult devoting herself when all he ever seemed to do was widen the gap between them.

"Please go, Sev," Lily repeated. He looked as though he would cave, when mitigating factors arrived in the form of Nicolai Mulciber and Samuel Avery.

Fate works in funny ways sometimes.

It began in their fourth year.

Sirius Orion Black—notorious trouble maker at the school—had been in search of his best mate, James Potter. James Potter had been in detention most of that morning (a Saturday in March) for setting fire to Lily Evans's cloak, on account of two main reasons: first, that James was utterly besotted with Lily at the time, and second, that Lily had told James he wasn't as talented a Quidditch player as Hufflepuff Liam Lyle (a markedly false statement she had made simply to irritate him). As a result of the aforementioned cloak-on-fire incident, Professor McGonagall had sentenced James to a week of detentions, and Sirius Black—forgetting this—had set off in search of his friend on that Saturday morning in March, 1974.

At some point along the course of that search, Sirius had overheard a handful of Slytherins boasting loudly about something or other, as they made their way down the adjacent corridor. Sirius at once made up his mind to try out the new hex he had learned the previous evening, and cast his eyes about the corridor for a place to hide. Unfortunately, the second floor corridor in the west wing of Hogwarts castle is an unusually bare one, and there was but one tapestry hanging along the entire length of the hall. Sirius ducked behind the tapestry wondering if it was at all possible that the Slytherins might not see him, and when he did, the young Mr. Black discovered something odd. A door.

It was probably just a forgotten broom closet, that tiny room that lay behind the door that lay behind the tapestry on the second floor corridor of the western wing of Hogwarts castle, but Sirius liked secret things and—as a result—he became quite enamored of the secret room. He was quite enamored of it, right up to the point when he accidentally revealed its location to Peeves the Poltergeist during a particularly dull detention (he was supposed to be cleaning trophies, but had stopped to chat with the mischievous ghost) about a year later. Then, Sirius realized that the secret nature of that closet's location was utterly lost, and he could no longer consider it his own. He discovered a new broom closet the very next week, however, and was not terribly distraught.

Peeves, as it turned out, liked secret things too though. It was his knowledge of the broom closet that led him to play a prank on his sworn enemy, the caretaker Argus Filch, on August 27th, 1975. He removed every non-furniture item from the caretaker's office and brought it to that broom closet Sirius Black had once revealed to him. Filch was, predictably, enraged. It took him two days to find his things.

That was when Filch asked Dumbledore to banish the ghosts from the Welcoming Feast and, Dumbledore, being a sympathetic headmaster, agreed to this one demand. And, when Filch informed Peeves that Dumbledore had forbid him from coming to the Welcoming Feast that year, Peeves decided to make a mess in the Great Hall, so as to delay the proceedings and just generally aggravate Filch. He succeeded in both.

Thus, the Sorting Ceremony did not occur on time, and the students were forced to wait in the Entrance Hall while the last pieces of rubbish were cleared away by Professor Dawton and Mr. Filch. Because of this, Severus Snape had an opportunity to slip away from his Slytherin friends and confront his ex-best-mate, Lily Evans, as she stood listening to her friends share mildly interesting pieces of gossip. Consequently, the two—Lily and Severus—began to argue and, caught up in the moment, did not notice that Nicolai Mulciber and Samuel Avery had noticed their conversation and started towards them.

If Mulciber and Avery had _not_ arrived at that particular moment in history, the rest of this story might have gone very, very differently. However, they did and it didn't, and it was all because Lily Evans had falsely told James Potter that he was not quite as talented a Quidditch player as Hufflepuff Liam Lyle.

Fate works in funny ways sometimes.

"Severus," said Mulciber, a tall, thin boy with narrow eyes. "What have we _here_?" He indicated to the little scene between his housemate and Lily. A few more Slytherins appeared, including a pretty dark haired girl and a handsome fair boy.

"Severus," said the girl, "What are you doing?"

"Oh, by all means, Colista, don't worry about your manners on _my _account," interjected Lily sardonically. She did not notice that Donna had surreptitiously drawn her wand in anticipation of an altercation.

"You must forgive us," Mulciber cut in, oozing false charm; "You see, Severus here said that your... relationship... had ended."

Severus opened his mouth to speak, but Lily was not interested in his excuses. "He told the truth," she said, careful not to let it show how much it hurt her to hear this news. "We're not friends anymore. You win." She thought the last bit would comfort their pride and put an end to any fight beginning to brew.

"Watch your step, Evans," retorted the girl, Colista.

"C'mon," mumbled Severus, but the other Slytherins ignored him. Remus Lupin, noticing that Lily appeared to be in some sort of dispute, returned to her side.

"Is something wrong, Lily?" he asked, his eyes set coldly on Severus.

"No," said Lily quickly. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine. These _fine_ students were just leaving."

"_We'll _decide when we'll leave," put in the thickset and mulish Samuel Avery. Lily rolled her eyes and started, once again, to turn away. She noticed that quite a few people had ceased their own conversations to watch the scene, probably hoping that something dramatic would happen as it often did when Slytherins and Gryffindors argued.

"Aren't you going to duel?" some naïve second year inquired, after a brief silence.

"_No,"_ said Lily. Remus, too, had furtively drawn his wand _just in case_.

"What's the matter?" asked Colista. "Don't you think the two of you can take us?"

"The _five_ of us," corrected Mary, stepping forward, her wand drawn too. Lily suddenly noticed that she was one of the few whose wand was not out by now.

"Oh, I'm deathly afraid," scoffed Colista. "What do you say, Mudblood Macdonald? Would you like Avery to give you another taste of some of his more imaginative hexes?"

Marlene and Donna both took a step forward. Lily held them back. "Shut up, Black," she snapped to Colista. "And I mean it—if you want to keep that lovely, magically procured nose, you won't _ever_ speak like that again." There was fire in her tone, and Colista's confidence faltered ever so slightly. The blond boy standing beside her set a hand on her shoulder.

"What's going on here?" Sirius Black had arrived, bringing with him Peter Pettigrew and a sense that the whole situation had escalated.

"_Nothing_," said Lily quickly, sending Sirius a look that told him to stay back.

"If it isn't my blood-traitor cousin!" remarked Colista. "How does it feel to be living on the streets where you belong?"

"Shut up, Black," snapped Sirius.

"_You_, shut up, Black," retorted Colista. Sirius took a step forward, but Lily held him back with her arm.

"Maybe you should go," the blond boy murmured in Colista's ear.

"Cool it, Zabini," she snapped to him. "You don't _own _me."

"He's right though," said Sirius, with mock concern. "You might want to step out of this one, dear Colista. It might be uncomfortable for someone of your delicate nature. Avery can take you..." He said this as if offering friendly advice to an old comrade. "I know he's been dying to get you alone for years."

The boy Zabini raised his wand and Lily struggled to restrain Sirius. "Will everyone cool down?" she snapped. "Even if dueling over who Avery wants to shag _were_ an intelligent decision, Professor McGonagall's around here somewhere and we'd all be in trouble for it. Now will everyone go back to their own business? _Everyone!"_ she added significantly to the spectators. No one moved, for while the onlookers may have respected Lily, they would certainly not pass up the opportunity to watch what promised to be an extraordinary fight.

"Let's just go," Severus reiterated his plea. He did not make eye contact with anyone.

"Wait just a moment," said Mulciber, slimy as ever. "Severus, Colista here has raised an interesting question..."

"Really?" cut in a desperate Lily. "I wasn't terribly interested."

As though he had not heard her, Mulciber went on: "You told us that your friendship with Evans had ended, and yet here we find you in deep conversation with her. Now, _I_ have no doubts about your loyalty, but I think Avery does. Don't you, Sam?"

Samuel Avery, a dim fellow, looked about bewilderedly, suddenly conscious that he had been addressed but not quite sure why. "Just say 'yes,'" snapped Colista, rolling her grey eyes.

"Oh, right. Yeah. Yeah."

"I think you should prove it to him, Severus," Mulciber went on.

"Nick, c'mon," said the blond boy, Zabini. "Not here... he'll be caught for certain." Lily was relieved to see that at least _one_ of Snape's supposed "friends" had his interests in mind. Colista told Zabini to be quiet, however, and he complied.

"I don't want you to _hurt_ her or anything," Mulciber continued. "I wouldn't dream of asking that. Severus, all you have to do to prove to Avery that your loyalty is _totally_ to your real friends... to Slytherin, all you have to do is give me Lily Evans's wand."

Ostensibly a simple request, it was certainly a loaded statement. To get Lily's wand, Severus would—presumably—have to disarm her using his own.

"You're not getting my wand," Lily said firmly, all the while making sure to maintain a grip on Sirius's arm, so that he would not attack. "In fact, this whole conversation is officially _over_." But no one was listening to her.

"_Do it_, Severus," said Colista. "Do it, or you're no friend of ours."

"Snape, if you raise your wand on Lily," Donna spoke up, ever the executive, "You'll be in violation of Hogwarts rules and in position for detention."

Avery snorted. Evidently, if Snape _didn't_ raise his wand to Lily just now, he'd be in a position for something much worse than detention.

"You know what," the redhead began irritably; "this is so stupid. If you want my wand, just take it. I'll need it for class tomorrow, though." She drew her wand and held it out for Severus to take. Mulciber held up his own hand in warning.

"Get it yourself, Severus," he said, all traces of even superficial charm gone. Lily looked Mulciber square in the eye and put her wand away again. Severus _wouldn't_ assault her. He _couldn't_.

"Severus," murmured Colista. "_Do it now_."

"Now," agreed Avery.

Most of the students around them had paused to watch the drama. Lily unconsciously let go of Sirius's wrist. She watched Severus very carefully; he drew his wand.

"Severus, _please_," Lily practically whispered. She wasn't terribly afraid of being attacked, but the prospect of losing all hope for Severus's friendship was agonizing.

"_Severus_."

The Slytherin's hand twitched. He raised his forearm ever so slightly. Donna, Mary, Marlene, Sirius, and even Peter readied their wands. Several of the Slytherins did as well. Lily saw only Snape. His hand twitched again.

Then, several things happened at once.

As Severus's arm moved a little higher, Colista raised her wand and pointed it at Mary Macdonald. Sirius raised his wand as well, and in his mind, he began to form the words of a stunning spell. Remus started to step forward, ready to push Lily out of the way should it come to it, and Zabini, the blond, grabbed hold of Colista, forcing her small body behind his considerably larger one.

One particular gesture outweighed all others, however, in importance and spectacle. Seemingly out of nowhere, a tall boy with messy black hair appeared somewhere just behind Marlene. James Potter—for that is who it was—pushed past everyone else and in one simple, graceful, and utterly shattering motion punched Nicolai Mulciber square in the jaw. Lily gasped, and Severus nearly dropped his wand in surprise; Mulciber was on the floor a moment later, clutching his jaw and moaning in pain.

The hall seemed silent for several seconds. At length Sirius Black remarked: "Well, at least we found James."

Then, Avery and Zabini raised their wands, and—forgive the cliché—all hell broke loose.

_(Joan of Arc)_

Minerva McGonagall was born to be a school teacher. She possessed the tall, threatening build, the stern and elegant tone of voice, the lips so easily pressed into a thin—practically invisible—line, and the hard-as-nails eyes that could obtain the honest answer from a rock. The twitch of just one perfectly arched eyebrow was enough to convince the greatest skeptic that she was an expert on any given subject, and most of the time she need not even raise her voice to command a classroom's attention. Everything about her appearance—the dark hair pulled taught away from her thin face and the long, sweeping robes she donned, for instance—indicated a "no nonsense" persona: the sort of disciplinarian personality that effortlessly demanded respect. Minerva McGonagall was born to be a school teacher, no doubt, but at the moment she wished that this was not the case.

"Not one of you," began the older witch, as she paced from one end of her office to the other, "is going to leave this room until you answer my question."

The heels of her ankle length boots—forest green dragon hide—clicked ominously against the hard floor, her mouth was at its very thinnest, and even the air in the dim office seemed to tremble, yet the nine Gryffindors standing in queue before her remained perfectly silent. Each stared at the portion of wall directly in front of him or her, knowing that if they were to make eye contact with the head of their house and the Transfiguration teacher, a confession would surely follow. McGonagall waited a few moments, and then, rounding as she reached the wall, headed towards one of the students near the opposite end of the queue.

"Mr. Pettigrew." The unfortunate Peter Pettigrew looked as though he were going to be sick. Every inch of his five foot seven body trembled, from sandy blond hair to leather clad toe.

"Yes... Professor?"

"Perhaps _you_ can answer my question," said Professor McGonagall, narrowing her eyes.

A wide-eyed Peter gathered his courage. "I—er... I don't... what was the question again?"

Annoyed but undaunted, McGonagall reiterated her prior inquiry: "I _asked_ which one of you started the fight in the Entrance Hall. The fight which—I might add—involved more than fifty students and resulted in _dozens_ of injuries."

"Oh. Oh, er... I dunno... I didn't see, exactly. It was... it was very crowded."

McGonagall arched those indefatigable eyebrows. "Is that right?" Peter nodded. "Are you certain that you're not protecting anyone, Mr. Pettigrew?"

"No! Of course I'm... no!"

"Not Mr. Black?"

"No."

"Miss Shacklebolt?"

"No."

"Mr. McKinnon?"

"No!"

"Mr. Potter, then?"

"_No! _P-Professor, I swear I don't know who..."

But McGonagall had apparently already lost interest. She moved to the other end of the line, where Donna Shacklebolt stood, head held high. As McGonagall drew close, however, the determination in Donna's amber eyes faltered. Her curly black ringlets were completely out of place, and a cut marked the young witch's forehead. When McGonagall approached, Donna appeared a little less proud of her battle scars. Donna Christine Shacklebolt played by the rules, and she was about to be asked to lie to a _teacher_.

"Miss Shacklebolt," said Professor McGonagall in her silkiest voice, "Perhaps _you_ can tell me what happened? Perhaps _you_ can tell me who started the fight..."

"That would be the Slytherins, Professor," said Donna at once. "They definitely started it."

"I understand that," said the teacher wryly. "Despite dozens of conveniently cast _Confundus curses_..." McGonagall sent a significant look to Sirius Black, back near the other end of the line, "the general consensus appears to be that it was a handful of Slytherin sixth years who goaded you all into the fight, but that one of you—one of the Gryffindor sixth years—actually initiated the _physical_ portion of the fight. As Carlotta Meloni and Michelle Mumps were not even in the Hall at the time, I didn't find it necessary to call _them_ here. Now, Miss Shacklebolt, perhaps you can tell me which one of you _really_ started the fight? _Who punched Mr. Mulciber_?"

Donna hesitated. She opened her mouth and closed it twice, before finally mustering the strength to say: "I don't know, Professor. I—I didn't see who threw the first punch."

Professor McGonagall's expression grew, if possible, colder. She moved hastily away from Donna, towards where Marlene Price stood. Marlene had a bruise on her cheekbone and a rip in her school jumper, but she held her head high as the Professor drew near.

"Miss Price? Was it you?"

"No, Professor," said Marlene.

"Who was it?"

"I don't know, Professor."

"And _you_, Mr. Lupin?" McGonagall turned to the prefect, who shook his head.

"I reckon one of those Confundus Curses you mentioned hit me..." he said, somewhat unconvincingly. "It's all a bit fuzzy, still, if you..."

"Mr. McKinnon?"

The brown-haired boy to Marlene's left shook his head. "I was with some Hufflepuffs. I didn't see anything."

Professor McGonagall nodded, allowing the entire office to sit in silence for a moment. "Am I right in assuming that none of you will confess?" She finally asked and was predictably met with more silence. "Very well. Professor Slughorn is currently dealing with your so-called 'opponents.' I cannot speak for _their_ punishment. I can only say that you will all receive detentions and, for every hour that passes until one of you tells the truth, each of you nine will lose twenty points apiece for Gryffindor."

There was a collective gasp, and McGonagall went on.

"This will go on as long as it _needs_ to," she said. "There is no possible way that I can overemphasize how disappointed I am in all of you—first for your _obvious_ participation in such an embarrassing display of barbarism..." She was undoubtedly referring to their various states of disrepair, a result of the brawl, "and then for your disrespectful, idiotic refusal to cooperate with me now. Now, the point deductions will begin on the hour." She looked every bit as disappointed as she claimed. "I have nothing else to..."

"I did it."

McGonagall—as well as everyone else, including James—turned to look at the sixth year who had just confessed.

"_You_, Miss Evans?"

Lily blinked rapidly, gathering her courage, and then nodded. "Yes, Professor, I—I started the fight."

Professor McGonagall crossed her arms, approaching the redhead with disbelief on her aging face. "_You _hit Mulciber? _You_ dislocated his jaw?" she demanded.

Lily bit her lip, conscious of her thin arms and slim frame. "I—er... I work out."

"Miss Evans..."

"It's true, Professor," Lily pressed. "Honestly, I—I was angry and things happened very quickly, and I should have told you this earlier, but I was... I suppose I was afraid."

For a long minute, the elder witch stared intently upon the younger. "Everyone else may go," said the teacher at last. Without a word, the other eight filed out of the office. Lily exhaled, nervously awaiting the punishment that would surely be hers the moment that McGonagall was alone with her.

"Miss Evans," McGonagall repeated, still skeptical. "Are you certain that you want to take the fall for this?"

"I—I'm not taking the fall," said Lily earnestly. "I deserve this—it was my fault."

"So you are _not_ covering for anyone?" asked McGonagall.

Lily took a while to answer. "Professor," she said at length, "If I wasn't the one to do it, who would it be? Knowing our class, Black or Potter, right?" McGonagall did not dispute the point. "And would I really stand up for _them_?"

The transfiguration teacher eyed Lily very carefully. "Very well, then." And she sounded so sincerely disappointed that Lily almost wished she could redact the statement: the thought that her head of house—a witch she herself so admired—would disdain her was practically unbearable. "The whole thing is a matter of great embarrassment to myself and the entire staff. A letter will be sent to your mother and—well, and as for the rest of your classmates..."

"But they didn't know," Lily interrupted loudly. "That is, I mean—they were in the Hall with everyone else, of course, but everyone else was Confunded, so isn't it... _possible_ that they were telling the truth when they said that they didn't know who struck Mulciber?"

"It is _possible_," McGonagall reluctantly allowed. "But _you_, Miss Evans... I'm afraid there is no getting around that."

"No," agreed the redhead.

"Fifty points will be deducted from Gryffindor. And you will spend every Friday night in detention for the rest of the month.

Lily bowed her head. "Yes, Professor."

"You must learn, Lily, that being a truly courageous Gryffindor does not always mean taking the James Potter approach to every situation... which generally involves striking or cursing someone."

Restraining a smile, Lily nodded. "Yes, Professor," she gravely said again. "I'm very sorry that this happened."

McGonagall nodded, her face impassive. "You may go."

"Yes, ma'am." And she did.

When alone, Professor McGonagall sat down at her desk, shaking her head. So Lily Evans had started a full-out brawl in the Entrance Hall... even if it wasn't true, the whole business made an amusing story. She allowed herself a small smile.

"Good for her."

_(A Bit About James)_

James Potter was tall. He had black hair, which—much like James himself—never seemed willing to cooperate. He was handsome, with spectacles, a strong jaw, and a long, straight nose. He had good skin, good teeth and a crooked grin. He played Quidditch better than nearly everyone he'd ever met, and had a very distinctive gait: a simultaneously lazy and businesslike, self-possessing walk that seemed to suggest that wherever he might be, he would be just as comfortable somewhere else, and whoever he might see there was quite lucky that he came at all.

James Potter smoked too much.

He spent most of September 1st, 1975 _not_ thinking about Lily Evans, by which I mean that he spent most of September 1st, 1975 _determined _to be not thinking about Lily Evans. After disembarking from the Hogwarts Express, he had opted to walk to the school, and when all the carriages had gone, he slipped a cigarette into his mouth, lit it, and thoroughly enjoyed the solitary journey up to the castle.

He actually _didn't_ think about Lily Evans for those twenty or so minutes.

Then, he arrived at the Entrance Hall. He saw the little drama ensuing between Lily and the some Slytherins, but said nothing because he had decided that he didn't want to care what that particular redheaded prefect did anymore. Still, he listened in, until he saw exactly what was about to happen. Then, without thinking, without even considering the consequences (there could have been a great many consequences for James, but more on that later), he stepped forward and knocked Nicolai Mulciber to the floor.

He dislocated Mulciber's jaw, but didn't find that out until later in McGonagall's office just after Lily Evans confessed to the crime so that they wouldn't all lose Gryffindor a whole lot of points. He would have been quite proud that he'd dislocated the bloke's jaw, if he hadn't felt so rotten about everything else.

Still, James exited the office with the others and kept his mouth shut. Keeping his mouth shut had never been James's greatest skill, but he'd been working on it lately.

_(More on Joan of Arc)_

The Sorting Ceremony—which, with the combined efforts of Peeves' havoc and the Entrance Hall fight, was delayed by nearly an entire hour—was noisier than Lily ever remembered. She, along with the other Gryffindor sixth years, arrived late due to Professor McGonagall's lecture; their Slytherin adversaries skulked into the Hall a few minutes later, evidently displeased that Professor Slughorn had dared punish them at all. Severus continuously made eye contact with no one.

The Welcoming Feast began a few minutes later, but not before the silver haired headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, stood up at the Staff Table at the front of the Great Hall, and made a short speech.

"I realize," he said, the ever present twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes just a little less obvious this evening, "that this has been rather a dramatic night; I can only hope that the rest of the year passes in a much more boring fashion." And Dumbledore might as well have ordered it. More seriously, he continued: "Such altercations must not continue this year. When the world is in turmoil, it is the duty of Hogwarts to remain united. Now, eat up."

And the plates on the four house tables were immediately filled.

"United indeed," remarked Donna, a quarter of an hour later, as she served herself a second portion of potatoes. "When has Hogwarts _ever _been united? When have Gryffindors _not_ feuded with Slytherins?"

"When have Slytherins not been an evil lot?" Marlene added darkly. "No offense, Lily. We know Snape used to be alright..."

"Speak for yourself," muttered Donna. Mary remained uncharacteristically quiet for most of the meal.

"You alright, Mare?" Lily asked. "You don't look well. Do you need to visit the infirmary?"

"I'm alright," sighed Mary. Her confident, chipper self was somewhat wilted—a rare, almost non-existent occurrence. "I guess I've just been thinking about what Colista said... and about last year, when Avery hexed me in the Transfiguration classroom." Her honesty about the whole thing struck Lily as surprising. Marlene draped an arm over the brunette's shoulders.

"You were ambushed, Mary," said the blond coolly. "They're just ugly cowards, the whole lot of them, who are so infuriated that a girl like you would never go out with them." Mary smiled appreciatively, then looked up to Lily.

"So why'd you do it, Ginger?"

Lily, sipping her pumpkin juice, raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Take the blame," Mary elaborated in an undertone. "Why'd you say that you punched Mulciber?"

"Someone had to," said Lily, thinking it rather obvious. "I didn't want Gryffindor to lose all those points, and it became apparent that Potter wasn't going to speak up."

"I don't see the point of it," Donna admitted; "I mean, of course, I'm glad you did it, because Gryffindor won't lose as many points and I won't have to go to detention, but, Lily, now everyone is going to blame _you_ for losing us fifty points before the school year even began. It might have been noble, but it wasn't terribly bright, was it?"

"Thanks for the support, Donna," replied Lily. "Listen, I don't really care. I have four detentions and fifty fewer points... if it had been Potter who got the blame, they probably would have taken a hundred points, just because he's always pulling stunts like this."

"I suppose," agreed Marlene. "Well, I'm finished—I think I'll head up to the dormitory. Do you have the password, Lily?"

As a prefect, Lily did. "Jumping Beans," she responded. "You're finished already? You've hardly eaten a thing."

"I'm on a diet," Marlene informed them, glancing dissatisfiedly at her lanky figure. "Jumping beans, did you say?"

"A diet?" scoffed Mary. "Get out, Marlene, you're so stupid about food."

"Says the twig. Jumping beans?"

Lily nodded. "You're beautiful, Mar."

"Hmm, I ought to be," said Marlene lightly. "I've barely eaten in two weeks."

"Are you done, too, Mar?" asked a boy also seated at Gryffindor table. He had light brown hair, blue eyes, a good natured expression, and an empty plate. "If you're headed to the Common Room, I'll tag along."

"Sure, Adam," said Marlene, smiling as Adam McKinnon got up from the table. He possessed a few battle scars of his own from the fight, including a torn sweater and purple bruise on his forehead. "See you lot later," she added to the girls, starting to leave.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't!" Mary called suggestively after them.

"Which includes _what_ exactly?" asked Donna. "You're kind of a tart, Mary."

"Don't be mean," Lily interrupted.

Mary sighed. "It will forever be a mystery to me why Marlene continues to date that _prat_ Miles Stimpsonwhen she's got a perfectly lovely bloke like Adam McKinnon."

"What do you mean 'she's got?'" asked Donna, surprised. "You don't think that McKinnon fancies Marlene, do you?"

Mary and Lily both snorted. "I think that you're _blind_, that's what I think, Donna honey," Mary answered. Donna scowled.

When the dinner plates were cleared, dessert arrived. When the dessert plates cleared, it came time for bed.

"Gryffindors this way," Lily called out to her table; they weren't really required to follow her, but as prefect, she was obliged to show the first years where to go, and of course, she had the password. Thus, Lily dutifully led the way up staircases and through corridors in the direction of the seventh floor and Gryffindor tower.

Along the way, a number of students stopped her to congratulate or thank her for knocking one to Mulciber—how quickly news spread. On the fourth floor, however, someone caught up with her that Lily was not particularly pleased to see.

"Can I have a word, Evans?" asked James, with very little question in his voice.

"I have to take the first years to the Common Room and give the password," Lily retorted coldly. "Maybe later."

"Remus can do it," said James. Remus was, indeed, available and qualified, but Lily remained uncertain.

"Alright," she decided presently. It couldn't hurt. Remus took over the lead, and Lily stayed back with James Potter. He waited until they were alone in the corridor to speak.

In years to come, Lily could not recall exactly what she had expected James to say at that moment, but whatever it had been, it most certainly wasn't what James _did_ say.

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

Beat.

"W-what?" the redhead managed to articulate.

"What were you _thinking?"_

"I..." but no response seemed adequate. "What are you talking about, Potter?"

"I'm talking about your idiotic little stunt with Professor McGonagall," James snapped. "I'm talking about how you _stupidly_ took... took credit for socking Mulciber, when _no one_..."

"Took credit?" Lily echoed incredulously, her temper rising. "_Excuse me_, 'took credit?' You're out of your mind!"

"Why the hell did you tell McGonagall that _you_ started the fight?"

Lily's green eyes narrowed. "Why the hell _didn't_ you tell McGonagall that _you_ started the fight?"

"I _didn't_ start the fight," snapped James. "I just socked Mulciber. I wasn't even involved in your little love fest with the Slytherins. But you had no call to take the fall for socking Mulciber, like you told McGonagall!"

Lily didn't bother telling him that, technically, she had never said that she actually struck Mulciber. Heavily implied it, yes, but straight out confessed—no. Rather, she placed her hands on her hips and shook her head disbelievingly. "Wow, Potter, even _I_ didn't expect you to actually _blame_ me for taking your punishment!"

"No one _asked_ you to take the fall!" said the wizard loudly.

"And no one _asked you_ to sock Mulciber!" Lily countered. "And let the record show that I didn't take the blame for _you_! I just didn't want Gryffindor to lose all those points!"

"We still lost fifty—Slughorn only took twenty five from Slytherin!"

"Well what's that have to do with me? Why aren't you snapping at _him_?"

"Because I can't stand you running about acting all martyred," said James. "You were the one who started the whole business with Snape and Mulciber and Colista Black and the rest—why _shouldn't_ you get the detentions for it?"

"_What are you talking about_?" Lily half-shrieked, unable to believe her ears. "Who's _acting martyred?_ I haven't said a single word to you!"

"You'll be trying to hold this over my head for the rest of the year," responded the Quidditch captain. "And I'm just telling you that it won't hold. If you're going to play Joan of Arc, don't get angry when you're burned at the stake for it. _Clear_? Because I'm not going to feel guilty, and you sure as hell aren't going to be able to make me apologize for letting you get in trouble over it. In fact, you should be _thanking me_ for dislocating that idiot's jaw."

Lily stared. She blinked several times. Calm again, she ran a hand through her long hair and said: "I should be _thanking_ you? How do you figure that?"

"Well for one thing," he replied, "I saved you from a whole lot of drama." Lily began to object, but James continued: "You _needed_ someone to put an end to that business, because you couldn't handle the truth of the situation."

"Which is _what_ exactly?"

"That Snape would have disarmed you." For a moment, the two sixth years stood in reluctant ceasefire; James allowed the words to sink in, and Lily struggled for something to say. "He would have disarmed you and decided once and for all against you, and to tell the truth, Evans, I don't think you could handle it."

Lily exhaled. "And _that'_s why you knocked down Mulciber, is it?" she demanded. "To _save me from some unbearable truth?_"

James shook his head. "I knocked down Mulciber because he's an ass who was getting on my nerves. But I helped you and dear Snivellus out a whole lot in the process. Now he doesn't have to pick a side. How goddamned convenient is _that_?"

"You don't know what he would have done," said Lily defiantly. "And I don't know how you can justify what you did as preventing something worse, when hitting him caused a gigantic brawl in the Entrance Hall!"

"So what? I'm glad I hit that wanker... if you had any guts at all, _you_ would've done it!"

"What are...?"

"You can't just sit around and let people say whatever the hell they want, Evans."

"Actually, that's exactly what you can do, Potter. Haven't you ever heard of 'sticks and stones?'"

"It's called standing up for the right thing, Evans!"

"But you have to pick your battles!" Lily cried angrily. "And that was _not_ a good time to start a fight with the Slytherins. We were in a crowded hall with dozens of other people around who could be—and _were_, I might add—affected."

"Don't pretend that _that's_ why you backed down," sneered James. "You backed down because Snape was there."

Lily grew very cold. "_Excuse me?"_ she said quietly, and James ought to have cowered in the presence of that sort of anger. Then again, James Potter rarely did what he ought.

"You backed down because Snape was there," he repeated. "Whenever there's any other kind of injustice going on, you'll jump up and put an end to it quick as anything. But whenever it's Snape involved, suddenly you're the banner of diplomacy, and we should all just 'pick our battles.' Eventually you'll have to realize that whether or not he disarmed you today, he's already chosen his side, and..."

_Smack!_

The imprint of her small hand burned red on his face. He rubbed it gingerly, and though James did not seem surprised, he was silenced.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," Lily told him venomously. "And if you honestly believe any of that rubbish, you're a bigger idiot than I ever thought."

With that, she turned on her heel and started down the corridor. She stopped several paces away. "_And how the hell do you know who Joan of Arc is_?" she shouted, but as James attempted to answer, she shook her head, adding: "Never mind. I don't want to know." Then Lily hurried away, because she did not think she could stand another moment near him.

_(Drama)_

"So you're not going to tell us what James said?" Mary asked, as Lily washed her face in the sink of the sixth year Gryffindor girls' bathroom.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, you haven't said a word since you came up here ten minutes ago," the brunette told her. "Except, and I quote, 'I hate that git!' Which we can only presume was a reference to James."

"It was," Lily allowed, drying off, before the two girls reentered the adjacent girls' dormitory. "He blamed me for 'taking credit' for the fight."

"You're kidding," marveled Marlene, who was brushing her long blond hair at the mirror. "_He didn't_! He _couldn't_!"

"Did and could," replied Lily. "He said I was playing 'Joan of Arc.'"

"How did he know who Joan of Arc was?" Mary wanted to know. Lily shook her head to indicate her ignorance on the matter.

"Who _is_ Joan of Arc?" Donna, the only pureblood of the group, asked curiously.

"A muggle martyr," replied Marlene. "That is bizarre. Why would he be _angry_ with you for getting him out of trouble?"

The question lingered in the silence of the dormitory for nearly a minute, before Michelle Mumps—the fifth roommate entered. "That was a lovely feast," she said. "I loved the strawberry tart! Didn't you?"

Michelle—or Shelley—Mumps was a plain girl, with a round figure and a temperamental nature. Not particularly close with the other four, Shelley's best friend was their last roommate, the currently absent Carlotta Meloni.

Shelley noticed that the other four appeared particularly contemplative and asked: "What's the matter? Did something happen?"

Donna rolled her eyes. "Just drama, Shelley. Just loads and loads of drama."

"Oh, good!" squealed Shelley. "I'm going to change and brush my teeth—then you'll have to tell me all about it." She collected some items from her trunk and hurried into the bathroom. Marlene finished brushing her hair and went to sit on the four poster bed that she had picked out for herself.

"You know what _I_ can't get over," remarked the blonde after a while. "I can't believe Luke Harper said 'I love you' already."

Lily began to laugh. "Mar, after everything that's happened today, _that's _what's still bothering you?"

Marlene nodded. "It's just so funny! And he didn't break up with you when you didn't say it back."

"_Couldn't_ say it back," Lily corrected.

"Nonetheless," agreed Mary. "I'm afraid you've joined the ranks of 'bad girls' with the rest of us, Ginger."

"What do you mean?" asked the prefect.

"Good girls say 'I love you,'" Mary told her matter-of-factly, before climbing into bed. Lily sighed, also getting into bed.

"I'm just glad this day is _over_. I'm with Dumbledore on this one—hopefully everything will calm down from here out."

"I wonder where our sixth roommate is at," Mary mused carelessly.

Donna snorted. "Really? Carlotta's occupied more beds at this school than any other single person in the history of Hogwarts." Carlotta Meloni had a reputation. "She's probably off with a bloke." Actually, she wasn't, but more on that later.

"Goodnight all," called Lily to the others. "Sleep well, and may tomorrow fail less than today did."

"Cheers," chorused Mary and Marlene. The four of them were all asleep by the time Shelley returned from the lavatory.

Fate works in funny ways sometimes.

They were awoken early the next morning by a piercing scream.

* * *

**A/N: **Long and confusing, it's so me. Reviews are ninety percent of what makes breathing air.

Love,

Jewels


	3. To Start a Year

**A/N: **My eternal gratitude to the reviewers. It's impossible to write on this site without reviews... yes, I do have recognition issues.

**Disclaimer:** Shout out to JKR and Bob Marley.

Chapter 3- "To Start a Year"

_Or_

"_Three Little Birds"_

There was an official report filed, of course. There always is for this sort of thing, and it always seems to go the same way. The time, place, nature of the incident, outside involvement, and then—if there is any way to evaluate the situation—some kind of conclusion. The conclusion in this particular report was brief and incomplete, because exactly _what_ happened that morning was unknown at the time the report was filled out. In those days, dozens of similar style reports were filled out with alarming regularity, and this incident only stood out in one respect: location.

This sort of thing didn't usually happen at Hogwarts.

But first, a word about Carlotta Meloni:

If you understand how seeing an Audrey Hepburn movie can affect a person, you might understand Carlotta Meloni a little better. She was beautiful. She had that kind of beauty that you glimpse once at a bus stop or in the park and remember for the rest of your life. Carlotta Meloni was positively lovely.

She knew it, too.

How, after all, could she _help_ but know it? Carlotta had long, shiny chestnut colored hair and eyes the exact same shade. Her complexion was olive toned and faultlessly smooth, a fact which she attributed to green tea and meditation but was, in reality, probably more closely related to good fortune in the genetic lottery.

A Gryffindor sixth year of moderate talent and average grades, Carlotta Meloni nonetheless projected an air of perfection. She had delicate hands, thick black eyelashes, a small, elegant nose, and—though short—a willowy build. Carlotta's voice was soft and melodious. She could make the most mundane piece of information sound positively thrilling... especially if her audience happened to be male.

Carlotta Meloni lived a relatively non-complex life. She meditated for half an hour every morning and was a strict vegetarian. She believed in something called "free love," which might have been the primary reason that most of her friends were of the opposite sex. Possibly to her credit, however, Carlotta had remained a fast friend to Shelley Mumps—a girl who seemed to grow plainer with age, as Carlotta grew prettier.

Carlotta always seemed satisfied with life. She was happy, easy to converse with and never withdrawn (except for that half an hour in the morning). She was confident and calm and walked with her head held high (she had lovely posture, really). Carlotta had no cause to regret anything, as far as anyone could see.

Anyway, that's what her classmates were listed as saying in the official report.

Carlotta Meloni was _happy_.

She was happy right up until the moment on September the second—around 6:10 a.m.—when she stared into the fire of the Gryffindor Common Room and attempted to slit her own wrists.

Fate works in funny ways sometimes, because James Potter smoked too much, but if he'd never started (like Remus Lupin had advised him the previous year), or if he'd quit the habit (like his mother had advised over the summer holidays), Carlotta Meloni would have succeeded in taking her own life. However, because James never listened to anyone, he was still quite addicted on the morning of September 2nd, and had it been otherwise, he would not have headed out for a quick smoke at ten minutes to six that morning. Thus, he would not have returned to the Gryffindor Common at 6:10 and fifteen seconds, just in time to draw his wand and deter Carlotta Meloni from doing something that she would not live to regret.

Carlotta screamed. The blade in her hands was forced to the other side of the room with the spell that James had automatically cast. She screamed again, an otherworldly cry that did not seem as though it could have been produced by her throat.

That woke up most of the sleeping Gryffindors in the dormitories above.

Lily Evans's eyes flew open. She climbed out of bed and looked around.

"Did anybody else hear a...?"

"What was that?" Donna Shacklebolt interrupted, throwing aside her own bed curtains. "Did you hear that too?"

"_I_ did!" said Marlene Price, putting in an appearance as well.

Mary Macdonald emerged. "Me too!"

"I think it came from the boys' dormitories," Shelley Mumps said, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"I think it was the Common Room," Lily disagreed. She grabbed her dressing gown and was out the door a moment later, with Donna, Mary, and Marlene at her heels.

A weak flame in the fireplace provided most of the light in the Common Room when Lily arrived on the lower landing, just above the room itself. Several others had arrived, and more hurried down with each passing second. The scene, dim as it was, went something like this.

James Potter's wand was held high, as he struggled to maintain a magical bond which seemed to be holding Carlotta against the wall. She screamed once more, and then ceased. Her head lolled about on her neck as though she were unable to hold it up properly, all the while emitting some unearthly kind of moan.

"Let her go, Potter!" someone shouted from the forming crowd.

"I'm not hurting her!" James protested angrily. She fought against the hold and he fought to maintain it. "I just came in here and she—she was trying to kill herself. I got the knife away and she attacked me—I don't know what's wrong with her!"

"James, put her down!" ordered a skeptical seventh year girl, but James ignored her.

"I'm _not_ hurting her... it's a simple holding spell! Something's wrong with her..."

Sirius Black appeared. He rushed down the stairs to James's side. "Mate, maybe you should let go of her," he muttered. "We'll get her to the infirmary or..."

"I'll get Professor McGonagall," said Donna, also hurrying down the steps and out of the common room through the portrait hole.

Reluctantly, James lowered his wand. Carlotta stood quite still for a moment, and then her body began to shake.

"She's having a fit," Marlene whispered. Lily pushed through the crowd and went down to the bottom landing.

"Someone find Frank Longbottom," the redhead ordered. "He's Head Boy, he ought to be..."

"I'm here," said the Head Boy, Frank, appearing. He followed her path down towards the now convulsing sixth year girl. His face was deathly pale, and his hands were shaking.

"Carlotta?" began Lily uncertainly. Carlotta made no response; her eyes were closed. Lily looked at James, who simply shrugged fearfully.

"Carlotta, are you alright?" Frank Longbottom asked, stepping forward.

"Frank, wait," said Lily. "Just... just hold back."

Carlotta collapsed a second later. He rushed to her side. "She's breathing." A dozen others hurried over, swarming the unconscious young witch. Lily moved over to James.

"What _happened_?" she asked shakily. He had no reply, apparently lost for words. Sirius clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"What a way to start the year," he noted dryly. They had no way of knowing how very far this whole matter was far from finished.

_(The Report)_

Now, the official Ministry of Magic report told the when, where, and how, even daring to guess a little at the why. It failed, however, to capture the real feeling of that morning: the fear that hung stagnant in the air as interview after interview and statement after statement was taken.

James Potter was interviewed, of course, as were a few of his housemates. That was the source of the "when, where, how" information, and that was how most everybody else in the school later found out about what transpired at 6:10 a.m. on September 2nd in Hogwarts School's Gryffindor Common Room. It was also how Lily found out the particulars of what occurred before her arrival.

She had only just learned these details, overhearing James's testimony to the Ministry investigator, by the time Professor McGonagall urged all the students to prepare for the day (however necessary) and proceed down to breakfast—all the students, that is, except for those who were not quite finished with their interviews. Carlotta had been taken to the Hospital Wing, so that Healer Holloway could do a complete exam. The rest no one really knew.

"Can you believe it?" Mary Macdonald whispered to her friends, as they sat at the Gryffindor table, all but silently consuming breakfast in the noisy Great Hall. "I actually heard Denise Davies making fun of Carlotta... it's awful. It's enough to make you wish word didn't spread around this school so quickly."

"I think Carlotta slept with Denise Davies' boyfriend once," Marlene mused unhappily. "I can't believe that Car would do something like this."

"The suicide or the sleeping with Denise's boyfriend?"

"The suicide. She's always _seemed _happy."

Lily was thoughtfully silent. Donna leaned over, and in a quiet tone so that the others could not here, she said: "You don't think Carlotta actually wanted to do herself in, do you?"

"She seemed hexed," Lily agreed quietly. That was all she said; her stomach churned, and she didn't want to think about this anymore—not that the rest of the student population would facilitate this whim. Carlotta Meloni's failed suicide attempt was the only topic of interest in the Hall that morning.

Luke appeared seconds later: "Is it true what they're saying?" her boyfriend asked, kissing her on the top of the head. Lily nodded. "_Odd_." As though referring to a bit of unexpected rain. "How are _you_ feeling, Lily? I heard you were in a bit of the action last night yourself..."

"I'm fine," replied Lily. "I wasn't hurt. It was just... stupid."

Luke frowned, but a glance over at his table told him that the tiny Professor Flitwick was handing out class schedules to the Ravenclaws. "I'd better go," he said, kissing Lily on the top of the head again. "See you at break?"

"Right."

He left.

"Who's that at the staff table?" Mary Macdonald asked presently. "The good-looking, older chap next to Slughorn?"

Lily looked. "The new Defense teacher, I reckon, seeing as Callaghan quit," she muttered. "Dumbledore must have forgotten to mention him, what with all that trouble last night. I wonder who he is..."

"Alphard Black," supplied Donna knowledgably. "I've seen him once before. He's Sirius Black's uncle. Not much of a resemblance, is there?"

"I don't know," mused Lily. "I see _some_ resemblance." The elder Black had the same stormy grey-blue eyes that Sirius possessed; he had a similar nose, too, and while the Professor conversed with Professor Slughorn, Lily recognized that the two Blacks shared several mannerisms. With longish graying hair and solid features, Black looked as though he had probably been quite handsome in his heyday—twenty-five years ago—and even now retained some traces of his former good-looks.

"I wonder that Dumbledore hired him," said Marlene. "Aren't most of the Blacks supposed to be somewhat... radical?"

"I don't know much about him," Donna admitted. "But I seem to remember hearing that Black had one or two solid relatives... maybe that's what this bloke's like. Of course, 'solid' is a relative term... Sirius is a bit of a git himself, but he's solid compared to how Bellatrix Black was... or that brat little brother of his."

"Have you ever even spoken to Regulus Black?" Mary demanded skeptically. "Of course, we can't really ask Sirius about his uncle... the four of them haven't turned up to breakfast yet."

"_The four of them_" referred to the Marauders, collectively a single entity but individually comprised of James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. The precise origin of the name was unknown, although it was widely believed that the nickname derived from Professor McGonagall's offhandedly referring to them as a gang of "Marauders" some years earlier.

"I suppose James is still being questioned by that Ministry witch," Marlene speculated. "I'll be surprised if he shows up to first period at all."

Conjecture was, however, put on hold as a result of Professor McGonagall's arrival at their spot along Gryffindor table. She had schedules.

_(Surnames)_

"Are you _absolutely _certain that she did not speak to you at all, James?" asked the Ministry witch for about the sixteenth time. A professional type, with short, straw colored hair and very little make up, this woman seemed to have a particular answer in mind every time she posed a question, and when James or anyone replied contrary to this presupposed response, she grew irritable. She had spent the last few minutes trying to convince James that Carlotta Meloni had held some sort of conversation with him during the course of that morning's drama.

"The whole thing happened in about fifteen seconds," James reiterated. "She didn't have time to say anything. And I already told you, she didn't seem like herself... her eyes were out of focus and she was... manic."

"Well she would hardly seem like herself," said the Ministry witch—who had instructed for the Quidditch Captain to "just call her Drake." "I suppose she was shocked to have been apprehended in the middle of her... er... unfortunate act and, taken aback, behaved accordingly. Of course, silly young girls can grow quite emotional, which would explain how she seemed—as you put it—not to recognize her housemates. All in all, I think it's rather an open-and-shut case."

The attempted suicide of a "silly young girl" apparently quailed in the comparison to other worries at the Ministry, if this Drake witch constituted the best they could send. That, anyway, was James's opinion.

Drake took a seat in Professor McGonagall's chair—the Transfiguration teacher herself having gone to attend to schedules so that the rest of the school might not be thrown askew in the wake of the incident. Professor Dumbledore had finished his own series of much more direct and intelligent questions a quarter of an hour before, so James and Drake were left alone in McGonagall's office.

"Healer Holloway hasn't even finished his exam," James pointed out incredulously. "We don't know if she was cursed, or under the Imperius..."

"Nonsense," interrupted Drake, flipping disinterestedly through a stack of paperwork; "Hogwarts students wouldn't know how to perform the Imperius Curse." She paused suddenly. "Unless you're telling me that they teach that kind of magic here. Is that what you're saying, James?" Doubtless, images of headlines flashed through her mind. Headlines like "Ministry Investigator Drake Uncovers Dark Magic at Hogwarts; Dumbledore Shamed" and the like.

"Of course not," said James impatiently. "But the magic that the teachers give us isn't all we know, _Ms._ Drake..." he intentionally used the title and awaited her reaction; "If it were, there wouldn't be blighters like..." he gauged his own courage... "like the Death Eaters running about, would there?"

"It's just 'Drake,'" corrected the witch coldly. "What you're talking about is all politics, James. Just petty politics. Do you have any idea how complex an investigation like that would be? It's precisely the reason I'm not interested in these petty political movements. They hold little bearing on my task here."

James begged to differ. "Hold little bearing? The Death Eaters aren't just political fad. They're part of a deep seeded flaw in..." He stopped, realizing that he was beginning to sound like his father at the breakfast table. "Look," James began once more, "you don't know _what_ made Carlotta do this. Why didn't she return to her dorm the night before? It could've been dark magic, or..."

"Are you suggesting," sighed Drake, "that the so-called Death Eaters broke into the castle, cursed a sixteen-year-old girl, and manipulated her to go to her house Common Room and slit her own wrists?"

Well, it did sound a bit implausible.

"Still, you don't know _why_..."

"These popular teenage witches are always seeking new ways to get attention," Drake interrupted. "Most likely, it was simply a grab at an audience."

James scowled. "That's not what Carlotta Meloni's like, though. She wouldn't do something like that to get attention... she doesn't _need_ to. I mean, have you _seen_ her?"

"_Really_, James." Drake finally located the slip of parchment for which she had been searching and pulled it to the top of the stack. "Now, what did you say your full name was?" she asked, dipping a quill in the inkwell on McGonagall's desk.

"James Potter," James told her dully. Drake halted, and the Quidditch Captain at once knew why. Only too often had this happened at the utterance of his surname.

"Any relation to...?"

"Yes," replied James coldly.

"Is that right?" With bad faux airiness, Drake added: "And how are you related? An uncle, or...?"

"Dear old dad," said the other. "Listen, are you done with me or what?"

"Well, Mr. Potter..." Her voice reached a higher pitch. "You know, I'd be very interested to hear what _your_ theories might be about Miss Meloni's..."

"Because I'm an eyewitness or because my dad is the head of your department, _Ms. Drake_?" James cut in. She gaped a bit, and he got to his feet. "That's what I thought. I have class soon—if you have any _real_ questions, you can get a hold of me there."

He started for the door. "One moment, now, Mr. Potter," Drake managed to stammer, trying simultaneously to effect sternness and politeness. "I'm not quite finished. There are still some official things I must clear up before..."

As he exited the office, it occurred to James how rarely he did what he was told.

_(Bitch)_

"I have schedules," Remus announced, entering the sixth year boys' dormitories and setting down aforementioned schedules on the vanity desk.

"What a bitch," sighed Sirius, lighting one of James's cigarettes and taking what he made out to be the life-saving drag.

"What?" demanded Remus, rather defensively. "I just went _all the way_ down to the Great Hall to pick up _your_ schedules! Do you have any idea how difficult it was trying to explain the Professor McGonagall that both of you wanted to take Care of Magical Creatures, unless Peter didn't make the cut for the N.E.W.T. class, in which case she'd better make it Muggle Studies, and if there wasn't enough room for the four of us in _that,_ then you'd only be taking the standard five classes?"

"I wasn't calling _you _a bitch, Moony," Sirius told him. "James was just finishing the story of that awful Ministry Wench's so-called interrogation." To James, Sirius added: "Sorry you had to sit through it, mate, but on the bright side, you'll get out of first period for cert. They held you way over breakfast."

"Why are you smoking my cigs?" James asked, grabbing the nearly empty pack from where it rested on the windowsill.

"A better question is _why are you smoking his cigs in a_ _tiny enclosed area_?" Remus asked irritably as he began to pack his school bag.

"I opened a window." Sirius pointed demonstratively towards the cracked window by his side, as though that justified everything. "So what do you say, Prongs? Fancy a trip to the kitchens instead of first period?"

James scowled. "You're still smoking my cig."

"And you have a one track mind," Sirius retorted. "What is it with you anyway? With the world crashing down in a thousand little shit shaped pieces, you're getting bothered by the fact that your impoverished, disinherited best mate borrowed a cigarette?"

"You could've asked."

Remus rolled his grey eyes. "Have you ever actually _met_ Sirius, James?"

"Fair enough."

"Well," Mr. Moony continued, slinging his book bag over one shoulder: "I'm off to grab a bite before first period... unless there's anything else you'd like me to gather for you, Your Royal Highness."

"That'll be all, Lupin."Sirius waved his hand as though speaking to a butler. "Give my regards to Wormtail."

"Right," said Remus, "Don't kill each other while I'm gone."

"He's talking to you, Prongs."

"He's talking to both of us, _Padfoot_."

Remus left, and James sat down at the desk.

"Aren't you at all hungry?" Sirius asked. "I've been down to breakfast twice while you were in interrogation with that Drake witch."

"No, I'm not hungry," replied James curtly.

"Hmm, I can see you've already had a healthy serving of temperamental _git_." Sirius took a long drag from the controversial cigarette. "Mate, you should eat something. It's been a weird morning... weird and terrible and better left forgotten."

James found it in himself to be slightly amused by this advice. "And a nice bowl of porridge is what it takes to wipe my memory clean of the fact that Carlotta nearly ceased to breath before my very eys this morning?"

Sirius shook his head. "No. You'll definitely need some toast." He pulled up a chair beside his best friend.

"Humor's a little callous right now, Sirius," James pointed out.

"You're right. You're so right. I should take the Severus Snape approach to life—sit around bitching about my inner pain and hating the world for it." Sirius rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Prongs, this whole Carlotta business is—awful, certainly, but something's been off about you for days. Yesterday—starting the fight and then not owning up to it… oh don't get angry, I'm not blaming you. I'm just saying it's not like you to not take credit for every illegal thing you do. Plus, you've been stingy with the cigarettes... smoking them all yourself, I suppose. Don't think I haven't noticed that you've gone through two whole packs in the last four days."

"Stalker."

"Seriously, Prongs."

James sighed. "You might be right."

"I am."

Rolling his eyes in turn, James grabbed the cigarette from where Sirius held it, between his index and middle fingers. He took a drag and picked up one of the schedules that Padfoot had grabbed at his first breakfast.

"You'll have to tell me why you're acting so girlie eventually, Prongs," the other Marauder said wisely. "You might as well just get it out there now."

James did not remove his eyes from the schedule. "I got a note from Professor McGonagall in my Hogwarts letter this year," he said, with little concern in his voice.

"Alright. What did it say then?"

The Quidditch Captain took some time to respond to this, and when he did, the effort required to keep his eyes glued to that schedule became much more pronounced. "I—er—I've had seventy-four detentions."

"Nice. But what's that got to...?" Sirius broke off, comprehension dawning on his face. "Shit, Prongs."

"Yeah."

Another, longer drag.

"_Fuck_." Sirius continued to analyze this piece of news. "Do your Mum and Dad know? Do they know about the... the seventy-five rule?"

"I didn't show Mum the letter," was all James said.

Sirius watched him carefully. Cigarette smoke filled silence commenced for several minutes. "I'll stop stealing your smokes," Black said presently. James could not repress the smallest of grins.

"You're an idiot, Padfoot."

Sirius did not bother repressing his own grin. "So what do you say—skive off first period with me?"

"No, I'm going to class," replied James.

"_Why_? This is the one time you _won't_ get in trouble for it!"

"You, Sirius, clearly haven't taken a very close look at your class schedule," said James in his most Remus-like voice. He held up the parchment. "First period Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor _Your_ Uncle."

"Fuck. You know, it's probably the only family obligation I've got left, going to that class."

"Be grateful for that."

_(Briefly, Professor Sirius's Uncle)_

"I wonder how Carlotta is doing," Lily wondered, as she took a seat in the half-empty Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"We know," Donna replied. "You've been wondering that aloud at fifteen minute intervals since breakfast."

"Oh good," cooed Marlene, who was with them, "You remembered to take your bitch pills this morning, Don."

"And you remembered to put on your ugly serum this morning, _Marlene_."

"_Donna_," said Lily.

"Sorry, Price." Unconvincingly. Marlene rolled her eyes.

"It appears," the blond said, "that Mary has been distracted by her newest... distraction..." The three girls took a moment to look at the cute but dim Hufflepuff who was currently occupied by the supremely fascinating task of flirting with Mary Macdonald. "...So I'm going to sit with Adam, in case Professor Black starts partnering people up." Donna and Lily's partnership was, at this point, assumed.

"Bye," called Lily, and Marlene waved as she moved across the room to sit with the Gryffindor boy.

"You know," Donna mused, "I think you might be right about Adam fancying Marlene. It must be very recent, though, because..."

"Don, everyone's known about Adam fancying Marlene since third year."

"_Seriously?"_

Lily nodded. "I wonder how..." She stopped.

"You were about to wonder how Carlotta was doing again, weren't you?"

"No. I was going to wonder how... how... I can't think of anything. I was going to wonder how Carlotta is doing."

Donna shook her head. "If it's bothering you that much, we can stop by the infirmary after Defense."

Lily seemed slightly appeased. The classroom began to fill, and even the Marauders arrived before the bell rang. The four of them took their usual seats in the back of the room—the seats unofficially but unquestionably reserved for their use.

"Potter showed up," marveled Donna. "I thought Lupin said in the Great Hall that he'd been held through most of breakfast."

"He must have wanted to get a look at Professor Black's class," Lily supposed. "His being Sirius's uncle, after all..." Lily found that that topic of James Potter applied undue stress on her nerves, and the confliction of feelings currently revolving around that boy—what with his being such a complete prat the night before and then saving Carlotta this morning—made her stomach churn uncomfortably again. She did not speak anymore on the topic of that particular Quidditch Captain, and Donna was prevented from doing so by the arrival of Professor Black.

Up close, Alphard Black looked older than he had at the distance in the Great Hall, but his great similarity to Sirius increased also. As the older wizard headed towards the front of the classroom, leather briefcase in hand, Lily wondered how she did not immediately spot that this new Defense teacher must be some relative of her housemate.

"Good morning," said Professor Black, setting down the briefcase on his desk.

"Good morning, Professor Black," a few dutiful sixth years replied.

"That's the enthusiasm I like to see," replied the other wryly, but he showed no signs of offense. "Alright, then. I'm your new Defense teacher. My name is Black, you will call me Professor Black, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Any questions in that vein?" There were predictably none. "Excellent. Will everyone please stand up?"

The request, odd as it was, required a moment for everyone to process. Lily and Donna exchanged looks, and the former resisted the urge to glance across the room for Severus Snape's reaction. That did not mean that she was not infinitely conscious of his exact location in the room. They stood, as everyone else did with equal bemusement.

"Excellent," said Professor Black again. "Alright, then." He withdrew a wand from the briefcase and flicked it once in the air. All the desks flew to the opposite end of the room. "Queue up then! Front of the lines goes just here then—I don't care what order. You lot ought to be mature enough to do it yourselves. Excellent."

The class obeyed, Adam McKinnon finding his way to the front of the line, which—per Black's instructions—sat immediately in front of the closed door to his office. "Now then," said the Professor, leaning casually against his desk, though his tone was rambling and a bit scattered, like one would imagine a mad scientist might speak. "We're going to warm up with a bit of... practical magic. Wands out, everyone. Excellent." He already had a catchphrase. "Well, what you're going to do is go into my office there behind that there door and... well... fight. Even I'm not sure what each of you will face, but it will require your wand and some elementary knowledge of... magic. Which, you know, I hope you've acquired. If not..." he trailed off and it might have been intimidating had he not been positively grinning. Lily and Donna exchanged another bemused look.

"So, Mr. McKinnon—are you ready?"

"Er..."

"Excellent."

_(Visiting Hours)_

"Excellent," agreed Donna, with one of her rare glowing looks that showed she was genuinely happy (_very_ rare). "Fucking fantastic. Professor Black might just be the best Defense teacher we've had to date."

Lily's face was flushed from the excitement. "Remus had to fight off Inferi... I don't know what I would've done if I had to face that. Probably would've curled up into a little ball and waited for Professor Black to cut off the simulation."

"It hardly seemed like a simulation," noted Donna. "He must have used the same kind of magic that the auror department uses." She was practically skipping. "It was terrifying, though—when the werewolf was coming at me I swear-to-God it was fucking _real_. Fantastic adrenaline rush, but I nearly froze on the spot."

"Stop bragging, Miss-Third-Fastest-To-Finish-In-A-Class-Of-More-Than-Thirty."

"I'm not bragging," retorted the other. "And I contest that Black actually beat me. I think I had a greater distance to..."

"He beat you by two minutes," Lily interjected. "He _beat_ you, Shack."

"Wow, Evans, 'traitor' is a good color for you."

Carlotta had vanished. Metaphorically, anyway. The sixth years departed Professor Black's classroom utterly preoccupied by the Defense class and by Professor Black himself. Lily and Donna might have gone several hours more in such delusional bliss, had they not passed the infirmary on the way down to second period Charms. Then, recollection seized them, along with guilt that they had ever forgotten. The Hospital Wing doors were closed.

"Are we going in?" Donna asked uncertainly. Lily arched an eyebrow, and the dark haired girl quickly added: "Not that I want to or anything."

"I wonder if Healer Holloway will let us see her," the prefect murmured. "Should we try?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Carlotta and I aren't even friends. It would be awkward."

Lily frowned. "But Carlotta and _I_ aren't particularly close either, and I won't feel awkward. It'll be fine..."

"_You_ like people, Evans. And people like you, more importantly."

"_Donna_ _Christine..."_

"Don't use the middle name!"

"Please?"

"Fine."

Scowling, Donna followed Lily up to the doors, which the latter gently pushed forward. Initially, Healer Holloway was nowhere to be seen, but as they crept further inside, he appeared with a notebook and a bottle of greenish-yellow liquid.

"Miss Evans," greeted the elderly wizard. He glanced at Donna, as though determining whether or not he wanted to take a stab at her name; evidently, he sided against it and merely nodded to her. "If neither of you girls are actually sick or injured, I'm afraid I _must_ ask you to leave."

He truly did look sorry for it, so Lily summoned her best "favorite student" voice and said: "But, Healer Holloway, we were hoping we could see Carlotta Meloni."

"And you think you're the first?" growled the Healer. "Kiddies have been spilling in and out of here all morning trying to catch a glimpse of her. I'm not finished with my examination, so you can't see her."

"Can you at least tell us something about how she is?"

"No."

"But you must know something."

"I didn't say I didn't know anything. Only that I couldn't tell you."

"But Healer Holloway..."

"Carlotta Meloni is stable. That's all I'll say."

Lily shifted her weight and crossed her arms. "_Please?"_

Holloway sighed. "All I can tell you..." Donna looked incredulous that Lily's simple 'please' had actually worked, "...is that Miss Meloni wasn't hexed... she was not hit with a hex, anyway. That type of magic leaves some kind of visible mark, and there's no sign of it on Miss Meloni."

"So... so you're saying she definitely acted on her own free will?" asked Lily, her heart sinking. That was a dreadful thought.

"No, don't be ridiculous," snapped the Healer. "I'm not saying she wasn't affected by magic... just that she wasn't hit with a spell, like usual."

"It could've been a potion," Donna suggested. "Or maybe she was exposed to darkly magical objects. Or maybe..."

"Or maybe she was just lookin' for attention," finished Healer Holloway. "For all _any _of us know, that's what happened, so I don't want you spreading it around what I told you."

"Soul of discretion," vowed Lily. Donna nodded.

_(Supper)_

Suppertime at Hogwarts was almost always fantastic. When the sun was just setting, it cast the entire hall under a pink and orange light, as the bewitched ceiling imitated the real image to just about perfection. At supper on September 2nd, James was mostly just watching the ceiling. He ate his food and watched the sunset and wished that everyone would just shut up, although the likelihood of _that_ occurring was just about zero. Between Carlotta Meloni's attempted suicide, the fight in the Entrance Hall, and the new Professor Black (whose popularity had already spread to other classes), there was simply too much to discuss.

Nonetheless, James would rather have listened to the least intelligent, most vapid of gossips ramble on about how _dreamy_ she found Professor Black, then have his supper interrupted in the manner that it was, just minutes after he began the meal.

"Mr. Potter," said the voice of that Ministry witch, Drake, as she stepped up to his spot along Gryffindor table.

"Yes, Miss Drake?" he replied, intentionally cold.

"Mr. Potter, I'll need your signature on the statement you made." Her tone was similarly chilly, no doubt as a result of James's abrupt departure that morning.

"I'll give it to you when I'm finished with supper."

"I won't be here when you're finished with supper." James turned his head, just enough to see her.

"You're leaving already?"

She nodded, then said smugly: "And I thought that you might be interesting in hearing that Healer Holloway reported to me that he saw no signs that Carlotta had been attacked—other than the marks _your_ magic left—or that she had been hexed."

"So you're just leaving?" James demanded. "Just dropping the whole thing and _leaving_ without even questioning Carlotta or..."

"I _did_ question Miss Meloni," interrupted Drake. "Her memory of the affair is somewhat vague, but she has said definitively that she was _not_ attacked. She can account for every one of her movements right up until the time you accosted her in your Common Room."

"And she told you she wanted to do herself in, did she?" asked James.

Drake hesitated in her reply. "These matters are too complicated to explain, and I have no obligation to explain myself to _you_, Mr. Potter. Now, your signature." She pushed the paper before him. James ignored it.

"If it was just some silly emotional young witch trying to get attention, and no one is pressing charges," he said, "I don't see why I need to sign anything. If you want it signed, forge it."

Angry, Miss Drake swept out of the hall a minute later, indignation ringing from every tap of her rubber soled shoes.

"What a bitch," mused Sirius, who sat beside his friend. "Though, I don't see why you didn't just sign it, Prongs."

"Mostly to piss her off," James admitted. "Hey, I'm finished. I'm gonna head out for a quick... er... walk." He glanced at the obviously eavesdropping fourth year seated to his left.

"Subtle," was all Sirius said.

"I'll see you in a bit."

James walked briskly out of the hall, fingering the fresh pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He reached the mostly deserted Entrance Hall and, strangely, found himself hesitating before heading outdoors. Suddenly, he didn't feel much like a smoke. He just felt like... well... he didn't feel right.

"Potter?"

James looked up, and his stomach lurched. God, how hated that. James immediately decided that it must be due to his wolfing down the meal so quickly and had absolutely nothing to do with the pretty redhead standing before him. Donna, Marlene, and Mary, who had entered the Hall with Lily, moved hastily into the Great Hall, but the prefect herself stayed behind.

"Yes?" asked James, wondering if a girl could hear when a bloke's stomach was in his throat.

"I—er—I'm sorry."

She was apologizing. She was fucking apologizing. _He_ had been nothing but horrid to her, and she was _fucking apologizing_.

"What... what are you talking about?"

Lily did not meet his eye, and he was grateful for that. "I'm just... sorry. We didn't get off to a good start this year, and... well, you were wrong last night, what you said, but I... I guess I can see why you could maybe possibly think what... what you thought. Falsely."

James stared. "This is about Carlotta isn't it?"

"Er... not really, no."

"It is. You feel guilty."

"Why would I feel guilty?"

It was like watching a couple of broomsticks collide in the sky while standing on the ground. James could see what was coming; he knew what was about to happen, but was powerless to stop it.

"All the girls are always saying rubbish about Carlotta out of jealousy... calling her a tart and what not... I suppose you're just feeling uncomfortable because you used to say those sort of things, and since you can't apologize to _her_ you're relieving your guilty conscience on me."

Collision.

"I've never said anything _about_ Carlotta Meloni!" Lily replied, clearly shocked. James wondered how he could be so consistently horrible, and yet she was always surprised by it. "I _never_... and you... you can't..." Lily bit her lip (she was lovely). "You're a _jerk_." (Like she had just realized this). She stormed into the Great Hall.

James watched her go, and all the spite in the world had not eliminated that stupid churning in his stomach. He suddenly remembered why he needed to smoke.

Lily's cheeks burned red as she hurried away from James Potter and the Entrance Hall. The irony of the location did not escape her. How could it be that his consistent awfulness still took her by surprise? Scowling, Lily took a seat beside Donna and across from Marlene.

"So," began the latter slowly, "How did it...?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Awesome."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Ginger, I don't know how it is that even though Potter is always horrible around you, you're always..."

"I know, Don. Thanks."

"It's alright, Lily," said Mary comfortingly. "I understand. James can be downright fantastic sometimes."

"On the leap year," Marlene suggested.

"Every fourteenth blue moon," said Donna.

Lily sighed. "Thank-you. Really, but I don't want to talk about it."

The others silently acquiesced, as the meal provided ample distraction. "Hey," began Marlene presently, "listen, are you _sure_ you didn't see Adam after lunch? I could've sworn he said he was taking Care of Magical Creatures, but I didn't see him there, and I haven't seen him since. You didn't see him in Ancient Runes, did you?"

"McKinnon doesn't take Ancient Runes," Donna pointed out. "God, you're clingy."

"Careful, Don," muttered Lily. Marlene did not hear the redhead, but made a face at Donna.

"I just find it odd, that's all. And he never misses supper."

That was the prevailing thought in the air, when Alice Griffiths took a seat at Gryffindor table, directly beside Lily.

Curly haired, round faced, and sweet tempered, Alice was a seventh year, but also a member of Gryffindor house and therefore reasonably close with Lily. However, in more than five years of acquaintance, Lily had never seen Alice look so distraught.

"What's wrong?" asked the redhead, as Alice poured a glass of cold pumpkin juice down her throat rather like it were alcohol. "Alice, you're so pale. What happened?"

"Have you heard?" murmured the seventh year. "My younger brother just told me... it was one of his friends that saw the whole thing and... well, stopped it."

"Stopped what?" asked Marlene, leaning over the table. "What's happened?"

"Some fourth year... a Hufflepuff I think was drowning in the lake. One of her mates pulled her out, but... I mean, I've never known anyone to nearly drown in the lake. It's horrible, and..."

"That's the _second_ person to nearly die in the last twenty-four hours," Lily pointed out.

"You don't think that fourth year was trying to do herself in, Lily?" Mary asked, practically breathless. "What's a fourteen-year-old got to kill herself about?"

"Not everyone lives in fairytale land, Macdonald," Donna said curtly.

"Has anyone told Dumbledore?" inquired Marlene.

Alice shrugged. "I'm not sure. McGonagall's handling everything right now..." She glanced up at the staff table. "Dumbledore's still here, though." The aged Headmaster did, indeed, retain his usual seat in the hall.

"Odd that he'd stay," observed Mary, and as she did, the witches noticed a new arrival in the Hall. Frank Longbottom—Head Boy and, coincidentally, Alice's boyfriend—hurried towards the Staff Table, a serious expression on his face.

"I wonder what..." Alice began, but stopped as the five of them watched Frank approach Dumbledore's chair and mutter something to the Headmaster. Dumbledore looked up at the Head Boy and a brief exchange followed. Then, the old wizard rose from his chair.

"Excuse me," he called loudly, so that the entire school was brought to silence. "Thank-you. Will the prefects please lead their houses back to the Common Rooms immediately." There was a general, confused outcry, and Dumbledore once more called for silence. "_Please_," he continued. "_Please_ execute this with the greatest efficiency and care. Thank-you."

Without flippant remark or quirky parting, Dumbledore withdrew from the Hall and, before the Great Hall declined into chaos, Professor Slughorn—the Potions teacher—rose from his own chair. "Everyone, everyone, quiet! Now, you heard Dumbledore. Prefects, lead the way to the Common Rooms. Everyone will stay there until further notice!" But it was clear from the confusion on Slughorn's own face that he was no more aware of the situation than anyone else.

"Do you think it's because of the fourth year?" Mary asked, loudly over the din of worried chatter. Lily had no time to speculate; she located Remus and called for her housemates to follow her to Gryffindor tower. Frank Longbottom appeared by her side a moment later.

"Frank!" called Alice, catching up. "Frank, what's happened?"

The Head Boy looked positively ill. "It's... something's happened."

"What?" asked Lily and Remus in unison.

"Is this about the fourth year?" asked Donna.

Frank shook his head uneasily. He did not seem to know whether or not disclosure was permitted. With great hesitance (and a wary glance in Marlene Price's direction) he muttered so that only those closest could hear: "Adam McKinnon. He… he just tried to jump off the Astronomy Tower."

What a way to start a year.

* * *

**A/N: **Shout out to anonymous reviewer **Queen Moanna of the Underworld**!

If you're liking this or disliking it or completely apathetic to it, please, please, _please_ review. That "back" button won't give you as much love as I will.

Reviews are the environmentally safe option!

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	4. Snaps and the Second Week

**A/N: **Some of you are, justifiably, worried about James's abundance of jerkiness. Well, you're right to do so, and I can only assure you that James is a moody little brat and will be alternatively evil and wonderful. For a while. As for Lily-and-James moments, there are but few in this chapter, but there are some good ones coming up in the infinitely superior next chapter.

**Disclaimer:** JKR owns your soul. And The Who own your mom's soul. Or something.

Chapter 4- "Snaps and the Second Week"

Or

"_Won't Get Fooled Again"_

Apparently, _three_ attempted suicides in one day were too many for the Ministry to accept as mere coincidence. Drake was gone, and someone else was brought in—a tall wizard with fair hair and a demeanor that could not have been less Ministry-like had he been Sirius Black himself. His name was Lathe, and James was hanging upside down ten feet in the air the first time that they met.

It started with a cat and a tradition.

Mrs. Norris—Filch's pesky pet—was the cat, and the tradition—instituted by the Marauders—was pretty simple: mess with Mrs. Norris whenever she should appear.

Thus was James occupied in between Defense class and Herbology class on Monday morning, and it only occurred to the young wizard _after_ he had finished levitating Mrs. Norris onto a fourth floor chandelier that Herbology was about to begin.

"Shit," he swore, picking up his book bag and turning towards the stairway immediately.

"What do you mean 'shit?'" asked Remus, who was with him, striving to catch up. "James, what's the matter?"

"N-nothing."

Remus glanced at his watch. "Damn it—we're late, aren't we?" James had no need to respond. The warning bell rang. "Damn it! We _are_ late!" Both boys increased their pace to a sprint.

"This is all _your_ fault, Prongs," Remus informed him, as they reached the Entrance Hall landing. "Why did you have to hang Mrs. Norris from a chandelier, anyway?"

"It's tradition, that's why," said James. They raced through the castle doors, book bags flapping behind them. "God, it's cold out. When did that happen? It was warm this morning!"

"Don't talk about the weather to me, Prongs. I'm angry with you."

"You'll get over it."

"I won't if we get detention!"

The two Gryffindors were so busy arguing and running that, as they rounded the corner of Greenhouse One in pursuit of Greenhouse Two, they did not notice someone standing just around the bend. As a result, James ran headlong into this someone, and Remus ran headlong into James. The three of them fell to the ground.

"You okay, Lupin?" asked James, getting to his feet and offering a hand to Remus. Dusting off his uniform, Remus mumbled something like "I'm fine," and grabbed James's hand. It was not until the two Gryffindors were standing that they noticed the third casualty.

Nicolai Mulciber glared at them. Already on his feet, Nicolai held a flask in one hand and his wand in the other. James completely ignored the wand.

"Seriously? You're drinking behind the Greenhouses? Alone, no less? So cliché."

"You do _not_ want to be fucking with me, Potter," growled Mulciber, brandishing the wand. "After that stunt you pulled... you'll want to be careful."

James rolled his eyes. "Look, Mulciber." He pointed to himself and counted: "One." Then pointing to Remus: "Two. There are two of us, and one of you, and even if there was just half of Lupin here, I'd _still_ put money on him in a fight. So maybe _you_ should be careful, Bricks."

Mulciber looked confused. "Bricks?"

"Mmm, it's what I've decided to call you, on account of all the characteristics you share with a brick. Let's see, you're both inarticulate, non-sentient, and associated with being very heavy."

"_Prongs_," sighed Remus, but too late.

Mulciber raised his wand, and James drew his own.

"Pordiporsus!" Mulciber cried, as the same time James called out: "Levicorpus!"

The Gryffindor flew back, his body hitting roughly against a tree, while the Slytherin was swooped up into the air and hung there, as though strung up by one ankle. James recovered first, and he noticed that Mulciber had dropped his wand. He grinned.

"_Prongs," _said Remus, communicating a plethora of other ideas with the single word. He might just as well have reminded James that this was not worth getting in trouble for, or that they were running late to Herbology, or that he was a prefect and therefore _obliged_ to stop it. James nodded. He flicked his wand, and Mulciber began to drop. Before the Slytherin hit the ground, James waved his wand again, and he stopped, about three feet in the air. One last time, James flicked, and Mulciber fell to the ground.

While he recovered, James picked up his book bag that had been dropped and, followed by Remus, started towards the second greenhouse once again.

"Hey, Potter!" Mulciber called after him.

"Please, James," Remus wearily beseeched.

"It's fine, Moony, I won't turn around..."

As it turned out, he had no choice. "Hey, _Potter_," repeated Mulciber—much closer this time—and James felt a hand lay hold of his shoulder. He was spun around, and before James had any clear idea of what was happening, he felt a sharp, shooting pain in his cheek. Mulciber had punched him, and he went stumbling back.

"How does it taste?" spat Mulciber. James glowered, staggering to maintain balance. While weighing his options, he looked at Mulciber, smug and celebrating in the apparent victory. There was definitely a high road that could—and by definition, ought to—be taken just now. He ought to walk away... turn around and go to Herbology and just _let it die_. That was the sane, responsible, mature, seventy-four-detention-possessing option.

James lunged forward, hitting Mulciber at the waist and knocking him to the ground.

Apparently, the Slytherin had thought James would be more a high-road sort of taker. Nonetheless, he retaliated quickly with another blow to James's face, though this one had neither the power nor aim of the first, and James rapidly recovered. He knocked the wand that Mulciber endeavored to aim out of his hands and drew his own, struggling to maintain dominance in the fight. Remus stood uncertainly by—he had drawn his wand but was unwilling to attack his friend. Still, when—seemingly out of nowhere—James felt his entire body seize up and pull away, swinging into the air in the same manner that Mulciber's had a moment before, he was certain that Remus had cast the spell. Mulciber was hanging not far away, but it was not Remus pointing his wand at the pair of them, but Donna Shacklebolt.

"Really, you two," she said, her expression stern. "Haven't we already seen this one?"

"Why aren't you in Herbology, Shack?"

"Because I'm not taking it," snapped Donna. "Why aren't _you_ in Herbology?"

"Because I was busy fighting Mulciber," replied James. "Now let me down."

"Let us _both_ down," Mulciber shouted.

"Not until you swear to stop fighting," the witch told them stubbornly. "You're only going to lose Gryffindor more points!"

"Donna!" whined James. "Stop being such a suck up!"

"I am _not _a..."

"What going on here?" A fair haired wizard of about thirty appeared quite suddenly, and James wondered how he could have failed to see him coming.

Donna started. "Oh, it's just... you see..."

The older wizard gave her a quizzical look, and the young witch at once dropped her feuding classmates.

_Thump_.

They both groaned. "Thank you," said the other. James stumbled to his feet, and garnered a more thorough exam of the newcomer. An auror's badge was pinned to the collar of his brown robes, and the Quidditch Captain guessed his identity at once. "This is why I _didn't_ want this job," sighed the wizard. "Alright... um—I'm not your teacher, so I'm not going to punish you or anything, but... just... stop. You... girl..." To Donna, "Don't hex people. It's not how you get a bloke's attention."

"Oh, I didn't hex them," Donna answered at once. "You see, they were fighting, so I tried to break them up."

"By hexing them," concluded the other, dryly.

"It was just the 'Levicorpus,'" retorted Donna. "I was trying to _help_."

"Well, don't," he sighed. "And don't... you know, never mind. I don't know why I am even continuing this debate. Will everyone just go to class?"

"I _didn't_..." Donna began again, but James cut in.

"Shack, will you be quiet? No one is in _trouble_."

"Thank-you. Exactly!" said the older wizard. "Just... go to class." They began to comply. "Wait, really quickly..." They paused. "Do any of you know where I can find James Potter?"

Donna's expression was thoroughly indignant, and she said nothing. James and Remus exchanged looks, and Mulciber at once pointed to the Gryffindor in question. "That's him."

"'That's _he'_ would be grammatically correct," James informed him. He turned to the other wizard. "Am I in trouble?"

"No."

"Am I getting out of the next class?"

"Probably."

"Oh. Okay. What do you need?"

"The... the rest of you can go," said the wizard, and they obeyed. When alone, the wizard continued: "My name's Lathe. I work for the Ministry, and I need to ask you some questions."

"You already have my memory of that night," said James suspiciously. "I gave it to McGonagall for pensieve examination."

"Yes," said Lathe, "And I've looked at it. But I'm not well acquainted with you or with Miss Meloni or with any of the students involved. To understand what happened, I need your take... what occurred to you as unusual about certain behaviors or reactions: anything that would seem odd to someone familiar with those involved."

James stared at him. "You're smarter than that Drake witch."

Lathe nodded. "Your book bag is probably smarter than that Drake witch."

(The One Problem)

"I don't know," Marlene Price sighed unhappily, "It seems to me as though you should stay an extra day."

"Marlene," began Adam, "For the sixteenth time: I don't have a scratch on me, and I've been in the Hospital Wing almost six days. I think it is okay for me to leave now."

His friend appeared dissatisfied with this response, as she sat on the corner of his cot on Tuesday afternoon. "But Healer Holloway doesn't even know what happened to you..."

"I've _told_ you; he _does_." Adam endeavored to sound weary, but in reality it bothered him very, very little that Marlene had been in and out of the Hospital Wing on two hours intervals since Healer Holloway had first determined the patients were allowed visitors. "He said the reason that Carlotta and the Hufflepuff and I all tried to... do something drastic was almost certainly a result of..."

"Accidental exposure to darkly magical objects," Marlene finished for him, "You've told me a hundred times."

"You've _asked_ a hundred times."

"Don't change the subject."

"That was completely on task."

Marlene gave him a look. He was silenced. "All I am saying," the blonde went on, "is that until someone finds out _what_ 'darkly magical object' supposedly seized you all with the unstoppable urge to cut your wrists, jump into a lake, and step off the Astronomy Tower—_different_ methods of suicide, a fact which I, for one, find odd—you shouldn't be allowed to roam the corridors."

"Healer Holloway says that whatever passed through our systems is gone," said Adam, and when Marlene appeared less than satisfied, he added: "I promise not to go to the Astronomy Tower, if that makes you feel better. Interesting observation, about the different methods, though. That_ is_ strange."

"Lily pointed it out to me," Marlene admitted. "But I was clever enough to agree with her." She checked the clock on the wall. "I have Transfiguration in a few minutes..." (clearly disappointed). "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"I'm here until six o'clock tonight," Adam assured her.

"Alright, I'll be around at supper." Marlene hesitated. "No, never mind. I've got to meet Miles for supper. He swears I haven't had a meal with him in ages. It's funny how the second I become slightly interested in something else... that is, busy doing other things, he becomes completely enamored of me again." Adam was not terribly amused, but gave a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "I'll see you tonight in the Common Room then, alright?"

"Unless I jump off the Astronomy Tower in the mean time."

"Not funny, McKinnon. Bye." He waved in return. "Bye, Carlotta!" Marlene added, waving to the gorgeous brunette who also retained a cot in the infirmary. She too waved, though a little preoccupied scribbling on a tablet of parchment. "I'll bring you the Transfiguration homework," Marlene added to Adam. He frowned.

"To tell the truth, I'd rather jump off the Astronomy Tower."

"_Still _not funny."

"See you soon."

"_Bye_." And despite her claim to the contrary, Marlene departed the Hospital Wing with a slight smile.

(Friends, Exes, and James)

When Donna announced her departure to Arithmancy on Wednesday afternoon, Lily could not say that she was terribly broken up about it. And, when, a few minutes later, Luke kissed her on the top of her red hair and said he had better get to N.E.W.T. Ancient Runes, Lily shed no tears. Alone at last at her table in the library, Lily opened up her favorite Jane Austen novel and prepared for an entire double period of solitude. She loved her friends, of course, and she liked Luke a great deal, but solitude... solitude was nice.

Settling into Mr. Knightley's entrance at Hartfield, Lily even managed to push aside the gentle tugging of her subconscious, reminding her how she had formerly spent free periods with Severus.

Solitude was nice.

"Lily, I need help."

Friends, unfortunately, were more important.

"Alice, what's wrong?"

The redhead set down her book, as Alice Griffiths collapsed into the seat across from Lily, a look of utter despondency on her sweet face.

"Frank."

"Frank?"

"My boyfriend."

"I know who Frank is, dear."

"Well, I need help."

"Circles, dear. We're talking in circles."

Alice collected her thoughts before speaking again. "Something's wrong with Frank. He's been acting so strangely lately, I hardly know him anymore."

Lily patted her friend's hand comfortingly. "Al, I'm sure it's just all these strange things going on right now... Ministry investigators, what happened to Adam and Carlotta... then the additional stress of being Head Boy..."

"It started before that," Alice argued. "There's been something distinctly off about him since he came back from holiday in August. He's been moody and antisocial... he'll get really attached and insist on doing things with me, then once we're together he'll start rows for no reason. Half the time, he just disappears off to his dormitory or for walks, too, and he's been absolutely barking mad about what happened with Carlotta and Adam."

After a moment's thought, Lily sighed: "Well, Al, I don't know how to say this, but I think Frank might be pregnant."

The seventh year tried not to laugh. "This is serious, Lily."

"Alright, being serious. How's his family?"

"I thought of that," replied Alice, "But his brother said everything was fine in that respect. Frank had a lovely time holidaying at the coast, and no one's noticed a thing, but since then, every single time we're together, he's completely unpredictable."

"You two haven't had any real rows, then? I mean, a big one that might've started this whole business?" Alice shook her curly haired head. "You're sure? Then… then you have to look at the symptoms."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if someone's sick, you look at the symptoms to see what's wrong. So, look at his behavior and see what kind of problem that behavior indicates. He's moody, you say, and argumentative."

"Hmm, yes, he just starts bickering about stupid things."

"He's alternatively clingy and antisocial?"

"Spends more time 'walking' then he has in the last four years of our relationship."

Lily nodded. "And he's definitely not pregnant?"

"_Lily_."

"Alright, well, let me think for a minute." She thought for a minute. Then it struck her towards what end all signs pointed.

Shit.

But, no, this was Frank. Frank Longbottom. This wasn't some jerk; this was _Frank_.

"What are you thinking, Lily?" Alice pleaded at length. A secure, practical girl, Alice had never appeared so desperate in all of Lily's acquaintance with her. The redhead thought quickly—there were times for honesty and times for charity. The look in Alice's brown eyes told her that this was the latter.

"I don't know, Al. It... it could be anything. I mean, Frank... he loves you, and..."

"He doesn't say it anymore."

Lily blinked. "What?"

"He doesn't say 'I love you' anymore. He hasn't said it in weeks." The seventh year said this very quietly, not meeting Lily's eye.

Shit.

"Alice, Frank _does_ love you. I know it, alright? Trust me, the two of you are about thirty percent of the reason I believe in love at all. Jane Austen is the other seventy percent." Alice smiled. "Whatever he's going through, you _can't_ blame yourself for this."

"But I don't know what to do!"

"Just talk to him."

"I've tried... he won't listen.

"Then be patient," Lily pressed. "Listen, you've been together for a long time... four years is a lengthy relationship by any standards, not just the adolescent norm. And with everything so mixed up at school and in the world, Frank is probably just struggling to... adjust. This is your _last_ year here, after all."

Sadly, Alice nodded.

"If it helps," the sixth year continued, "Professor McGonagall told me she's assigned Frank to monitor my detention on Friday, since he's Head Boy. I'll talk to him then, alright?"

"Could you?"

"Absolutely."

"But don't say I said anything."

"Of course not."

"Don't even think it. And if he guesses, lie to him."

"What are friends for if not to fib for one another?"

"I love you."

"I know."

Rising, Alice hugged Lily briefly, and then—with a final grateful smile—exited the library. Lily frowned down at her novel. It was _Frank_. Frank _couldn't_...

She pushed even the thought out of her mind. The library was all but deserted (only the round librarian, Mrs. Sevoy, remained visible), and Lily had to take advantage of this rare solitude before anything else disturbed it.

"Lily, we have to talk."

Friends were more important than solitude, but ex-friends were not.

Without looking up, Lily recognized her newest companion. She said nothing; her breath caught in her throat.

"Lily, please." He leaned forward over the table. "I know you're not reading that book... we have to talk, you _know_..."

"Sev, stop." Lily closed her book once more. "Severus, _stop it_, I'm serious, alright?" Mrs. Sevoy glanced over, and Lily sent an apologetic look in her direction. Severus paid no heed.

"Lily, _please_," he whispered. "You've been avoiding me all week, and..."

"I've been avoiding you," Lily retorted, "because the last time we spoke, people ended up on the Hospital Wing. That gives you a hint at how well we connect at this point, yeah?"

"I can't believe you took the blame for that," Severus muttered, to which Lily rolled her eyes.

"I didn't see you casting any stones."

"I—I was confused... 'couldn't remember which one of you did it. It was... confusing. But it was Potter—you took the blame for Potter, didn't you?"

"Jumped to that conclusion pretty quick, didn't we?" was all Lily said.

"He'd be a big enough git to let you do it," Severus told her. "Lily, you couldn't possibly think that..."

"Get to the point, Sev. I'm trying to read." She hated herself... she hated Sev and his blasted sincerity... she hated the library simply because it functioned as a setting for this stupid scene.

"I—Lily, I want to be friends again. I want us to be mates. I want..."

"No."

"Lily..."

"No."

"But..."

"Severus, I know that you've always made me cave... forgive anything, turn a blind eye to anything, but _no_. Not anymore."

The Slytherin remained silently seated for a while. Lily pretended to read. "Please, Lily..."

"Go away, Sev." (Softly... she wasn't sure if it was actually what she wanted).

He complied. Lily closed her eyes and waited till she felt alone again. When she once more looked around the library, the exploits of Emma Woodhouse no longer seemed like a sufficient diversion. Lily closed the book and rested her chin in her hands, her elbows propped up on the closed novel.

Severus.

Her stomach twisted itself into knots—knots intricate enough that were they in her shoelaces rather than her stomach, she would probably have had to take a pair of strong shearers to them and buy new laces.

"I can't buy a new stomach," Lily noted, unconsciously verbal.

"Truer words were never spoken."

The redhead jumped three or four inches out of her chair. She looked about frantically. James Potter leaned against a nearby bookcase, crooked smirk in place upon his ("Stupid," thought Lily) face.

"Were you eavesdropping?" she demanded in an undertone, so that Mrs. Sevoy would not snap at them.

"Were you talking to yourself?" countered James. Hands in his pockets, he made no effort to lower his volume while he walked towards the table.

Lily frowned. "Don't you have some puppies to drown or something?"

"Are you advocating animal violence?" retorted the other. Solitude was so very, very much more important than enemies.

"Have I ever supported your extracurriculars?" said Lily. "And please don't s..." James took the other chair at the table: "...sit down," finished the redhead with a sigh. "Please, Potter, don't you have anything better to do?"

"Not really. 'Finished all my homework already. So you and Snivellus are friends again, I see."

"Do you?" was her only reply. She kind of liked the fact that this possibility clearly irritated him.

"Well, aren't you?" He tried to appear apathetic, but did not pull it off as well as he had on other occasions. Lily reopened her book.

"But you've already concluded that we are, and _you're_ never wrong, James."

"I don't care one way or the other."

"Evidently."

"I was simply bored, and _you_ can't help but broadcast your personal life all over the library, that's all."

"Well, I would never have suspected that you'd be in the library to see it. Tell me, when did you learn how to read?"

"That's a little mean," James told her blithely.

Lily blinked. Was it? "I'm sorry," she apologized quickly. Her companion gave her a strange look that she could not interpret. At length, his mouth returned to its semi-arrogant smile, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Relax, Snaps. It's not as though I give a damn."

"No, of course not. Why would the _great_ James Potter care that... what did you call me?"

His smirk broadened to a full-out grin while James rose from the table. Without responding to the question, he merely waved and said: "See you around, Snaps." There was triumph in his steps as he walked away.

Snaps.

Snaps?

...

_What_?

(Kevin Sherbatsky's Hair)

"I'm bored," James announced at dinner on Thursday

The three Marauders who accompanied him at said meal sent the Quidditch Captain and de facto leader confused looks. "How can you be bored?" asked Peter, disbelievingly. "We're not even two weeks into school, and we've already had a massive brawl, three attempted suicides, two Ministry investigators, a swarm of other aurors questioning everything that moves, and—in your case—at least two major arguments with Lily Evans and two duels with Nicolai Mulciber."

"Most of that occurred last week," replied James. "The Mulciber bit the other day barely reached dangerous, and there's nothing terribly mesmerizing about a few Ministry stiffs. What's happened _today_? Nothing. Kevin Sherbatsky's hair had a trimming, maybe, but really, I think that's it."

Sirius set down his fork. "You noticed that too? Thank Merlin, I thought I'd gone completely mental for noticing something like that."

"Don't discount the completely mental theory _just_ yet," Remus put in.

"Something needs to happen," James continued. "Something good. The whole... depressing scene... mediocre scores in Potions, people having a go at themselves, massive brawls in the Entrance hall—it's... depressing."

"Does this mean you're going to quit the troubled Bob Dylan routine?" asked Remus hopefully. Peter began to inquire about the reference, but thought better of it and kept his mouth closed.

"If you're attempting to insult me, you probably shouldn't compare me to a complete badass, Moony," said Prongs coolly. "And no. Something else..." Chewing on a potato, James cast his eyes about the Hall for inspiration. It hit him as he eyed the Hufflepuff table. "Do you know what I hate?" he asked.

"Rhetorical questions?" offered Sirius.

"Kevin Sherbatsky's hair," said James. The other Marauders were quiet, uncertain of where this was headed. It was Padfoot that caught on first. He grinned at his best friend.

"Prongs, mate, I haven't had a detention in... ages, it seems."

* * *

"Detention, Mr. Black, this Friday," Professor McGonagall reprimanded the young wizard, as he stood in her office with some vague imitation of remorse. "And you will undoubtedly be glad to know that almost all of Mr. Sherbatsky's hair has been restored."

"Does it look any better?"

"_Black_."

"I'm sorry, Professor," sighed Sirius. "I was just trying to help. Who _wouldn't_ stand to gain from just wiping off all the prat's ha... I mean, giving that dear sweet boy a new chance at... hair. His first try obviously failed."

"I thought you said it was an accident."

"It was. A lucky accident. Fate works in funny ways sometimes, Professor."

"Detention on Friday, Black."

"Right you are, Professor. You look lovely tonight, by the way."

"Out of my office, Black."

"If you insist."

James was waiting outside the door for him. Sirius grinned. "Detention tomorrow," the latter told him, before the former could even ask.

"And was it worth it?" asked the Quidditch Captain, as they started back towards Gryffindor tower.

"Oh, one hundred and ten percent," Sirius assured him. "I can't believe it took him ten minutes to realize that all that abominable hair on his weirdly shaped head was missing."

James grinned. "Why haven't we done anything like this in so long?"

"Because we were on summer holiday and Kevin Sherbatsky's hair wasn't around," said Sirius. "Oh, and because _you_ were in a dreadful mood."

"I had a good excuse."

Sirius looked at him. "Which one—rescuing Carlotta Meloni, Lily Evans being... Lily Evans, or your old man?"

James stopped dead in his tracks, while Sirius continued on. "You _knew_? About Dad..."

"Prongs, subtlety does _not_ run in your family, and I've been living with you for two months. Of course I knew." James caught up with him, as Sirius began to explain: "I mean, realistically, did you expect me to believe the fairytale your Mum barely managed to choke out at the breakfast table, about him going on a business trip—which conveniently lasted till after we had to go back to school? _And, _there's the fact that the only pictures of him in the house remaining by the end of the day were the ones featuring _you_."

"Why didn't you tell me you knew?" James demanded.

"Why didn't you confide in me?"

"Because I'm not a girl. And I asked you first. Why didn't you tell me that you knew?"

"Because you're... you," said Sirius. "And anyway, I hate serious discussions. If you make that a pun, I will slaughter you in your sleep tonight."

"Duly noted. I can't believe you _knew_ and continued to let me lie to you for him."

"It was somewhat amusing, actually."

"Git." James changed tactics. "Anyway, you were completely wrong."

"About what?"

"About what's put me in a bad mood."

"It wasn't Carlotta, Evans, or your old man?"

"Nope."

"What, then?"

"The fact that you moved in with us."

"Git." They reached Gryffindor Common Room. "You know," Sirius continued, before they had given the password to enter; "I feel sort of... short-changed."

"What do you mean?"

"I only got one detention, and I still need another ten to even be in danger of the seventy-five rule. How did that happen, anyway?"

"I've been thinking about it," James replied, "and I think I've figured it out. Remember that... little incident some years ago... the cake, the house elves, Professor Stottlemeyer's treasured cactus..."

Sirius grinned nostalgically. "That was a nice day."

"Well, I took all the blame and had two months of weekend detentions. That's sixteen in total."

"That would follow," agreed the other. "I still feel short-changed, though."

James arched an eyebrow. "Do you want to go back and ask McGonagall for another detention?"

"No, but... er... I hear they've more or less restored Kevin Sherbatsky's hair."

Catching on, Prongs began to grin. "Is that so? God, it seems like such a shame, after the trouble we went through vanishing it."

"My thought's exactly, Prongs."

"I reckon he's down, finishing the dinner that was interrupted by now, Padfoot."

"That would be my guess as well, Prongs."

James bowed. "Shall we, Padfoot?"

"It would be a pleasure, Prongs."

(The Remains of the Day)

"He vanished Kevin Sherbatsky's hair _twice_?" Lily echoed, half-laughing. She checked herself. "That's awful. Really awful. Funny, yes, but awful."

Frank Longbottom nodded in agreement. "Anyway, that's what Sirius Black is in detention for, believe it or not. He seems to be running late, though."

It was true. At a quarter to eight, Sirius was some fifteen minutes late for his detention in the trophy room. Lily arrived promptly, of course (two minutes early, actually), and Frank had been waiting, dust rag in hand, for she was supposed to be polishing trophies without magic. "Of course," Frank had added, "I'm not terribly bright, so I'm sure I wouldn't notice if you bewitched a rag or four to get started on the other end of the room."

Fifteen minutes later, there was significantly more talking than polishing. As the subject of Sirius's detention died, Lily turned away and made a mimic of dusting a Quidditch trophy from 1952. "Listen, Frank," she began slowly, "I've been meaning to ask you something..."

"Go for it," replied the Head Boy, who was snacking on an apple, while seated at a bench near the Prefects' plaques.

"Well, it's about Alice." He said nothing, so she went on: "There's... there's been something off about her lately. You've noticed, yeah?"

"I—er... to tell the truth, I can't say that I have."

"Well, it's just that... that's she's been looking so pale, and she's seemed so weary, you know? Anyway, she spoke to me the other day and mentioned that the two of you have been bickering... God, I hope this isn't prying, I just wanted to make sure everything was all right with you." She looked over her shoulder to face the Head Boy, but he denied eye contact, focusing on the apple in his hand instead.

"Everyone bickers," he replied, distantly and after several seconds. "And Alice and I have been together for a long time. That's just the way it goes..."

Lily felt a weight lift from her shoulders, realizing for the first time that such a weight existed at all. "You know, that's exactly what I told Alice. I mean, she has nothing to fret about... you two have always been so solid and... I mean, God, you're my proof that relationships last. How would I argue with Donna if the two of you called it off?" She smiled, until she noticed that Frank was not.

"Just... just because a couple has history doesn't mean that they're going to be together forever."

Lily's heart sunk. She wanted to scream at him that he and Alice _did_ have to stay together forever... that it was fate and destiny and providence and all those other nice, but decidedly vague concepts. Instead, the prefect bit her lip and her tongue.

"Alice and I," Frank continued, "have been good together for a long time, but this is our last year at Hogwarts and... well, I'm probably going to become an auror, and Alice..."

"But I thought Alice wanted to go into the auror department, too," Lily interrupted. "She had that internship over the holidays, and I know that she really enjoyed it."

Frank hesitated. "Well... nothing... nothing is certain," he imprecisely replied at last. "There's so much going on... so much is changing... nothing's really certain anymore. Right? It's just that..."

"Well, I'm here." Sirius Black announced his presence as he stepped into the trophy room. "You're welcome."

"You're..." Frank cleared his throat uncomfortably, "You're late, Sirius."

"Are you going to tell Professor McGonagall?" The Marauder wanted to know.

"No."

"Frank, mate, you're the greatest Head Boy that ever was and ever will be." Sirius grabbed a dust rag. "And how are you, Lily?"

The prefect, temporarily thrown, tried to think of something she might have to discuss with the new arrival. "I'm fine. Hey, Black, can you tell me what in God's name Potter's new nickname means? Why does he keep calling me 'Snaps?'"

Sirius grinned. "I haven't the faintest, dear," he replied. "Lord only knows what transpires in James's id. 'Course I'll be ecstatic to relay the message that you're curious. He's been a touch petulant lately, since you've been so stubbornly nonchalant about his game."

"Don't tell him," Lily pleaded. "He'll be so smug. You won't, will you?"

"I'll think about it." His handsome smile remained mischievous, and the room grew quiet. "So... what were you all talking about before I arrived?" The Marauder asked, quite innocently. Lily looked at Frank.

"Er... I heard you vanished Kevin Sherbatsky's hair," she managed to say.

Sirius nodded solemnly. "Twice."

(Someone to Give Notice)

Lathe's office was small and cramped, a room given to him in haste so that he could begin his tasks as quickly as possible. With the large, plain desk, two chairs, four black-clad aurors, and Lathe himself—listing off orders for the other four—the room seemed smaller still. Small and busy. Even the walls exuded the same preoccupation and commotion as the actors within them, so that Lily—seated in the chair provided for her—felt she must be the only stationary item in the office. She waited quietly for Lathe to return his attention to her and explain what her role in this drama might be.

At length, the other aurors departed in order to carry out Lathe's requests, and the wizard sat down on his end of the desk.

"Lily Evans, is it?" he asked, glancing at a slip of parchment. Lily nodded. "I'm sorry it's taken me this long to get around to your questioning."

"This is about Carlotta, isn't it?" asked Lily.

"Hmm, yes." He flicked through some papers. "You've already submitted your memory of the morning of September second for pensieve review, I believe."

"That's right."

"Well, then I just have a few more questions." He set aside his papers. "Tell me every single detail you know about Carlotta Meloni."

Lily blinked. "Every detail? No offense, Mr. Lathe, but—I don't know Carlotta nearly as well as other girls or... boys... do. Shelley Mumps..."

"Michelle Mumps has given her testimony," Lathe told her. "She was, unfortunately, hysterical. I wanted to talk to someone who I thought would be capable of connecting words... you're a prefect and were directly involved with the incident; you also share a dorm with Miss Meloni. You were the logical selection."

"Oh."

"Additionally," he went on, keeping his tone eternally business-like and yet with a touch of inexplicable irony, "I read the detention report on your altercation with a boy called... Mulciber." Lily averted her eyes. "Did you really punch him?"

"That's... that's what they say."

"Hmm... Well, I met Mulciber. Twice, actually. Once unwittingly and once to question him. He was a witness to the girl who jumped into the lake." Lily awaited verdict. In an even, non-indulgent and non-amused voice, he said: "I would've punched him too."

Lily tried not to smile; she wasn't entirely certain whether or not she ought to fear Lathe. "Now," the auror continued, "I need details. Anything you can think of... anything odd that occurred that morning or the night before... any strange conversation with Miss Meloni..."

"Well," began Lily, "Carlotta didn't come back to the dorm, that night... not that we could tell, anyway. She wasn't there when the rest of went to sleep, and Shelley said that she woke up in the middle of the night, and Carlotta's bed was all made up. But... you probably knew that already...?" Lathe nodded. "And... er... as for Carlotta, she... she's nice, I suppose. We're not great friends, but we've always gotten on well. She's... sort of... er… _modern_? You know... that's why we weren't that shocked when she didn't come back to the dormitory that night. Do you see what I...?"

"Right, yes."

"And... she's... she..." Lily searched her brain for some information on Carlotta, but only trivial things seemed to come to mind. "She meditates every morning. She likes to sleep in on weekends. She... drinks green tea. She's a vegetarian. She..."

"A vegetarian?" Lathe interrupted suddenly.

"She doesn't eat meat."

"I'm aware of the word's meaning," replied the other. "It's simply that I've conducted five other character interviews on Miss Meloni, and not one of the others has mentioned that she is a vegetarian." He scribbled something on a slip of parchment.

"Is it important?" asked Lily.

"Oh, I have no clue." He shrugged. "Is there anything else?"

Lily shook her head. "Not really. I spoke with her briefly on the train that day. She was... fine. Normal. Just... Carlotta."

Lathe was quiet for a time, before asking: "What can you tell me about Adam McKinnon?"

"He's Keeper for our Quidditch team," replied Lily. "And he... er... well, I can't really think of anything relevant."

"Would you have guessed that Carlotta's vegetarianism was relevant?" Lily admitted that she wouldn't. "Well, then...?"

"It's about what girl he fancies," elaborated the redhead. "I'm _pretty _sure that's not relevant."

Lathe shook his head. "No, that's not relevant," he agreed. "Nothing else?"

Lily thought carefully. "Well, Adam had been missing for a few hours before... well, before he tried to jump off the Astronomy Tower. I know _that_ much, because my friend Marlene said that he didn't show up for Care of Magical Creatures class after lunch." Lathe scribbled something on another slip of parchment. "Besides that, I can't really think of anything."

"Alright. Thank-you. I suppose you can leave now... I won't waste anymore of your Saturday evening." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully with one finger, while staring at the page before him. "If you think of anything else, just write it down and paste it to my door."

"Right, of course." Lily got up from her chair.

"And if you could send in the next student..." Lathe added, with a nod towards the door, on the other side of which a number of would-be witnesses awaited their own questioning.

"Absolutely."

She stepped outside. At the front of the short queue, a thin Hufflepuff boy with mousy brown hair and large eyes stood, nervously cracking his knuckles as he waited for what he seemed to believe would be a sentencing ceremony.

"I think you're next," Lily told him encouragingly. "Don't worry. He's nice."

"Honestly?" asked the Hufflepuff. "'Cause I heard Donna Shacklebolt talking about him in the Library yesterday, and she said some terrible things."

"Donna Shacklebolt would have terrible things to say about Santa Claus," Lily remarked, patting him on the shoulder. He smiled weakly. "Just go in. It'll be fine." He complied, and Lily started back towards the Common Room.

(The Other Problem)

Laughing, Marlene pulled away just long enough to ask: "Miles, what time is it?"

It was Saturday night, and the pair stood in the fourth floor corridor, Marlene against the wall and Miles showering his girlfriend with kisses. "I don't know—does it matter?"

"Miles, please," argued the other, smiling nonetheless. "I have to go at seven o'clock. What time is it?" He was too busy to reply, however, and Marlene grabbed his wrist to check the time herself.

"Shit," she swore, pulling away again. "Miles, it's quarter to eight."

"C'mon Marly," sighed the Ravenclaw, stroking her arm. "You can be a little late for your... studying appointment." This he said with great distaste.

"I can't," protested Marlene. "I've stood up my friends too many times this week already. You've been so touchy lately..."

"I haven't been touchy," replied Miles touchily. "I've been perfectly nice, haven't I? Have I said one mean thing, or..."

"Not touchy like _that_," interrupted the Gryffindor. "Touchy like with your _hands_." Wrapping her arms around his neck, Marlene gave him what she thoroughly intended to be a goodbye kiss. "Alright, now you be good, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Miles slipped his arms around her back. "But, Marly, you can study with _me. _C'mon, we'll go to the Library and everything."

"Right, because it's definitely _studying_ that you've got on your mind, isn't it?" Marlene smiled, pushing a stray lock of hair behind one ear. "Miles, please, I've got to..."

"But, Marly, curfew's coming soon anyway. You'll have to go to the Common Room then, and I won't be able to see you at all. You can study with your friends, _then..."_

"But..."

"And besides, I'm your boyfriend... your boyfriend for two whole years..."

He gave her the most pleading expression Marlene thought she'd ever seen him wear before, and she relented. "Just half an hour more, alright?"

Smiling, ear to ear, he kissed her again.

_(In the Common Room)_

The Gryffindor Common Room was crowded that night. The fire blazed, and with both Carlotta and Adam returned to their dormitories, it at last seemed permissible to laugh out loud. Thus, most of Gryffindor house had gathered in the Common Room, and everything—it seemed—had returned to normal.

Chess tournaments, Gobstones games, and intense rounds of Exploding Snap abounded throughout the room, everyone chatting loudly—for once about completely normal adolescent things. It was to this scene that James arrived, coming from the dormitory where Remus currently rested, for he was feeling ill. The Quidditch Captain gave the room a once-over in search of some character of interest. Sirius, Peter, and Lily were all absent, but Adam McKinnon sat in a chair by the fire, with a scroll of parchment and his Potions book.

James took a seat nearby. "Working on an essay on a Saturday night, McKinnon?" he asked, running a hand though his messy black hair. "Careful, there, too much excitement isn't healthy."

"Funny," replied Adam. "I don't see _you_ hanging from any chandeliers."

"My mates have deserted me," James told him. "So, are you... y'know... feeling alright? No more suicidal urges?"

Adam looked at him. "Tact isn't your thing, is it?"

"'Fraid not."

The other shrugged. "Well, I'm alright. You know, just getting used to the fact that second years point at me when they pass in the corridors."

"Mmmm, people point at me too," sighed James. "But for entirely different reasons. A nice quick Levicorpus would put an end to it."

"Yes," said Adam dryly, "Because that's worked out so well for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Mean? Oh, nothing."

James raised his eyebrows. "What about _you_, McKinnon? Studying alone? Isn't Marlene Price your usual study partner? I wonder where she's got to..." He looked about the Common Room as if in search.

"I have no idea where Marlene is," Adam answered firmly.

"Don't you?" muttered James.

"What?"

"_What?"_

Adam frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Mean? Oh, nothing." The two boys looked at each other for a moment. "I'm going to let you get back to that essay," James said at last, rising.

"Good luck finding your mates," said Adam.

With a nod, James departed the sofa. Shortly thereafter, the portrait hole opened and Marlene Price commandeered his former seat. She was apologizing profusely for something, but Adam bore no traces of resentment. James shook his head knowingly and was considering conning some fifth years out of a few galleons playing Exploding Snap, when someone tapped his shoulder.

"Hi, Alice."

"Hi, James," replied Alice Griffiths, looking somewhat frazzled. "Have you seen Frank anywhere?" The Quidditch Captain told her he had not. "Shoot. Well, thanks anyway. Maybe he had a prefect meeting or something..."

James would have told her that there was no prefect meeting scheduled for that night (Remus almost _never _missed prefects meetings, no matter how ill he felt), but he had no chance to do so, as she hurried away immediately. She disappeared out the portrait hole, and it had not yet closed behind her when Sirius slipped through into the Common Room.

"About time," said James, going over to his friend. "Where in God's name did you _go?"_

"Tea," replied Sirius.

"It's a little late, isn't it?"

"With Uncle A."

"Uncle A?" echoed James. "That's stupid." Then, the humor of the situation stuck him. "Do you realize, you've just had tea with a teacher? You're practically an attention-starved prefect now. I reckon they'll make you Head Boy next year!"

"Sod off, Potter. He's not a _real_ teacher; he's my uncle." They took seats in the closest approximation to a corner that the circular room possessed. "He's practically my only sane relative, you know. I ought to represent every once in a while."

James grinned, which Sirius interpreted as mocking and responded to with a slap on the back of the head.

They sat, conversing about whatever came to mind for a while, before Peter Pettigrew arrived—via the kitchens—and took a seat with them. "How were the house elves, then?" asked Sirius. "And what did you bring us?"

Peter handed over a tray of desert left-overs. "They didn't have anything left from the Welcoming Feast," he informed Sirius. "Though I don't know why you'd want _eleven-day-old_ food."

"The Welcoming Feast food is superior, that's why," replied Mr. Padfoot. "They order half of the pieces specially made from Hogsmeade, you know."

"No, we didn't know," said James. "And we're kind of frightened that you _did_."

"I pay attention to what I eat," Sirius said indignantly. "Don't hate me for my enhanced knowledge."

* * *

Lily returned to the Common Room from an evening walk with Mary and Donna at about half past eight. Less restful than agitating, the majority of the walk had been an argument between Lily and Donna concerning the auror Lathe.

"He's not bad!" Lily protested. "_Poppyfield,"_ she added to the Fat Lady, who swung her portrait forward in response to the correct password, allowing the three witches entrance to Gryffindor Tower. "He was intelligent and easy-going. I liked him."

"He was rude," replied Donna. "He kept saying that _I_..."

"You just can't take criticism," Mary interjected. "It's true, Don, because you usually do everything perfectly so if anyone dares to make a correction, you form a grudge. It's probably why you dislike Professor Slughorn."

"I _can_ take correction," snapped the other. "How else would I tolerate hanging out with you all the time, Macdonald? You're always picking on me."

"Please," scoffed Mary. "In the last ten minutes, you've told me my cosmetics make me look like a professional tart, my taste in men encourages that theory, and these shoes are unflattering for my legs. _I'm_ always picking on _you_?"

"I said the make up made you _look _like a professional tart," said Donna. "Not that you actually _were_. That's scarcely mean at all."

Lily steered them all towards the fireplace, but the number of students in the Common Room at the moment made seating unavailable. "You see, Donna," said the redhead, "this is what I was trying to tell you the other morning. You don't have to win every single conversation."

"I'm just defending myself."

"No, you're turning it into an argument. Like Potter always does, right? He takes a simple thing like a greeting and turns it into a competition... by giving a stupid nickname that he _knows_ you won't be able to figure out, but won't be able to ask him about because that means he wins... because he made it a competition."

"We're not talking about me anymore, are we?" asked Donna.

"Sometimes," Lily reiterated, "you have to let things go."

Donna scowled. "But winning is so... _nice_."

Lily nodded and patted her friend on the shoulder sympathetically.

"Hey, Snaps," said a new voice, and Potter appeared with it. He grinned cheerfully at her, as though they were the best of friends. "Had a good day, did you?"

"I'm not going to ask," said Lily coldly. "Sorry, Potter, you lose, because _I don't care_ what your stupid little nickname means." She really _tried_ to mean it.

"Are you sure, Snaps?"

"Yes."

"Because you say I just lost, but it feels an awful lot like winning. Especially since you asked Sirius to tell you what it meant."

Lily scowled at Black. "You said you wouldn't tell."

"I said I'd think about it," replied Sirius defensively. "And it's a force of habit telling James everything... it just sort of slipped out. He looked so joyful when I told him... like a little tyke at Christmas."

James punched his friend in the shoulder.

"I'm going to bed," Lily announced, ignoring the fact that it was not yet nine o'clock. "Good night, all." She started to leave.

"That's sort of rude," James observed.

"Well, every time I'm polite to you, _you're _a complete prat," retorted the redhead. "I've resolved not to be fooled by the hope that maybe, this time, you'll actually wear a display of humanity."

Unfazed, James nodded sagely: "Good idea, Snaps."

Sirius sighed and turned to Peter: "This could go on indefinitely—care to join me in conning some fifth years out of a few galleons?"

"Exploding Snap?" asked Peter, brightening up.

"Of course."

"You lot know how to cheat at Exploding Snap?" asked Donna, clearly awed. Sirius nodded.

"Can we join?" asked Mary.

"If you think you can tear yourselves away from this intriguing entertainment." Sirius nodded towards the still bickering James and Lily.

"We'll manage."

The four of them departed, but neither James nor Lily took notice of the fact. "Oh please," the latter was scoffing. "Can you just... for the shortest of seconds, pretend that your unbelievably massive ego will allow the infinitesimally small brain in your head to wrap around the concept that the vastness of the universe does not, contrary to your appallingly apparent belief, revolve around _you_?"

"God, Snaps, I don't need your life story! What is it they say about brevity and wit?"

"Don't quote Shakespeare at me." (As though he had blasphemed) "You're not allowed to quote Shakespeare at me. _I_ own Shakespeare... you're just a posing git."

"I don't even know what Shakespeare _is_. What is your problem, anyway?"

"Mostly? Mostly it's just _you_, actually, Potter!"

"The extent of your self-righteousness never fails to amaze and bewilder me, Snaps."

"The ABCs never fail to amaze and bewilder _you_."

"Oh, _I'm_ sorry... _what_ did you get on your O.W.L.s again? Was it... seven O's? Wait. No. That was _me_."

"My Merlin, _really_? I don't think you told anyone yet... except for once every ten minutes since you stepped onto the platform!"

"Funny." He smirked. "At least I have something to brag _about._"

Lily exhaled heavily. "This is stupid," she said at length. "I'm not doing this anymore. I'm not fighting with you. I'm not talking with you. I'm ignoring you. Everyone will be _so_ much better off if we just _don't interact._"

"Fine with me, Snaps."

With a final glare, Lily turned on her heel and started up to her dormitory. She stopped before reaching the stairway.

Snaps.

Turning once again to face Potter, Lily now had a smile on her face. James did not know why, but it was a little intimidating (somewhat fantastic, too). She walked back towards him. "Gingersnaps," she said. He blinked. "Gingersnaps... ginger-biscuits... the desert." She pointed to her hair. "_Ginger_. Snaps." Sarcastically: "_Clever_."

James began to grin. "Bravo."

"Working out the recesses of your brain really is simple," Lily noted, faux sweet. "I should've known it involved food." She turned and once again made her way towards her dormitory, reminding herself to tell Donna later on that she had been right.

Winning was nice.

* * *

**A/N: **not my favorite, but rather significant in the long run. I'd feel guilty for the mediocrity, but I've already started on the next chapter and some parts of it make me so happy that I'm sure you will be compensated.

Love to the anonymous reviewers: _**Great! **_(thank-you... you're great! Ha ha ha that was funny. No. It wasn't. I'm sorry. I'll shut up.), _**underbabe**_ (glad you're enjoying... not too much Lily-James "moments" here, but I can guarantee some in the next chapter), _**Queen Moanna**_ (so glad! Yes, someone needs to smack James... he'll come to his senses eventually), and _**anon**_ (thanks, will do).

Reviews keep the doctor away.

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	5. The Shape of Things to Come

**A/N: **There are some parts of this chapter that_ I_ even admit to loving. Hopefully you will agree!

Frank and Alice lovers: fear not, for I, too, adore this made-for-each-other couple! However, all fictional true love deserves drama!!

oh, and there's a scene in here which I feels like maybe I wrote something similar in ITISNS, but I really can't be sure... taking after JKR herself, I'll just hope that no one who read that will actually go through those mammoth chapters and check (I swear, she just MADE STUFF UP at the end of "Deathly Hallows").

**Disclaimer: **JKR and The Beatles: great, si, but I own neither.

By the way, I NEVER update this quickly, as anyone who read _Shaken, Not Stirred_ can tell you... I ought to be conditioning readers to get used to long waits, but I just didn't have the heart not to update while I had this chapter completely finished. Thank you to the wonderful reviewers!

Chapter 5- "The Shape of Things to Come"

Or

"_Revolution"_

The night sky stretched out, a regal portrait of diamond studded black velvet. Over the forest, a few milky clouds gathered, and a chilly wind swept through the grounds, every blade of grass quivering, every leaf rustling. Lily closed her eyes, breathing deeply and leaning slightly further over the window frame. The cold, the dark, the stars, the flecks of light in the glassy lake—they were beautiful. They were among the most beautiful things Lily could imagine. She was in love with scenery, but this had to end.

"Lily, are you awake?" came Marlene's voice from her own bed, and Lily turned to see her friend, peering through her bed curtains. She was still mostly asleep. "This is the fourth night in a row."

It was the third, but Lily did not argue the point. "Go back to sleep, Mar."

"_Lily_..." But the blonde was already obeying, closing the curtains and collapsing onto her pillow, so that Lily could hear the faint _thump_. She smiled weakly.

The third night in a row.

The third sleepless, beautiful, wearisome night in a row.

The seventh that month.

Two weeks ago, Lily had watched October arrive from the exact same window in the girls' dormitory, and in another two weeks she would—no doubt—be watching it fade in favor of November. Sighing, Lily rested her chin in her hands and closed her eyes, praying for sleep... just five or six hours...

_"Lily!"_ called a voice from the abyss, and Lily turned her head away. She didn't want to heed it. She didn't want to be called away from this... "_Lily, it's eight thirty!"_

Shit.

Lily's eyes flew open, and Carlotta Meloni was standing over her, hands on her perfectly slim hips, while one brown eyebrow was arched. "You slept on the windowsill again, Lily," said Carlotta, as Lily stumbled to her feet.

"Damn it. Eight thirty did you say?"

Carlotta nodded.

"Where are the others?"

"They went down to breakfast forty five minutes ago. They told me to wake you at eight, but I was in the shower and..."

"No, it's fine."

Lily looked around the dormitory, trying to find her school clothes. Carlotta, with a slight smile on her rosy lips, pointed to Lily's trunk. "_Thanks_," said the prefect, grabbing her clothes and heading for the vanity desk. She started on make-up.

"You know," Carlotta began, sitting on a bed, "I'd be careful, if I were you."

"What do you mean?" asked Lily, only half paying attention. She hastily ran the mascara brush up her thick black eyelashes.

"Well, I read this book once, and it said that if you're loosing sleep for no reason, it's because your spirit knows that something is about to happen."

Lily looked at Carlotta in her looking glass reflection. "Something bad?"

"Probably," said the brunette. "Something big, that's for certain."

"Oh. Well, this probably has nothing to do with that... I mean, school has been really stressful lately and all."

"Right." Carlotta nodded, running a hand over her smooth dark hair. "I'm sure this is nothing like that." She was quiet for a time.

Lily bit her lip. "What about you, Carlotta? Are you... losing sleep?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine." But Carlotta's voice seemed of a higher pitch than usual. "Nothing serious, considering... you know, what happened in September."

Knowing she was running late, but also knowing that she had some obligation to the girl that had woken her this morning, Lily pressed: "What's the matter, Carlotta? Is something wrong with school?"

"No, no... it's just... stupid. Boy trouble, you know."

"Boy trouble? You? Carlotta... dear... what boy has ever rejected _you_?"

The brunette laughed (even _that_ was perfect). "I spent some time with this chap over holidays," she began, positively glowing. "He's... sweet and fantastic but... I'm not his type."

"Is he gay?"

"_No_."

"Then you're his type, Carlotta."

"So you think I should... pursue it?"

"If you like him, and if you think he could like you, why not?"

Carlotta beamed. "Thank you, Lily. I can't talk to Shelley about this sort of thing... she doesn't understand how anybody can fancy a bloke that isn't James Potter."

"That obsession hasn't died?" sighed Lily. Carlotta shook her head.

"I'll see you in class, Lily."

"Right. See you."

"And... Lily... I'm sure nothing bad will happen."

She floated out of the room, and Lily watched her go. Once alone, the redhead looked into the mirror and stared at her sleep deprived reflection. Carlotta had a lot of strange ideas... this "not sleeping" bit was probably just one of those. This was probably just...

Eight thirty four.

"Shit," Lily swore, finishing the mascara on her other eye. If she didn't hurry up, something bad would _definitely_ happen, no mystery about it...

_(Something)_

"You're late," said McGonagall, as Lily slid into a desk.

"Just barely," pleaded the Gryffindor. McGonagall sent her a warning look, but said nothing else on the matter.

"As I was saying before the interruption," the older witch went on, "Non-verbal transformations are especially difficult. However, while it is _easier _verbalizing the words, there is less room for error when using a non-verbal spell. Thus, attempting human transformations with vocal spells may be more difficult, but it will be no more dangerous. That is why I have decided that you will start preliminary exercises on human transformation this week and then continue on to non-verbal human transformations next Wednesday. Now, I _know_ that most of you still prefer to lean on the crutch of voicing the spell, but as sixth years, it is no longer practical for this to be your sole means of casting magic. All the teachers will be implementing silent spell casting into their classes, when applicable..." Here, most of the class groaned, "...and it _will_ appear on your N.E.W.T.s next year. Notebooks out..."

She drew her wand and flicked it once—a stick of chalk appeared, and began to scribble on the blackboard. Lily took out her notebook and turned to Mary, with whom she shared a desk.

"Great—I'm rotten at non-verbal spells and now we'll be doing them in _all_ our classes."

"Mhm..." But Mary did not seem to be listening. "Lily, who's that bloke that's been hanging around Adam McKinnon so much lately?"

Lily looked towards the area of Mary's interest and noted the skinny, large eyed Hufflepuff she had encountered outside of Lathe's office weeks ago. "I don't know his name," Lily admitted. "But I think he's the bloke who spotted Adam trying to jump off the Astronomy Tower. I've only spoken to him two or three times. Why do you ask?" When Mary did not immediately answer, Lily added: "He's not exactly your type, is he?"

"No. Oh, God, no." Mary winced. "It's not that... but he sent me the oddest look when I was coming into the classroom this morning."

"Quiet, please," called McGonagall irritably, and every chattering student in the room was silenced. "Thank-you."

When the bell rang in indication of the class' completion, Lily rose with the others and—with the others—battled towards the door. The corridor was predictably packed, but Lily was in no rush: she had a free period and planned to spend it napping in the Common Room. She let out a great yawn and waited for the traffic to lift. She had just reached the sixth floor, when she noticed a large group of students gathered around the notice board.

"Have they finally posted Quidditch try outs?" Donna, who walked beside Lily, wondered aloud. Mary had disappeared to visit a Ravenclaw bloke she was seeing, and Marlene was no where to be found. "Potter's been having us practice for a week with no seeker. C'mon let's take a look."

The two girls pushed their way towards the notice board.

"Someone take them down!" a young girl was saying, in hushed tones. "If Dumbledore sees it..."

"Nonsense, Dumbledore must already know about it," an older boy replied. "Nothing goes on without Dumbledore knowing..."

"Don't be naïve, Bertie," snapped someone else. "We have to take them down!"

"I don't see what's so bad, anyway. It's just someone's opinion, that's all."

"You shut up, Kelly. Take them down, Bertie. You're a prefect!"

"Take _what_ down?" Lily asked loudly, but her question was answered as she reached the notice board. A dozen sheets of parchment were pinned up, covering the entire surface, with bold black lettering the read:

**THE DARK LORD RISES.**

Lily's heart skipped a beat. Then, breathing deeply, she tore down one of the sheets. She tore another and another, and with Donna's help, had them all down in a few seconds. Turning to the others, Lily said coldly: "If you see _any_ more of these, report it to a teacher _immediately_, is that understood?"

Everyone was silent. At length, a fifth year prefect by the name of Bertram Aubrey coughed loudly, and said: "Lily, are... are you joking?"

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you seen...?"

"Seen _what_?" asked Lily impatiently.

"The... the signs." He pointed to the end of the corridor. The wall, running perpendicular to the corridor in which they stood was covered, floor to ceiling, with the signs. The Dark Lord Rises.

"They're in our Common Room, too," a second year volunteered.

"Why haven't the teachers seen?" asked Lily

"They weren't here this morning," someone told them. "I only noticed them after first period."

"Me, too."

"Yeah, so did I."

"Someone should tell the teachers," said Donna.

"They'll be in class," said Bertram. "The bell is about to ring at any moment."

"Don't you think they _might_ think this is worth missing a little class for?" asked Lily dryly. Bertram blushed. "Alright, everyone—get to your next class. We have a free period now; we'll tell the teachers."

The crowd slowly dispersed. Lily turned to Donna. "I have a job for you, and you're not going to like it, but if it's any comfort, I'm not going to enjoy my job any more than you are."

Donna frowned. "I _really_ do not like the sound of that."

* * *

_Knock, knock_.

Donna's fist wrapped hastily on the office door, and a moment later, a weary voice from within called: "_Yes_?"

She opened the door and stepped inside. Jack Lathe sat at his desk one hand in his hair and the other flipping through a large stack of papers.

"Can I help you?" he asked, not looking up from his work.

"There's something... er... something that's been happening around the school, that I thought you should know about."

"Does it have to do with the investigation on Miss Meloni, Mr. McKinnon, and..."

"No."

"Then why would I have to know about it?" he asked, looking up and raising his eyebrows. Donna pulled a folded up paper from her pocket and, unfolding it, set it upon his desk. The four black words stared up at Lathe, and he at them. Then he met Donna's eye and asked, quiet seriously: "Where?"

"All around."

Lathe got to his feet, grabbing a cloak and throwing it around his shoulders. "Has someone told Dumbledore yet? The staff?"

"Someone... someone is telling Dumbledore right now."

(_Don't Let Me Down)_

It was the quietest walk James had ever taken, that trip to Dumbledore's office. Lily's strides were brisk, no doubt with the dual purpose of reaching the Headmaster's office quickly and keeping just ahead of her companion. The silence between them was too thick and uncomfortable to even be awkward. It was just _quiet_. They reached the statue of the griffin which both students knew to be the entrance into Dumbledore's office.

"Alright, then," prompted Lily, after a moment. "Are you going to... y'know...?"

"Oh, right." James thought briefly. "Peppermint Toads," he said at length. They waited. The griffin remained stationary.

Lily's hands found their way to her hips. "I thought you said you could get in."

"That was the password last week!" James replied defensively. "And don't snap at me. You came and dragged me out of a perfectly good chess match..."

"Remus was creaming you, and this is more important. Plus, you _lied_ to me..."

"I didn't lie to you, Snaps. You asked if I knew how to get into Dumbledore's office—which I do—and if I knew the password—which I _thought_ I did."

Lily shook her head. "Fine. Fine, return to your precious chess game, and I'll go find McGonagall."

James crossed his arms. "You're giving up that easily? Pathetic."

"What?"

"So I don't know the password! So what?"

"So we can't get in."

James cocked his head. "Oh ye of little faith." He turned to the griffin. "Jelly slugs." Nothing happened. "Licorice Wands. Bon-Bons. Chocolate Cauldrons... _Vanilla _Cauldrons. Er..."

"Seriously, Potter? This is your plan?"

"Stop griping and help."

Lily frowned. "Ice mice," she said. Nothing happened. "This is stupid. I'm getting McGonagall."

"After you've tried so hard to guess the password?" asked James sarcastically. "Cockroach Clusters? Really, Snaps, give it a _chance_."

"Fine. Sugar plum fairies."

"Not bad. Caramel Quaffles."

"Tooth-flossing Stringmints."

"Gross. Acid Pops."

"Dark Chocolate Dragons."

"Drooble's Chewing Gum."

"Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans."

"Sugar Quills."

"Fudge Flies."

The griffin creaked. Slowly, it began to revolve, opening up to reveal a stairway. James bowed. "Congratulations, Snaps."

Lily smiled. Then she stopped herself. "Stop that," she ordered. He raised his eyebrows.

"Stop what?"

"Being nice."

"You want me to be mean?"

"I want you to be consistent."

"When am I mean?"

"I am not going to dignify that with an answer."

James shrugged. "Fine. Whatever." And just like that, the moody James returned. "I'll see you around, Snaps." Hands in his pockets, he began to leave.

"Aren't—aren't you coming to see Dumbledore?" Lily called after him.

He paused, looking back at her apathetically. "What do I care if some Slytherin idiot is putting up Voldemort propaganda? Sticks and stones, right?" There was a trace of that crooked grin on his face as he started to go.

"I thought it was called 'standing up for the right thing,'" Lily challenged. James shook his head.

"No. You've got it mixed... it's called 'picking you battles.'"

"I guess we'll never end up picking the same battles, you and I," said Lily.

"I guess not."

_(A Day in the Life)_

"Have you been sleeping alright, Lily-Flower?"

This, from Luke, as the pair sat in the library on Friday evening. Lily looked up at her boyfriend, biting her lip. "Why do you ask?"

"Marlene said you'd been up a lot," he replied, taking her hand.

"Oh. Oh, right. No, yeah I've been going through a little insomnia, that's all."

"Is something wrong?"

Lily realized Luke wanted to talk, so she had no chance at finishing her Transfiguration Essay just now. She pushed the books aside and rested her chin on her hand, her elbow propped up on the table the couple shared. "I suppose it's the stress from school. And with those posters appearing around the school... that was a bit of a scare, you know?"

"Oh, you shouldn't let that get to you," said Luke. "Really, Flower, it's nonsense, what a couple of overenthusiastic, old-fashioned types can get around to." Seeing that the problem was of such little significance, Luke returned to his own homework. Lily was less than satisfied.

"Luke," she began slowly, "The death eater movement is more than a few 'overenthusiastic, old-fashioned types' running around posting paper on bulletin boards... you know that, right?"

"Hmmm… barely. Say, do you know what three potions can be used to sooth the symptoms of Dragon Pox?

"Luke," pressed his girlfriend earnestly, "This Voldemort wizard... he's serious. He has enough support that he could pose a serious threat to..."

"Lily, his supporters are a bunch of rich old wizards and some hot-blooded teenagers. You have nothing to worry about."

"I have _everything_ to worry about," Lily protested. "Luke, these people have serious support. Did you know that before the actual killings started, forty-two percent of the wizard population said they thought Voldemort had the right idea?"

"That's just some statistic, Flower," said Luke, stroking her hand soothingly. "Really, you have to understand that a lot of wizards think that our world would be better if everyone was the same, and you can't exactly _blame_ them..."

"The same," echoed Lily coldly. "Pureblood, you mean? Everyone's _not_ the same, Luke. That's life. What are you supposed to do—kill the muggleborns?"

"No, Lily of course not! No!"

"Quiet in the library!" snapped the librarian, Mrs. Sevoy, stepping over towards their table. They lowered their tones, and Luke went on:

"Obviously it's impossible to make everyone the same," he whispered. "But everything would be simpler if there were some way..." Lily opened her mouth to protest, but he went on: "if there were some way to make everyone pureblood... or so that no muggles inherited the magical trait, there would be no more warring in our world. You have to see how that would be appealing to some people, Flower."

Lily took a moment to find her voice. "Luke," she said, slowly because she had not felt this much anger inside of her for quite a long time, "if no 'muggles' as you put it, could inherit the magical trait, _I_ wouldn't be sitting here right now."

"Well, it's all hypothetical, so what does it matter? You _are_ sitting here now... that's the important thing." He smiled benignly at her.

"It's _not_ all hypothetical—sorry, Mrs. Sevoy—it's _not_ all hypothetical, don't you see? It's in practice... Voldemort, the death eaters... that's the manifestation of those ideas. And you can't make everyone the same... people will always have differences in... intelligence, talents, opinions. That's what being human _is_... nuance, flaws..."

"But, Lily," said Luke, as though speaking to a young child, "we're not just human. We're magic. We're witches and wizards... that's something different then just _human_."

"We're still flawed," said Lily, her tone utterly stony now. She rose from the table.

"Where are you going, Lily-Flower?" the Ravenclaw asked, genuinely confused.

"I'm... I'm suddenly very hungry. I'm going to dinner."

"It's not even five thirty!"

But Lily shoved her school supplies into her book bag and hurried out of the library. She walked briskly down the corridors, not quite sure where she was headed. How could someone be so stupid? How could someone completely misunderstand the world? How could he honestly believe that magic had dissolved the faults of the species? How could be so oblivious to everything?

She was nearly jogging by the time she reached the third floor, and it was there that she noticed a large group of fourth years, chatting loudly. The prefect slowed down in an attempt to regain composure, and as she passed the group, she heard her name.

"Lily!" A boy with curly hair, whom Lily recognized as Alice Griffiths' younger brother, raced up to her. "Lily, there are more..."

He pointed to a bulletin board, which had been obscured by the fourth years until now. With the same white parchment and black ink, a new message was spelled out.

**THE DARK LORD IS COMING TO HOGWARTS.**

* * *

When Lily found McGonagall five minutes later on the ground floor, the teacher already knew. "They're all over the castle," sighed the professor wearily. "We're taking them down, now. If anyone panics, try to calm them down or send them to Healer Holloway for a potion. I'm very sorry, Lily, but I must go..."

McGonagall slipped past her, up the marble stairway. Lily had never seen her so pale.

Now alone with a group of other students, the redhead looked about for one of her friends. She located Alice Griffiths and Frank Longbottom near the Great Hall and made her way towards them.

"Frank and I noticed them first," Alice explained. "We were just coming from the infirmary—Frank had a headache—and we noticed them all over the wall outside. We were the ones who fetched McGonagall..."

"How could they just appear all over the castle in the middle of the day?" Lily wondered. Alice was silent, and Frank shook his head. Sighing, Lily followed the pair into the Great Hall. She already knew that sleep would not come tonight.

_(It Won't Be Long)_

**SOON, BLOOD PURITY**

"Well you have to admit," James Potter pointed out, reading the newest message, which appeared at lunch on Monday, "It's not as threatening as the others."

Lily looked over her shoulder where James stood, leaning casually against the wall, and she crumpled up the parchment she had saved. The staff was already in the process of removing all the others by magic.

"In fact," he continued, as she started down the corridor, and he followed a step behind, "if you take it completely out of context, it could be a nice little reference to curing diseases or something. Soon, our blood will be disease-less..."

"What do you want, Potter?" Lily asked with a sigh.

"Mostly, I'm enjoying just bothering you," he admitted. Lily said nothing. "Say, Snaps, what's the matter with you, anyway?"

Lily stopped. She smoothed out the parchment, and read aloud: "Soon, blood purity. Merlin, Potter, what do you _think_ is wrong with me?"

"I'm not talking about that... you look like you haven't slept in about a year."

"Have you been talking to Marlene too, then? I wish she would stop telling everyone she sees that..."

"Marlene hasn't said a word to me. You just look like shit, that's all."

"That's sweet."

"I'm just saying."

They rounded the corner, on the other side of which Professor McGonagall and Jack Lathe—the auror—stood in quiet counsel. Lily spotted them before they had any opportunity to see her, and the young witch immediately doubled back, pulling James with her.

"Lord, Evans, you're not even going to buy me dinner first?"

"Shhh!" Lily shushed, peering around the corner.

"What are you doing?" James whispered.

"Eavesdropping."

"Mmm, classy."

"Shhh!"

Lily moved a little closer to the corner. "Minerva, I understand your position," Lathe was saying, "But I really don't think that this falls under the realm of my investigation. These messages are children's games... sick and distorted, yes, but I'm almost certain that they don't pertain to my investigation."

"Almost, Mr. Lathe," said McGonagall.

"I _can't_. I don't even have a lead on the first investigation..."

"Might not this be a lead?"

"_No_."

"Mr. Lathe..."

"Listen, Professor McGonagall, if I think that I can somehow find time to look into the matter while I'm..."

"Thank-you."

The click of McGonagall's shoes on the stone floor could be heard, growing quieter and quieter. Lily peered around the corner, just in time to see Lathe heading in their direction. She whipped back around the corner, but Lathe continued walking past, without paying them any heed.

James looked at her. "Usually, Snaps, when you eavesdrop, you're trying to find out information that isn't completely dull and useless."

"Is that why everything you say is dull and useless?" asked Lily sweetly. "To avoid eavesdroppers?"

Sure that neither McGonagall nor Lathe was about, Lily started down the corridor once more. James followed.

"Do you know what I find strange?" he mused, hands in his pockets and as he wore an expression of thoughtful but passing interest. "The fact that these messages appear in the middle of the day, at completely random times, and yet no one is seen putting them up. In fact, they're not even seen appearing."

Lily was silent, so he continued in the same, practically apathetic tone. "It makes me think that they're put up during the night, you know? Yeah, whoever's doing it sneaks around in the middle of the night—dodging the faculty and Ministry patrols, because those are about as complex as Snivellus's hair care regiment—and then vanishing them... timed, so they reappear at the exact moment that he or she or they want them to." James glanced at Lily out of the corner of his eye, knowing that he had her full attention now.

"You've been thinking about this," she accused. "I thought you said you didn't care about a few stupid propaganda posters."

"I don't," he said at once. "Not even a little. Of course, someone who cared even a little would probably want to have a look around after hours."

"That person," Lily responded, ceasing her walk and turning to stand eye-to-eye with Potter, "would have to possess thorough knowledge of the castle and the apparently non-complex patrols, so they wouldn't get caught."

"He or she would, indeed," James agreed.

"I wonder where one could find such a person... a person with both the motivation and the expertise, that is."

"Certainly, it's a rarity."

"But not an impossibility."

"No, not an impossibility."

They stood in temporary ceasefire. At length, Lily continued: "Then again, I find that if someone does possess the expertise, the motivation is fairly easily... incited... in oneself."

"I beg to differ. I think that if one were to have motivation, all they would have to do is _ask_ someone with the expertise for a little education."

"And does someone with the motivation _know_ anyone who has the expertise and is willing to share said expertise?"

James sort of half smiled, then shook his head. "It doesn't look like it."

Lily nodded. "I expected as much."

"Really?"

"Mhm. Such people tend to pick different battles."

(Hello, Goodbye)

Lily took her seat in Potions class on Tuesday, unprepared for anything dramatic to occur in the class. She was, therefore, sufficiently surprised, when it was not Mary Macdonald who took the other half of the desk, but Severus Snape. Lily looked up to see Mary attempting to sneak away.

"_Mary_."

"Lily," said the brunette, turning slowly, "I think it would be good for you and your... friend..." She barely managed to say the word, "to work things out, for better or for worse."

Lily frowned. "How much did he pay you to give up your seat?"

"_Lily_, I would..."

"Mary."

"Five-galleons-don't-hate-me-I-really-need-new-shoes." Smiling hopefully, Mary scurried off to find a new seat, and Lily did not make eye contact with her new desk-mate. She began to unload her potions supplies, her expression sullen.

"Lily, you have to talk to me."

"Well, it's flattering to know I'm worth ten galleons, anyway,"

"So, that's it—you're just... never going to forgive me?"

"I've forgiven you. You're forgiven. Move on."

"This isn't like you."

"Well, I hear mudbloods can be downright unpredictable sometimes, Sev."

"Don't say that. You sound like... one of them."

Lily looked at him. "One of _whom_? What does that even mean?"

"I don't know... just... you sounded... it sounded like something one of the... the Marauders would say." Lily noticed her former friend cast an unfriendly look towards the four Marauders, who were seated across the room. The Gryffindor witch rolled her eyes.

"This is stupid," she insisted. Severus said nothing, and with Professor Slughorn's arrival, the class commenced for some time without need or opportunity for conversation.

Eventually, the lecture concluded, and the potions professor instructed the class to begin work on their Pepperup Potions.

"Listen, Lily," said Snape, as she began to organize her ingredients (_It felt like old times, sitting with him so)_, "I'm just anxious for you, that's all."

"It's convenient that you're anxious about me on the day Mulciber's in the Hospital Wing with a cold."

"It's not that," snapped Severus. "It's the posters that have been going up around school... you should watch yourself, with things like that happening. Just... be careful." Lily was quiet for a time.

"Do you know anything about those posters?" she asked, at length. "I mean, do you have any idea who's responsible?"

"You seem to think I do," remarked the other, somewhat resentfully.

"I wouldn't be surprised if a member of your house was responsible, that's all," replied Lily. "Well..._ do_ you know anything?"

Severus's expression was very bitter. "We're not friends, Lily. You keep saying so. And yet, now that you want something, you'll talk to me. Is that right?"

"I didn't realize your doing the right thing was contingent upon our friendship," replied the Gryffindor. "Just forget about it, Severus. There's no point in arguing about this."

Professor Slughorn made his slow way over to their table, his aged face practically glowing with anticipation as he peered into the cauldrons. "Excellent, excellent," he muttered proudly. "It's so good to see the two of you together in Potions again. The _dream team _reunited at last. Keep up the excellent work." Smiling, he moved towards the next desk ("_Really, Mr. Cattermole, you _must_ learn to add your ingredients in better sequence!")._

Lily, meanwhile, picked up a container of flakey green leaves, and began to add a small portion of the ingredients into her cauldron.

"You're adding the moonroot too soon," Severus informed her.

Lily shook her head. "It doesn't matter if you let it brew for ten minutes or add the moonroot immediately," she said. "Not for the Pepperup Potion."

"The other ingredients won't steam properly," argued the Slytherin.

"They will, though. I've tried it."

He looked at her, surprised. "You've made the Pepperup Potion before?"

Nodding: "Several times. It's useful. When cold season comes about, you don't have to run to the Infirmary all the time."

Severus nodded as well. He was quiet for the remainder of the class, and though Lily noticed him, trying to catch her eye when the bell rang and she gathered her ingredients, the Gryffindor made no further attempt to speak with him.

(Act Naturally)

"And once again, if anyone believes they have information on these terrible, terrible messages," croaked Professor Babble, the middle aged witch who taught Ancient Runes, "I hope you will come forward."

The latest threat appeared on Tuesday afternoon.

**RETRIBUTION APPROACHES THE MUDBLOODS AND BLOODTRAITORS.**

The bell rang, indicating the end of the period, and Lily and Donna began to collect their books and notes. "How likely is it that someone in _this_ class has any information about the messages?" Donna scoffed, throwing her book bag over one shoulder. "Besides us, there are just straight-laced Ravenclaws and a few drowning Hufflepuffs. And Lupin, of course."

Lily smiled weakly. "I wish someone knew _something_, though. I know it's stupid, but I can't help being a little worried about this whole business."

"You're right," agreed Donna, "It _is_ stupid." They started down the staircase. "Well, why don't you ask Snape about it? _He_ might know something."

"Believe it or not, I sort of did ask. He brought it up," she added hastily, "But I threw in a not-so-subtle hint that I thought he might know something."

"What did he say?"

"That I was using him," replied the prefect.

Donna rolled her eyes. "Like _he_ cares."

"I hate men, right now," Lily noted, folding her arms. "You know, I think I'm feuding with just about every male in my life right now."

"Is that why you've been so cold towards Prince Charming?" asked her friend.

"I assume you mean Luke?"

"Yeah."

Lily nodded. "I liked him better when he just didn't talk about politics. Then, with Sev being downright _mean_ during Potions, and James Potter being... James Potter. I really do loathe men."

"Join the club, genius," replied Donna. "What about Adam McKinnon? Frank Longbottom? You can't hate them all."

"I don't," admitted Lily. "Although, I'm none-too-pleased with Frank at the moment. He's been acting strangely. First, I thought he was just having problems with Alice, but at the prefect meeting the other day he was so... jumpy."

"I haven't noticed anything."

"Shocking."

Donna caught the sarcasm and made a face. "Oh, by the way, are you headed to the Common Room?"

"I'm starved," said Lily, "I think I'll just head straight down to the Great Hall... bring my books up to the dormitory later."

"Fine by me." They continued the descent, encountering Marlene, Miles, and Mary in the Entrance Hall, as the group returned from Care of Magical Creatures.

"Thank God," sighed Mary, spotting Donna and Lily. "Sanity!" Lily sent her an inquisitive look, and Mary jerked her head towards her two companions.

"For the sixteenth time," Marlene was saying to her boyfriend, "I'm _sorry. _I didn't know you'd already fed him, or else I wouldn't have!"

"Well you should've asked!" snapped Miles. "He vomited all over my shoes!"

"Well I'm _sorry! _It was an accident!"

"Saying 'it was an accident' doesn't solve anything," he replied. "Christ, Marly, there's a reason you're not in Ravenclaw. I'll see you later." Miles bitterly entered the Great Hall.

The others were silent for a moment. "Marlene," began Mary quietly, but the blonde did not want to hear it.

"Just... just, don't. I'm... I'm not hungry. 'See you up in the Common Room." With that, Marlene hurried up the marble staircase.

When she was gone, Donna looked puzzled. "Are we allowed to say shit like that to Marlene now? Because every time _I_ say something like that, Lily tells me to be quiet..."

"This is mad," grumbled Mary, as the girls started towards Gryffindor table. "Someone has to say something to Marlene. She can't just tolerate this nonsense."

"We tell her that all the time," Lily reminded her. "Well... Donna does, anyway. She's not thick. She has to realize Miles is a prat..."

"Honestly," sighed Donna. "It's like feminism never happened. I don't see why adolescent females feel the need to throw their entire being into these stupid, immature relationships."

"Sex, mostly," Mary told her.

"You don't need a relationship to have sex," replied Donna.

"And you call _me_ a tart."

"I am _not_ a..."

"Stop bickering," said Lily. "I'm starting to think you're right, Mary."

"That Donna's a tart?"

"I am _not_ a..."

"No, about Marlene," Lily interrupted. "Maybe we should say something to her about... oh, hullo, Adam." Blushing slightly, Lily smiled at Adam McKinnon, as he took a seat across from the three girls.

"Hi," he replied. "This... this seat isn't reserved for anyone, is it?"

"No," said Mary.

"No, it isn't," agreed Donna. "In fact, it might be good for you to sit there, because we were just saying how..."

"How we haven't spoken with you in a while," Lily jumped in. "I mean... how are you feeling? How's... life?"

Mary smothered laughter; Donna looked bewildered.

"Oh, I'm alright. Everything's gone back to normal, more or less." He served himself potatoes. "So... er... where's Marlene? She's not skipping dinner on account of that stupid diet again, is she?"

"Yes," said Mary, as Donna tried to say 'No.' "Yes. Marlene and Marlene's... stupid diet. We were... thinking of bringing her some dinner a little later on, actually. Force feeding her... there might be tubes involved."

"We were?" asked Donna.

"The _nice _ones among us were."

Adam grinned. "Well, I can do it. She's up in the Common Room, you think?"

"Probably," said Lily. He grabbed a plate.

"Do you think she'll want bread?"

"No, she doesn't eat bread," Mary told him.

"What about desert?"

"She doesn't eat desert," Lily said.

"Vegetables?"

"If they're raw."

"That bird is insane," Adam noted, but 'insane' did not sound like the word he wanted to use. When he'd finished compiling a meal, Adam bid his farewells and headed out of the Great Hall.

"Why did you lie to him?" Donna demanded. "I'm so confused by this 'girl language' thing that you two do."

"We couldn't tell Adam that Miles was being a git to Marlene," said Lily. "It would humiliate her."

Mary sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "I don't believe that boy has a single flaw. I think it's possible that he is _absolutely _perfect. I swear, if Mar doesn't sleep with him soon, I will."

"Tart," said Donna.

"Shut up."

(With a Little Help From My Friends)

"I'm in," said Sirius.

"Me, too," said Peter quickly.

"Well, of course I'm in," said Remus. "We're going to do something useful for once. How could I sit out on this one?"

"Ignoring Moony's condescension," said James, pulling off his cloak and setting a pack of cigarettes down on the dormitory desk, "Good. The only problem is, I'm not quite sure the four of us will all fit under the Invisibility Cloak. We've all grown a fair bit since first year."

"He's right," said Sirius. "We should split up."

"The castle will be dark," Peter put in. "Do you think a disillusionment charm would hide two of us?"

Remus said that he thought it would. "Then, if there's more than one person to follow, Wormtail and I could tail one, while Prongs and Padfoot take the other."

"Excellent," said Sirius. "What time should we leave?"

"Hold it a second," Peter interjected, "how do we know that tonight's the night to look? I mean, it's all been somewhat random, up till now."

James shook his head, unconcerned. "It's tonight. Trust me." He sat down on his bed, leaning over the edge and digging through his trunk for something. At length, the Marauder located the object of his search. He pulled out a folded up piece of parchment. "As for leaving—we don't know when that will be. We'll have to use the map." He waved the parchment demonstratively.

"Like a stake out," said Sirius, thrilled. He snatched the map from his friend's hand. "Sounds like fun. When do we start?"

* * *

"This is _not_ fun," sighed Remus, rubbing the back of his sore neck. "Prongs, you didn't mention having to wait in the History of Magic classroom. It smells like a retirement home in here."

"The morgue at a retirement home, really," Sirius threw in, as he lay stretched out on Professor Binns's desk.

"It's the ideal location," James replied. "It's the fourth floor—right near the stairwell. If anything shows up on the map, we'll be able to get there quickly."

Peter yawned. "It's two-thirty in the morning," he said. "Are you _sure_ it's tonight, Prongs?"

"_Yes_." But his confidence in that statement was beginning to wane. James stared down at the map on the desktop before him. The image portrayed on it was mostly still, with a few exceptions. The dots representing Argus Filch and Rubeus Hagrid continued to roam the corridors (far from the History of Magic classroom).

"No one new has left their Common Room?" Sirius asked, drawing pictures in the air with his wand.

"No," said James. "Missy Lewis and Daniel Strout just vacated their closet on the second floor and are headed back to Hufflepuff."

"Already?" laughed Sirius. "They only went in two minutes ago. Remind me to make fun of Strout for that later."

Even Remus cracked a smile at this. "Listen, Prongs, maybe we should set a deadline. If nothing happens by three o'clock, then..."

"I see him."

"What?"

Sirius rolled off the desk, and the other two Marauders rose to join James by the map. "Where?" asked Peter. James pointed.

"Roland Urquhart?" asked Remus. "Do any of us know him?"

"He's a seventh year," Sirius supplied. "Tried out for Slytherin's Quidditch team during our... what was it? Fourth year? That was the year we spied on their tryouts, which, it turns out, is a bloody waste of time, because _nothing_ interesting happens there. This bloke, Urquhart, he didn't make the team. He was a horrid flier. He also asked my cousin Narcissa out once, but she shot him down."

"Do you know anything he _hasn't_ failed at?" Remus asked, amused.

"Well, so far he's confused the staff a fair bit," said James.

"We don't know that he's doing this," said Moony slowly. "I mean, maybe he's just going for a walk, and..."

"I'm following him," James interrupted, picking up his silver Invisibility Cloak.

"Guilty until proven innocent, Prongs?"

"That's right, Moony."

Remus began to protest, but Sirius pointed at the map. "Look how he's moving, Lupin... he's stopping on the second floor..." The dot labeled Roland Urquhart did indeed pause for nearly thirty seconds, before moving down the corridor in great haste.

"You're right... you should follow him," Lupin relented. "Did you leave the ink and parchment for the letter?"

James pointed to a desk where said articles rested. "You get started at it. And keep one of the two way mirrors with you, so we can tell you exactly where to write, yeah?"

"Right," said Peter.

Sirius helped James flatten out the Invisibility Cloak. "You two will be able to cast the disillusionment spell alright? You don't want us to do it, so you can use the cloak?"

"We're not infants," snapped Remus. "Just _go_. And take the map."

"You take it," James replied, pushing the Marauders' Map into Moony's hands. "I've been staring at that thing for hours. I've memorized the guard rotation. You'll need it more than we do."

"But you need to track Urquhart. What if you lose him?" James frowned, realizing that Remus was right. "Don't worry, I paid some attention too. I think I've got the rotation down."

"_Hurry up_," said Sirius. James grabbed the corner of the Invisibility Cloak and threw it around himself and his best friend. They vanished. Seconds later, the door to the classroom opened and closed.

Remus turned to the parchment, ink, and quill awaiting him. "Do you want to write it, Peter, or should I?"

"You do it," answered the other. "In case they check the handwriting."

Remus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he picked up the quill and began to write.

Sirius and James, meanwhile, crept along down the staircase, careful to stay low so that the hem of the cloak dragged along the ground at the bottom. Sirius kept his eyes on the map. "He's made one last stop on the second floor... I reckon he'll go up to the third floor after that."

"_I_ reckon there's a trick step on that staircase," whispered James, grinning.

Moving as quickly as possible, the pair reached the second floor landing. A skinny boy with sunken eyes and pale skin stood not far off, waving his wand as though conducting an orchestra. In response to his wand, a dozen sheets of parchment danced through the air, eventually landing against the wall in a large formation. Urquhart paused, crossing his arms and observing his work with satisfaction for a moment, before raising his wand again and flicking it once at the wall. The patch of white on the wall suddenly vanished, leaving nothing but the normal stone behind.

"I love being right," sighed James. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Don't get cocky. We haven't pulled this off yet. C'mon."

While Urquhart levitated a large Santa-Claus-like bag (which James suspected was not filled with presents) and started up the corridor, the two Marauders turned and retreated up the staircase, careful to skip the trick step they knew only too well. They reached the next floor landing, ducking around a corner, just as Roland Urquhart reached the first step.

"Ready?" asked Sirius. In response, James pulled the cloak away, just enough for him to aim his wand. Then, leaning around the corner ever so slightly, James waited.

Urquhart—with a business-like expression on his pallid face—moved up the stairway obliviously. At the fifth step, the Slytherin paused, ready to hop over the trick sixth step, but before he could, James waved his wand, and Urquhart tripped forward. He dropped the sack, and a dozen white papers flew out. Urquhart let out a small cry, but caught himself, before his leg touched the trick step. Sirius swore, but James was undeterred. The Gryffindor waved his wand again, and Urquhart's eyes began to droop. A moment later, he was asleep.

"Genius, mate," muttered Sirius, pulling off the cloak. "I'll tell Moony." He grabbed a silver handled mirror from his back pocket and looked into it, saying: "Remus Lupin."

Remus's face appeared a moment later, and while James raced down the steps towards Urquhart, Sirius said to his more remote friend: "We've got him. He'll be stuck in the trick step between the second and third floors."

"Right," said Remus. "Meet you in the Common Room in ten minutes."

"Good luck."

Sirius replaced the mirror and followed James's movement downward. The ringleader Marauder was maneuvering the unconscious Urquhart's leg into the trick step.

"Need any help?" asked Padfoot.

"Put his hand around the banister, so he doesn't fall through, will you?"

Sirius complied, forcing Urquhart's arm through the railing. "Will he be awake in time?"

"Just barely," replied the other. "He'll think he was knocked out when he tripped, but he won't have any time to figure out an escape by the time he's caught."

"Excellent."

The two boys straightened up, surveying their work for a moment. Sirius picked up one of the loose parchments, reading aloud: "_Tourjous Pur_." He looked at James. "That's my family's mantra. The Black House motto, I mean." Frowning, Sirius added: "You don't think that...?"

"No."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because Regulus isn't an idiot, that's how. He might not be the nicest bloke, but he's not some creepy loner who thinks he can scare people with poorly worded threats. Plus, he wouldn't leave his family mantra on the parchment unless he _wanted_ to be found out. It would be like signing his initials."

"You're right," agreed Sirius. "Reg's a git, but he's not that stupid."

"We should get going."

"Right."

Sirius set down the parchment. "See you soon, Roland, mate."

They hurried up the stairway, and covered themselves with the Invisibility Cloak once more, before beginning the return trip to the Common Room.

* * *

"I'll put it on the door," said Peter. Remus raised an eyebrow (not that his companion could really see this, as they were both somewhat transparent).

"You sure?"

"Well, you wrote it. I should take _some_ risks, shouldn't I?"

"Alright, go ahead."

Peter hurried forward, a folded piece of parchment in his hand and, drawing his wand, he placed the parchment against the wooden door before them. Then, pointing his wand directly against the parchment, Peter muttered a spell. When he moved away, the paper stuck to the door.

"Ready to run?" asked Peter.

"Yes."

"Great." The excitement was evident in his voice. He turned to the door again and pounded against it with his fist. "HEY, YOU! CHECK YOUR MAIL!" Wormtail shouted at the absolute top of his lungs. There was the sound of someone stirring inside, and Remus and Peter, barely holding in laughter, bolted down the corridor and around the corner as absolutely quickly as they could.

There was silence in the hallway for a moment, and then the door to which the Marauders had stuck their letter opened. Lathe appeared, obviously just waking up. He looked around, and then spotted the note. Unfolding it, he drew close to a torch so that he might read the writing.

_**DEAR MR. LATHE,**_

_**IF YOU'RE CURIOUS ABOUT WHO HAS BEEN LEAVING THE THREATENING NOTICES AROUND SCHOOL, HE HAS TRIPPED AND FALLEN IN THE TRICK STAIR BETWEEN THE SECOND AND THIRD FLOOR CORRIDORS. I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO KNOW.**_

_**SINCERELY,**_

_**THE ONE WHO CAUGHT HIM**_

Lathe darted into his room, returning seconds later with his dressing gown and wand.

(Girl)

Roland Urquhart was to be suspended for the remainder of the fall term.

"I would have expelled him," Marlene stated indifferently, as the news was discussed by a large group in the Entrance Hall the next morning (Thursday).

"Me too," said Donna.

For once, they agreed upon something.

"It was awful stupid of him to get caught in a trick stair," said Mary. "Even _I_ don't get confused by those anymore."

Donna laughed. "Except last Christmas."

"We agreed not to discuss that ever again!" But even Mary was repressing laughter.

Lily laughed with the others, until she noticed Severus Snape across the hall. He was alone, and a sudden surge of pity caused Lily to move towards him.

"Roland Urquhart," she began awkwardly, as she approached. "Who would have thought, right?" Severus said nothing. "He wasn't one of your friends." Again, no reply. "Why didn't you just tell me that you didn't know anything about it?"

"Because you thought that I did, and I was angry," replied Snape. "And you only wanted to act like my friend on the condition that I could help you with that."

Lily shook her head. "That's not true. I didn't want to act like your friend at all."

Severus scowled.

"I was being funny," she informed him. Then more seriously, she continued: "I think you're right about one thing, though. I do have to forgive you. And... I want to do that." She waited. "_Now_, preferably."

He looked at her, bewildered. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that... maybe..." _Was this the biggest mistake ever?_ "Maybe we could be friends again."

The shock was written across his face. "Really?"

She nodded.

"Oh. Well... okay."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Right."

"So..."

"So, I'll see you around, then."

"Right. Okay."

Lily turned and started back towards the girls. The crowd in the Entrance Hall began to move towards the Great Hall, so as to begin breakfast, and Lily was about to go in herself, when she noticed the Marauders chatting near

the marble staircase. An idea struck the prefect, and she started over there, making eye contact with James some distance away. She had crossed half the space between, when someone caught her arm.

"Luke!"

"Lily," said her boyfriend desperately, and he really did look sweet. "Lily, I'm so, so sorry. Listen, I talked to Marlene last night, and she explained to me why you've been so angry, and... I'm sorry. I'm just... of course you were right about everything. I don't know what I was thinking. I was just..."

"It's okay, Luke."

He smiled (gorgeous smile). "Really?"

"Really."

She really couldn't be angry at him. There just wasn't enough energy inside of her to dedicate itself to anger towards such a boy. He kissed her gently on the lips.

"I'll see you after breakfast, Flower."

"See you, Luke."

Lily beamed at him as he headed into the Great Hall. When he was gone, she looked over to where the Marauders had stood. Three had departed, but James lingered.

"Hi, there, Flower," he said, imitating Luke's low, serious voice.

"Shut up. Luke Harper is the sweetest bloke in the whole world, and you could not possibly understand that."

"Is he a good kisser?"

"Shut up." They stood in silence for a time, then Lily began: "So..." She crossed her arms across her chest.

"Did you sleep well, Snaps?" asked James cheerfully.

"Did you?"

"Excellently, thank-you."

"Funny, Potter, you look exhausted."

"Oh, well, I had a date."

"I see."

"Do you?"

Brief silence, then Lily continued: "So I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"If someone with the expertise required to detect Roland Urquhart were to also possess the motivation for finding him out, how exactly would they know which night he chose to put up those awful posters?"

"Well, that's easy," replied James. "Such a person, non-existent as they are, would only have to look at the pattern in which the posters were put up. They only appeared on days after the nights Filch and Hagrid were assigned patrols, as opposed to the far more experienced Ministry investigators. A quick discussion with Hagrid would have told this mythical person of expertise and motivation that his next patrol was Wednesday night and then... the rest would be history."

Lily nodded, biting her lip to suppress the smile. "Do you know what I heard?"

"No."

"I heard that Lathe is saying someone tipped him off about where he might find Urquhart. A student left a message for him, apparently. Anonymously."

James looked surprised. "Is that right? Wow. Weird. Who do you think it could be?"

"I don't know," Lily admitted with a sigh. "Undoubtedly someone with..."

"Motivation and expertise?" supplied James.

"A consistent character and something to prove," added the redhead.

"Well, I don't know anyone like that."

"Yeah... me neither."

"I'm sort of jealous of the person, though," James continued thoughtfully. "He or she must have been terribly clever."

"Well," said Lily, "Don't worry about it. Maybe you'll pick the next battle, yeah?"

"Unlikely."

"But not impossible."

"No, I guess not."

"I'll... see you in class, Potter."

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you liked this chapter, because I did. If you're hesitant to review because you just DON'T know what you'll say, write song lyrics. I'm a serious review-whore... anything works. I'm joking--feedback makes my life--but only barely. Much love and happiness to all who review, and to the anonymous reviewers _**Katie**_ (thank you! I'm so happy that you enjoyed!) and **_underbabe _**(gracias--this has a little more Lily-and-James-ness, si?).

Reviews are the days when MTV actually plays music.

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	6. Conversations

A/N: the beginning is a little Grey's Anatomy, but bear with me...

Disclaimer: I own nothing. For the purpose of this disclaimer, I am impoverished.

Chapter 6- Conversations

Or

"_Shake, Rattle, and Roll"_

Interpersonal relationships are primarily comprised of moments and of conversations. Moments are the quiet, indescribable little things that mean something beyond their ostensible substance. Conversations are the meat: the majority of the day... the way in which one deceives another, or the way they clue someone in (because moments do not lie, but they can be difficult to read).

Conversations are a method by which information is delivered between parties. Conversations are sources of rumors and facts, lies and truths, good news and bad news. Conversations can fend off the dangers of miscommunication and misread signals. Conversations can solve problems that mere action cannot hope to resolve. Conversations can save relationships, end arguments, and—it's been said—rein in violence.

There are, however, some conversations that one wishes he or she never held at all.

(The Lie)

Secrecy was not one of Carlotta Meloni's defining characteristics. She tried to maintain a very open personality, suffering no embarrassment over discussions that made other girls blush. Carlotta did not believe in dishonesty, and lies were not her style, so when she found herself relating a markedly false story to her best friend Shelley one Saturday morning in late October, guilt plagued the beautiful brunette.

"Alright, so I'm going to the library," Carlotta told her friend, gathering her things. "I've just got to finish the Potions essay, and then I'll meet you for lunch."

"Are you sure you don't want help on the essay?" asked Shelley, painstakingly applying mascara in the mirror of the girls' dormitory.

But Carlotta had thought of that. She had specifically chosen potions homework as an alibi, because it was a well-known fact that Shelley had very little sense for potions. "Really, Shelley, what good would that be?"

"Good point," agreed the plainer witch. "I'll see you at noon, then?"

"Perfect."

Smiling, but feeling guiltier and guiltier with every passing second, Carlotta picked up her book bag and, turning, departed the dormitory. She moved across the Common Room, through the corridors, and down the staircases, but did not stop on the fourth floor, as a trip to the library would necessitate. Rather, she continued down to the second floor, where there was a very nice unused classroom that was almost always empty. Carlotta went inside and waited.

She waited and waited for over an hour, checking her watch every few minutes. He'd said ten o'clock. He'd said ten o'clock, hadn't he?

She waited till eleven twenty four. He didn't show.

(The Disagreement)

"We've _got_ to, Prongs." Sirius clapped his friend on the shoulder, assuming a brave expression. "Just do it, alright? Just... just _go_ for it."

James frowned. "I can't, Padfoot. They can't really _make us_, can they?"

"No," began Sirius slowly. "But if we don't, you realize that we won't have a Quidditch team, right?"

"Technically, perhaps not. But you know, I think we have a great group this year. Maybe, since the Chasers are so fantastic, we won't even _need_ a Keeper this year, so McKinnon could just play Seeker instead."

"We need seven players, Prongs. You're in denial."

"Tryouts are terrible."

"I know, but we have to do it."

"But I don't want to."

"Do you want me to quote the Rolling Stones, or are you just gonna post it already?"

James sighed. Pulling a tack off the Gryffindor Common Room notice board, the Quidditch Captain placed a slip of parchment squarely in the center of the board and pushed the tack through the top.

_**QUIDDITCH TRYOUTS**_

_**THIS SUNDAY, 9 A.M.**_

_**GRYFFINDOR, 2**__**ND**__**-7**__**TH**__** YEARS **__**ONLY**_

"How many first year Hufflepuffs do you reckon will show up?" Sirius wondered.

"Oh, at least six," sighed James wearily. "C'mon. Let's get to breakfast. Looking at this just depresses me."

Sirius left the Common Room with him, but said as they started down the corridor: "I'm not going to breakfast with you, actually, Prongs. My uncle wants me to eat with him this morning."

"Why?"

"I don't know. If I absolutely _had_ to guess, I'd say it had something to do with my being his nephew."

"So nothing specific? You're not in trouble or anything?"

Sirius shook his head "Nah, I'm squeaky clean at the moment. I've got to say, your being all straight-and-narrow bound has put a damper on my life. I'm practically straight-laced now. I haven't been drunk in weeks."

"Three days, Padfoot."

"I was barely tipsy. That doesn't count."

"Alright, five days then."

Sirius thought about it. "Fair enough." They reached the sixth floor. "This is where I leave you. Have a good breakfast. Don't hit anyone."

"Very funny."

* * *

"No, I'm completely serious, she had sixteen house-elves in that bedroom, trying to clear it out. _Nothing_. Three days, they were in there, and the posters would _not_ come down."

Sirius laughed as his uncle finished relating his story. "Well," began the younger Black, finishing his tea with a smirk, "I'm glad I left something of an impression."

"You did at that," replied the Professor. "Did you enjoy the breakfast?"

"Yeah, it was nice."

"I'm glad." There was a brief silence, as Professor Black began to clean up. "Listen, Sirius," he began after a while, "you know, you probably did the right thing, running away when you did. Just... y'know... getting out of the house."

Sirius nodded. "I _had_ to leave. After that last... that last night, I _couldn't_ stay there anymore. There wasn't any reason left to stay."

"You were smart," agreed Black, sitting down again, closer to the fire and further from his nephew. "You were smart about the whole business... emptying your bank vault before Walburga could snatch your savings... moving in with the Potters... it was all well done."

"To tell the truth, James was the one who thought about emptying my bank vault. If it had been me, I would've left it there and Mum would've showed up at Gringotts, exuding her usual charm and getting them to open it up for her with her spare key." Sirius smirked. "Yeah, I was lucky to have the Potters." They were quiet for a time, before the younger continued: "Listen, er... can I ask you something?"

Alphard Black nodded.

"How come you never left? I mean, how come you never ran out on the family?"

"Well... it was different for me. It was never as difficult as it was for you. I've always been more passive, I guess. 'Course I disagree with my _dear sweet_ sister, and the whole family is bloody mad, but you have to understand, Sirius, that for most of my life, the Black 'tourjous pur' propaganda was just... _talk_. There was no action behind it."

"But there's action now," Sirius cut in. "The death eaters and Voldemort... people say there's a war coming, and I'm starting to think they're right."

"People? You mean Alex Potter."

"Among others."

Professor Black nodded. "They're probably right, Sirius. Sometimes I wish I'd had your nerve. But I was never a Gryffindor. Like all dutiful Blacks, _I _was in Slytherin."

"So was Andromeda," replied Sirius with a shrug. "I don't care about that. And I'd hardly call you a dutiful Black. You spoke down to Grandfather in public at that New Years Party a few years ago. Mum was furious."

"Well, that's neither here nor there." Sirius knew not how to respond to this, so he simply pretended to attend to his teacup. "Listen, Sirius," his uncle continued presently, "I know what happened that night and... I'm sorry about the house elf."

"'The house elf' had a name," Sirius said dryly. "Daisy was only creature in the whole house that was ever nice to me, y'know."

"What about Regulus?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Babies don't count."

"He's only a few years younger then you."

"But he hasn't been nice to me since he was a baby."

"Be that as it may," said Black, and he seemed tired, "He admires you."

Sirius shook his head. "Regulus is a git. He's just like Mum and Dad and Bella."

"He's not, though. He's young and impressionable and confused. He never had the opportunity that you did..."

"What opportunity is that?"

"Being in Gryffindor, of course. Away from all the blood nonsense in Slytherin."

"Reg could have gone into Gryffindor if he wanted to. He had a choice, same as anyone. That's how the sorting works."

"Sirius," began his uncle slowly. "Regulus had quite a bit to... deal with, after you were sorted into Gryffindor. He realized that it would have broken my sister's heart if he didn't make it into Slytherin."

"Impossible. Mum doesn't have a heart to break."

"Sirius..."

"I can't believe you're defending her," countered the younger wizard, approaching aggressive. "You weren't there that night. You didn't see her... she just killed that house elf like it was... a weed or something. She mounted the head on the wall, all because she knew that I actually cared about that elf... that she was my only friend in the whole stupid house."

"I'm not defending Walburga. I'm defending Regulus."

"It was Regulus's fault!" cried Sirius, rising. "Regulus was the one who told Mum that Daisy knew I'd snuck out the night before. If he hadn't told, Mum would never have known, and she wouldn't have murdered the house elf!"

"He didn't _know_, Sirius. Regulus is so young, and..."

"So, _now_ he's so young. I thought he was 'only a few years younger than me.'"

"Listen, Sirius, there's still hope for your brother, if..."

"You know," Sirius spoke loudly over his uncle, "If I'd known that the reason you were being so nice to me all was to form some kind of tear-jerking family reunion, I wouldn't have come at all. And here, I thought it was because, I don't know, I thought maybe you actually wanted to show me that I had a halfway decent relative... who actually cared about me as an individual, not just the heir to the family name."

"Sirius, you _know_..."

The younger Black did not listen. He stormed out of the office, closing the door with a slam behind him.

(The Debate)

Lily spent Saturday in the library with Severus: admittedly this wasn't the most glamorous thing to do with half the weekend, but Lily thought of it as an investment. The whole day was awkward, of course, as neither really knew how they ought to behave around the other, but, Lily reasoned, there could only be _so_ much discomfort. Eventually, they would use up all their awkward hours, and then things would... well, Lily hadn't thought that far ahead. Things would return to normal?

Why did that seem implausible?

The redhead was pondering this very question when she joined Marlene for supper that evening. Marlene, of course, hadn't been eating alone, but with Adam McKinnon. The pair was laughing at something or other as Lily took a seat.

"Where have you been all day?" Marlene wanted to know. Lily blinked.

"Me? Library. With Sev."

The blonde frowned. "I sort of hoped you were joking when you said you'd made up with him."

"Why would I joke about that?"

"A better question is 'why don't you indulge my wishful thinking?'"

"Santa Clause isn't real."

"You're evil."

Lily grabbed a serving fork and selected a few slices of ham. "So what were you talking about before I came? In case you're wondering, this is my subtle attempt to change the subject."

"Clever," said Adam.

"Exceptionally," agreed Marlene. "We were talking about Quidditch tryouts."

"Oh, the notice was posted, wasn't it?" Lily noted absently. "Good thing, too, since Donna's been complaining so about practicing with six players."

"I don't see why," Adam added. "We've barely started scrimmaging. Potter's on a 'strength training' trip. Anyway, what _I_ was saying is that Marlene should try out."

"And _I_ was saying he's out of his mind," Marlene put in. "I haven't played Quidditch in months... and I've never even tried for the team before. I'd be terrible."

"No, you should try out," Lily agreed. "Remember when we took flying lessons. You were the best girl in our year... even better than Donna at the time, and she's on the team. Don't tell her I said that."

"Lily, flying lessons?" asked Marlene, trying to find the situation more ridiculous than she really did. "That was first year."

"But the position we need is Seeker," interjected Adam. "That's eighty percent skill anyway. You've either got it or you don't. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

"Well," began Marlene, ever the optimist, "I could humiliate myself in front of just about everyone, and then fall to a bone-crushing death, so gruesome that I'm nothing but goo and teeth by the time they scrape me up, and then my mother decides that she never really loved me and holds an open casket funeral."

The other two thought about it. "Alright, that would be bad," Lily admitted. "But what are the chances of that happening, really? Especially the part with your mum."

"I _can't_ try out," the blonde went on, poking uncomfortably at her sparsely populated plate. "James wouldn't pick me and... and anyway, I'd have to play against Miles, what with him being a Ravenclaw chaser."

They reached the heart of the matter, and the look exchanged between Adam and Lily told them that they both knew it. And, while they both felt rather inclined to reprimand their mutual friend, Adam knew it was not his place, and Lily knew it was inappropriate to do so in front of Adam. Without any official or even rational reason for this, it was, nonetheless, true.

"Why'd you get so quiet?" Marlene wondered. "Keep talking, or I'm sure to have a slice of that bread." She glanced longingly down the table.

"_Eat_, Karen Carpenter," Lily ordered. "You're about twelve feet tall. No one will notice if you gain _ten _pounds, much less half of one."

"Do you think I'm going to gain ten pounds?" Marlene looked at her plate fearfully. "I _knew_ I shouldn't have had desert last Thursday..."

"Pathetic," sighed Lily, as Adam attempted to put a slice of bread on her plate.

Donna arrived. "Where have you been all day?" she demanded of Lily, taking a seat beside her friend.

"I told you before I left this morning," the prefect defended herself.

Donna frowned. "I might have some vague and hazy recollection of you beating me with a pillow and telling me something in a language that sounded like a cross between goblin and Norwegian, but I'm pretty sure that that transpired at about eight o'clock this morning, and you could have been a Norwegian goblin for all I was aware."

"Library," said Lily. "With Severus. And don't yell at me. Where were you?"

"Quidditch, showers, kitchens, Common Room with a book." Donna ticked off the locations on her fingers. "I realize when you're not around, Evans, that I have very few friends."

"I could have told you that," Marlene supplied helpfully.

"So, Shack," Adam spoke up, so as to divert an argument, "Marlene's thinking of trying out for the Quidditch team. We're trying to convince her."

"_You_ _two_ were thinking of me trying out for the Quidditch team," Marlene corrected. "_I_ wasn't."

"Good," said Donna. "That would be awful."

Lily kicked her. "I've talked to you about this."

"I mean..." Donna went on, intentionally unconvincing, "You should do what you... want."

"It was a valiant attempt at niceness," Adam acknowledged. "Anyhow, I've got Potions homework. I'll see you lot later. _Think about it, Marlene."_

"Or don't," Donna supplied, as he left. "Y'know... whatever you want..."

Marlene rolled her eyes, smiling anyway. She pushed her plate away, and when she looked back up at her friends, they were watching her expectantly, Lily with a bit of a smile.

"_What_?" asked the blond.

Lily shook her head, still smiling, and chewed a slice of bread knowingly. "Nothing."

"_What?"_

Donna made no reply and served herself several slices of ham.

"Stop smiling, Lily," Marlene commanded. "I'm serious, stop."

"I'm not smiling!"

"You are! Stop it!" But that only made Lily smile more. "_Stop!" _whined Marlene. "_Lily_. This is stupid. You are..." She turned to Donna. "Lily said I was a better flier than you in first year."

"You bitch."

(The Divulgence)

Exhausted, annoyed, and wishing he'd stayed in bed that morning, James Potter ducked around a corner of the castle, and withdrew his cigarettes. He wasn't entirely sure what the school policy on smoking was, but he would bet that it did not favor the habit. Anyway, he didn't want any pesky third years seeing him and imitating it. Then he would have to quit on principle.

The Quidditch Captain lit up, watching the smoke as he exhaled against the pale blue Sunday morning sky.

"So _this_ is why you called a ten minute recess in the tryouts," remarked a voice, and James nearly jumped. Sirius appeared, leaning against the wall with a smirk in place.

"This and my sanity," replied James, offering Sirius a cigarette.

Padfoot shook his head. "I'm not in the mood."

"You have a mood?"

"I have many. It's one of the downfalls of being a human being. You wouldn't know anything about it, Prongs."

"Funny."

Sirius walked over, and then leaned against the wall, slipping his hands into the pockets of his Quidditch trousers. Both boys were geared up in their house robes for the tryouts, which had now been underway for over an hour. In addition to the off white trousers (with a red and a gold stripe up the outside of the leg); they wore the scarlet and gold robes; long-sleeved undershirts (also red); and knee pads, elbow pads, gloves, and boots all of the same brown leather. The ensemble might have been oppressive, had the October morning air not been so chilly. As it was, James was grateful for his cigarette.

For a while, they were quiet. No conversation was necessary for each to know what the other was thinking, when it came to the tryouts. They were going terribly. Twenty students had test flown for the team, and twenty students had proven themselves inadequate fits for the vacant position on the team (seeker). Anyway, that was James's opinion: Sirius had thought one or two of them _might_ do (with a lot of training), but James remained adamant that they "didn't fit." His best friend didn't really understand this, to tell the truth, but he didn't argue either. There was a reason James had gotten Quidditch Captain in only his fifth year.

Actually, as they stood there—James with his cigarette and Sirius with his thoughts—the latter reflected very little on the tryouts. His mind was elsewhere.

James took a drag, and Sirius said: "I had an argument with my uncle."

Without turning, the other nodded. "Okay..." He waited for more.

"He wants me to make up with Regulus."

"Oh." Quiet, then—"Are you going to do it?"

Sirius pondered the question, and then with discontented certainty replied: "No."

James nodded again. "Okay."

And they fell silent once more.

(The Plea)

"It's terrible, Marlene," sighed Adam, collapsing dramatically at Gryffindor table, which made her smile. "It's awful. Dreadful. Horrendous."

"Bad. I get the picture, Adam," replied the blond. "Tryouts not going so well then?"

"On a scale of one to ten, they're a train wreck colliding with dragons."

"I'm sorry." She genuinely looked it, pushing aside her book and leaning against her fist. "What brings you inside? I thought James wanted the whole team there."

"Just the first string players, but he called a ten minute break..." Adam told her. "I'm thinking of putting him on suicide watch. You should have seen him when this fourth year girl tried to fly a broom backwards."

"Damn."

"Exactly." They were quiet for a minute. "So," Adam continued presently, "I see that you're... reading."

"Yes."

"And in doing so, you are missing this great spectacle that is the tryouts."

"True."

Silence, then: "_Please_, Marlene, you _have to_..."

"No! Adam, I can't! I'll be terrible!"

"You _won't_ be," Adam protested. "I saw you play last summer, and you were _good!"_

"My competition was your fourteen-year-old sister!"

"Marlene, please, just try! We _need_ a seeker, and you can fly. You've got good eyes, you're thin, which makes for fast flying, and..."

"I am not _thin_."

"The railing is jealous of you."

They looked at each other for a minute. There was green in his eyes.

"Fine."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. I'll try out. But if I fail abominably, we are no longer friends."

"I'm not even a little bit scared."

Marlene got up from the table. "I should go... y'know, change into something more... athletic."

"And I should get back to the tryouts," Adam agreed.

"I'll be down soon. Hopefully you'll have found someone else before then."

"Don't take too long, or James might just pick that fourth year."

Smiling, they went their separate ways.

(The Apology)

"Lily," said the Head Boy, and the Gryffindor prefect stopped and turned. "I was wondering—could I talk to you about something?"

As the prefect meeting drew to a close and the other prefects, as well as the Head Girl, filed out, Lily nodded. "Right, sure." Frank look serious. "Is something wrong?"

When they were alone, Frank sighed. "I—I don't know. I just... I wanted to apologize."

"Apologize?" Lily repeated uncertainly. "Whatever for?"

"Well, when you asked me about Alice... last month, in detention... I was sort of..." Frank struggled for articulate speech: "I was vague... I guess 'vague' is the right word."

"It's one of them," Lily agreed.

"I was just going through a thing," Frank continued. "I... I can't really explain it beyond that. But I wanted you to know that I'm not... I mean, you were right about us. We're good together, and I shouldn't mess that up. I was just being really thick about... everything and... I'm sorry."

"You have no reason to apologize to _me_," said Lily, smiling and feeling a rush of warmth towards this poor, terribly awkward wizard. "Issues are normal, and you don't owe me a thing. You were just trying to be honest with me, and I appreciate that. However, as long as your handing them out, I think Alice might enjoy a nice, heartfelt 'I'm sorry.'"

"She's next on the list," Frank assured her. "It's just that you and Alice are mates, and you and I are mates... at least, I think..."

"We're mates, Frank."

"Right. Well... I didn't want you to think I was a jerk."

"Never."

"Good." He looked at his feet, and then up at her again. "Yeah, I've definitely decided that this... phase... is over. I'm going to be completely honest."

"I've heard that ranks high in the whole hierarchy of policies."

"Right." (Grinning). "Well, you probably have plans for the rest of your Sunday. I'll let you get going."

"Okay. Take care, Frank."

"You as well."

(The Persuasion)

"Marlene!" Miles Stimpson called out his girlfriend's name, hastening to catch up with the witch as she hurried up the second floor staircase. "Marly! Hey, _Marly!_"

Finally, she heard him and turned. "Oh, hi, Miles." She stopped and waited for him, then kissed him on the cheek.

Miles appeared unhappy. "I thought were supposed to hang out this morning. We agreed that last night."

"You said you would meet me at nine o'clock for breakfast," said Marlene. "It's past ten."

"I'm sorry," sighed her boyfriend. "I got caught up with my mates and..."

"It's no big deal." She smiled down at him, for she was two steps above him on the stair. "Well, I have to go, so..."

"Wait, I thought maybe we could spend some time together now." He raised his eyebrows in unsubtle code.

"I can't. I've got tryouts."

"Tryouts? For what?"

"Quidditch."

Miles blinked. "As in the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Marly?"

"No, as in the Irish National Team." She crossed her arms. "What else?"

He processed the information, and though she tried to conceal it, Marlene was quite anxious to gauge his reaction. After a moment, the Ravenclaw looked up at her with puzzlement in his eyes: "Marlene, I don't understand. I thought you agreed with me when I said I didn't think it would be a good idea for you to try for the team... back in fourth year."

"That was fourth year," Marlene replied. "This is now. We're a different couple now. I really don't think it would be a problem with you on the Ravenclaw team and my playing for Gryffindor..."

"It would be, though. You'd have to go _against _me. Cheer against me, root against me!"

"I cheer for Gryffindor against you _anyway_, Miles."

"But, if it were in your interest for, say Hufflepuff to beat us, you would have to root for Hufflepuff, if you were on the team."

"Miles, I really want to try for this. I think it would be fun."

"It wouldn't be! Do you fly well, Marly?"

"I—I don't know. Maybe. I used to be alright, and I've played over the summer, and they said I was pretty good at..."

"Marly, James Potter is your captain," Miles reminded her, as though informing a young child that the tooth fairy was a myth. "If you're practicing with James Potter, you can't be 'pretty good.' You have to be top notch. He's a really tough captain!"

"I know that, but I just want to _try_..."

She stopped. Miles frowned. "You know, Marly, you're being kind of insensitive. I don't want to cheer against _you_, even if _you_ don't care about putting a wedge between us."

"I don't want to put a wedge between us, Miles, but..."

"That's what you're doing! And it kind of hurts my feelings, you know?" he said roughly, crossing his arms and scowling. "But if the Quidditch team means more to you than our relationship, then you should do what you want."

Marlene looked at him carefully. His eyes were a perfectly even shade of brown.

"Do you—do you really, _really_ not want me to do this?"

"I really, _really_ don't want you to do this," he replied quietly, almost sweetly.

Marlene sighed. "Then... I won't."

He beamed and kissed her. "Good. You're great, Marlene. Do you know that?" He kissed her again, this time on the cheek. "C'mon. We'll hang out now, alright?"

"Oh, I really should go tell..."

"You stood me up, Marly," Miles reminded her, smiling. "You owe me."

(The Consolation)

"Alright," said James, surveying his five, Quidditch-gear-clad housemates, as they stood in a ring near the edge of the Quidditch pitch. He rubbed his forehead wearily, "it's five o'clock in the afternoon. It is five o-fucking-clock in the evening. We have all been here since _nine_ a.m. That's eight hours. Eight _fucking _hours."

"We took a ten minute break," Sirius reminded him.

"Seven hours and fifty minutes," James corrected himself. "Remind me to kill you in your sleep tonight, Black."

"Will do."

"...So what I'm _hoping_," the Quidditch Captain went on, his voice so tense that the proverbial feather would surely have broken his or any camel's back, "is that we can reach a consensus before I climb to the top of the castle and jump off." He bowed to Adam. "No offense, McKinnon. Now. For the_ last_ time before I die, I need you all to cast your vote. Okay? Because we are a team, and I really have no bloody clue, so if you all don't vote, I'm picking the Ravenclaw who offered me a lap dance. Clear?"

There was a general, affirmative mumble.

"Now, even though you all officially _fail_ at voting," James continued, "I'm looking at you, Shack..."

"Why?"

"You wrote on your ballot, 'Who gives a fuck?'"

"A valid question," said Michael Mitchum, the third year who played beater.

"Quiet, Short-Round," ordered James. He cleared his throat. "As I was saying, even though you all fail at voting, I have—with some sort of vague assistance from your votes—narrowed it down to three candidates for seeker. I'm not going to dare with the whole secret ballot thing again..."

"You just told everyone how _I_ voted," Donna pointed out.

"_You_ voted 'Who gives a fuck?' and forfeited your rights," James retorted. "Now, let's just have a show of hands. I have Marcus McLeod, Shannon Mayhew, and Ricki Nivens. All in favor of Marcus?"

Michael Mitchum raised his hand.

"All in favor of Shannon Mayhew?"

Everyone remained still.

"And Ricki Nivens?" finished James. Sirius, Donna, and the other beater, Damacus Weasley, raised their hands unenthusiastically.

The Quidditch Captain glared at Adam. "McKinnon, you have to vote."

The Keeper begrudgingly raised his hand. "Ricki was the best," he admitted.

"I agree," said James. "Ricki it is. We'll keep Marcus on as a second string player. Can everyone agree on that? Short-round?"

"Fine with me," said Michael. "I just want dinner."

"Fantastic. Underclassmen have clean up. I'll go tell Ricki and Marcus." With that, James turned and departed in the general direction of his equipment bag and the castle. Sirius shook his head knowingly and began to collect his own things. While Marcus and Damacus—the "underclassmen"—picked up the castaway Quaffles, Adam began to sort his gear into a pile of its own.

"Alright there, McKinnon?" asked Sirius, un-strapping his elbow pads. "You didn't seem too enthusiastic about Ricki Nivens."

"He's wasn't bad," Adam allowed, without expression. "Potter will probably be able to make him into a decent seeker."

"I agree," said Sirius. "But..." (not meeting his eye and placing his knee guards in his duffle bag) "...you were hoping Marlene Price would show up, weren't you?"

Adam looked at him. "She told me she would, that's all. She's a good flier. It would have been good for the team, y'know, if she were to..." he paused, "...play."

"Right. I agree." Sirius nodded understandingly. "It would have been a good thing. I wonder why she didn't come to tryouts... I heard you telling James that she'd promised to be right down."

"Yeah. It's weird." But Adam seemed more disappointed than confused, as though he knew exactly what had happened. "But—er—it's no big deal," he continued to the Marauder hastily. "I mean, it would've been cool, that's all. It's easier to deal with someone you know. Like... y'know, it's easier for you to deal with class when your uncle's the teacher, right?"

Sirius smirked bitterly. "It... seems like it would be, maybe. But sometimes things that seem like a good idea really aren't. Sometimes it just complicates things."

Adam nodded. "Yeah." He threw the strap of his bag over one shoulder. "I'll see you around, Black."

"Later, McKinnon."

The Keeper departed, and Sirius sat down on the grass. "Hurry up with that equipment!" he called out to Weasley and Mitchum. Twirling a blade of grass between his fingers, Sirius exhaled loudly. He could use a cigarette right about now.

(The Argument)

Severus closed his Potions book. He peered across the Library table at Lily, who was working intently on her own essay. Noticing her companion's hiatus, the redhead looked up.

"Are you finished already?" she marveled. "I'm barely half-way done!"

"You're being quiet," Snape said, as though he had not heard her. "You are being _silent_, and it's making me nervous."

"You're not exactly Chatty Cathy," replied Lily, frowning.

"But I'm not the talkative one. You're always the one who talks. I just... listen." _Stare, is more like it, _he thought.

"Alright." Lily closed her own copy of _Advance Potion Making_. "We'll talk then. Er... how was your afternoon?"

"It was... fine."

Lily nodded. "Now, you're supposed to ask me how _my_ afternoon was."

"How was it?" asked Severus awkwardly.

"Nice," said Lily. "After I got out of the prefect meeting, Mary and I tried to paint."

"Paint?"

"Yes, I was seized with artistic inspiration and wanted to paint something. Mary got a Ravenclaw bloke she... knows... to conjure up some blank canvases and things, and we painted in the dormitory. It was lovely. I painted a flower. Mary painted me."

"Can I see it?"

"Not Mary's picture, you can't," replied Lily. "She realized it looked more like a flower than _my_ picture did, so we splashed all the colors on it, which sounds like it might end up pretty, but really just turned the whole thing into this hideous yellow-ish-grey shade. Anyway, we put it in the bathroom, so hopefully the house-elves will find it and dispose of it out of pity for the rest of the world."

Severus nodded and looked down at his closed book, which Lily knew meant a sort of substitute smile. She beamed. "This will get easier," she told him, and he nodded once again.

"I should get going," he said quietly (of course, he said everything quietly). They both rose, collecting their books and quills.

"Are you going down to the Great Hall?" asked Lily, as they started out of the library. "I'll walk with you, if you are."

"No, I'm going back to my Common Room," replied the Slytherin. "So I'll just... see you later."

"Right," agreed Lily. "Bye, Sev."

"Bye, Lily."

He turned and departed, leaving Lily temporarily alone in the corridor. She sighed. Talk about déjà vu...

"What was that about, Snaps?"

Lily looked around and saw James—fully clothed in his Quidditch gear—coming towards her, confusion and curiosity mingling in his expression.

"What was _what_ about?"

"Snape and you," said the Quidditch captain, nodding towards the Slytherin's retreating person. "Were you studying together or something?"

"Well... yes." She wondered why confessing this to James suddenly made her quite uncomfortable.

A number of emotions (or some facsimile of emotions) passed over James's face in a matter of second. Then, assuming a highly ironic expression, he smirked. "Star-crossed lovers reunited?" he asked.

"Sev and I are... sort of mates again," Lily endeavored to explain. "He's sorry for what he did, and I decided I couldn't hold it against him any longer. So we're... trying to patch things up."

"Patch things up," repeated James.

"Listen, Potter..."

"You're an idiot, Evans."

Lily flinched. "It's complicated."

"He insulted you in the worst way possible in front of _everyone_," said James bluntly. "What about that is complicated? It's actually really, really simple."

"Well," began Lily, the heat rising to her face, "I wouldn't call it the 'worst way possible.' I think, maybe just maybe, it would be worse to levitate someone twenty feet in the air and threaten to take off their pants in front of _everyone_."

"I'm not going to apologize."

"I don't care."

They glared at each other for a moment. "I have to get a book from the library," James said at length, and as he sidestepped Lily, he repeated: "You're an idiot, Snaps."

"You have _issues_, Potter," the redhead replied. Then he was gone, and she was annoyed.

(The Resolution)

Showered, changed, and feeling just generally better, Adam took a seat at Gryffindor table that evening. He was focused entirely on the steak before him and not at all on the Quidditch tryouts of that day, when someone took a seat beside him. Without looking, Adam knew instinctively who it must be.

"Are you angry with me?" Marlene asked quietly (sweetly, perfectly).

Adam thought about it, and shook his head. "No."

"You're not?" She sounded doubtful. "Not at all?"

"No."

"I just... I think it's better for me to focus on school right now," Marlene explained, almost believing it. "And plus, I don't need any added drama with Miles, right?"

"Right. Drama is... bad."

"Very," agreed Marlene. She was quiet, as she took a slice of bread and buttered it. "You're sure you're not angry?"

"Positive," said Adam. "You have to do what _you_ want, Mar. That's what matters. That's all there is to it."

Marlene bit her lip. "And you're not disappointed with me either?"

He finally met her eye (they were blue and green and grey all in one). "I'm never disappointed in you," he assured her. She beamed. "Except," he continued seriously, "If you don't eat that slice of bread, I might be."

Marlene took a bite and closed her eyes. "Carbohydrates, how I have missed you." Adam grinned.

(The Confession)

When Lily finished her shower that evening, the dormitory was almost completely empty on her return. Donna had gone downstairs to tackle the loathed potions essay, while Mary and Marlene had made an owlry run to mail letters to their parents. Shelley, too, was nowhere to be seen, so when Lily entered her dorm, drying her long, wavy hair with a towel, only Carlotta Meloni remained, seated at the vanity with an utterly dreamy expression on her lovely face.

"Hi, Lily," greeted the other, her smile only growing. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," replied Lily. "What's got you so cheerful? Are drugs involved?"

Carlotta shook her head. "Something good happened today."

"Something good happened today," Lily repeated. "I'm glad." She sat down on a bed. "Alright, then. Dish."

"Well," began Carlotta, "you remember that bloke I mentioned before..."

"When you said you were having 'boy trouble' last week?"

Carlotta nodded.

"Right, I remember." Lily thought back. "You said that the two of you connected over summer holidays, but he was a bit hesitant about a relationship now. Something about you're not being 'his type.'"

Carlotta nodded. "There was... actually, there was a little more to it then that. He thought that he had certain... I don't know how to explain this. He just... didn't think that he could make a relationship work with me, you know?"

"Okay," said Lily slowly, smiling simply because Carlotta's glow was infectious. "Judging from your current Sandra Dee impersonation, I'm guessing he modified his opinion today?"

"Well," Carlotta went on, "I asked him to meet with me this morning in a spare classroom, and he said he would, but then he didn't show, so I thought 'alright, he really just doesn't care at all. I should just move on.'"

"So far, this isn't very Cinderella-esque..."

"Cinderella?"

"Never mind. Continue."

"Well," continued the brunette, "I decided to confront him anyway, which is completely out of character for me. Usually, if a chap isn't interested in me..." she paused. "Who am I kidding? Chaps are always interested in me. This is a new experience." Lily laughed appreciatively. "Anyway, I decided I had to speak to him. I couldn't just _let it go_... not after that kiss." She practically swooned, and Lily arched an eyebrow at her roommate's melodrama.

"Just one kiss?" she asked. "It must have been good."

"Earth-shattering," said Carlotta. "We were on holiday in the same village, this boy and I... it was on the beach at midnight. I'd had a few drinks but I was still—you know—sober, and so was he... mostly, y'know."

"Right."

"It was dark, there were stars, and we just... kissed. It was perfect. I don't do perfect, Lily, this is so unusual for me. But it was just romantic and _right. _Of course, then he said it was a mistake and we shouldn't see each other anymore, because he felt guilty."

"Guilty?"

"It's complicated," said Carlotta, waving the inquiry away with one delicate, olive toned hand. "Anyway, that kiss—it was right near the end of the holiday. We wrote a couple times afterward, but he was always... weird, after that night. So, when we got back to school, I tried speaking to him, but he was... still _weird_. And then with the bit... at the beginning of the year, with my... er... incident in the Common Room... well it all just added to the confusion. Then, last week we spoke for a few minutes, and he said that he had no way of understanding _my_ feelings, which completely threw me, because I had thought I'd been fairly up-front about the whole thing."

"Naturally."

"So, that's what I wanted to speak to him about this morning. I wanted to tell him that I wanted something real with him. I know that's unusual for me, but, Lily..." here, quite sincerely, "there was real magic this summer. Real, fantastic _magic_."

Somehow, Lily could not help but envying Carlotta. After years of what Carlotta liked to call "nice nights," she had actually found someone she wanted to live with... happily ever after. Maybe Cinderella was not so far off the mark...

"By the way, Lily, thank-you so much for letting me tell you all of this. Shelley... she's my best friend, but she can be truly dense sometimes. Anyway, where was I?"

"He stood you up this morning," supplied the redhead.

"He _did_. I was broken. Then, after supper, I approached him, and said we needed to talk... quite firmly, I must admit. He said that _he_ had to speak with me, too. So, when we were alone, he said that he really cared about me, but it wouldn't work. It couldn't work; we shouldn't have kissed over the summer; it was a mistake, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. And then it happened."

"What did?"

"The most spiritual experience that I have ever... experienced. We kissed again. Alright, I kissed him, but he kissed me back. It was beautiful. Wonderful. Perfect."

"So..." Lily was confused. "You two are going out, then?"

"Well..." For the first time, Carlotta appeared a tad dissatisfied. "To be honest, after the kiss, he left... dazed, a little confused, but kind of... you know, enraptured, I think?" Carlotta shook off her doubts and smiled. "It doesn't matter, though. We didn't get to have a conversation about it, I know, which I would have preferred, but at the same time, nothing was ruined by soul-burdening dialogue."

"Carlotta, soul-burdening dialogue can be really helpful," said Lily, cautiously. "Soul-burdening dialogue is how you know whether or not he's committed to being with you."

The brunette shook her head. "He could have screamed that he never wanted to see me again after that kiss, and I would have known that he was committed to being with me. I... tasted it."

Carlotta had a lot of strange ideas, but the way she seemed so uncharacteristically hopeful made Lily smile a little. "I hope it works out, Carlotta."

"It will." So confidently.

"So," began the redhead, leaning a little closer and arching a mischievous eyebrow, "now that you've told me all of that, you _have_ to tell me who the bloke is."

Carlotta's lip twitched. "Oh, I _want_ to, but... I'm not sure if it's a good idea."

"_Carlotta_..."

"Fine." She leaned closer conspiratorially. "And you won't tell?"

"Of course not."

"Fine," said Carlotta again. She paused, allowing the anticipation to grow. Then, finally, glowing with what the girl herself would have called transcendent ecstasy, Carlotta whispered: "It's Frank Longbottom."

There are some conversations that one wishes they had never held at all.

* * *

**A/N: **That was exhausting. Don't hate me. Everything works out.

Love to _**Underbabe**_, _**Wanna-be Lily**_ (right this second is very quickly—here's a new one, though), and _**Annoynomus**_ (the 75 detention thing will be explained in full in the next chapter).

Reviews are Cheesecake Day at the Cheesecake Factory.

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	7. Failures of Courage

**A/N: **Long and important. I'm really not sure if I like this...

**Disclaimer: **yeah, right. I don't own a thing.

**Previously: **Lily decides to reconcile with Snape. Carlotta Meloni tells Lily that she kissed Frank Longbottom over the holidays and hopes that Frank will pursue a relationship with her.

Chapter 7- Failures of Courage

Or

"_Smoke Gets In Your Eyes"_

"I've decided," Severus Snape told Nicolai Mulciber, late Friday evening.

Mulciber glanced up from his Transfiguration homework. "Have you?" he said, emotion or even concern indecipherable in his tone.

"Yes," said Snape. "I've decided I'm going."

Mulciber nodded. "I'm glad. You're a smart bloke, you know."

Severus did know. He looked into the dark Slytherin Common Room's dying fire. "What time do we leave?"

"Meet here by half past eleven, tomorrow night," replied the other.

Nodding slowly and feeling that it was very important, Snape said: "I'll be here."

_(The First Conversation)_

On a lesser level, it was just a Friday. It was Halloween, and it rained, and Quidditch practice for Gryffindor was canceled. But otherwise, it was really a shockingly average Halloween (on a lesser level). No one in Hogwarts ended up in the Hospital Wing, no one got pregnant, no one dropped out of school, and no one was expelled. Classes commenced as they usually did, and life just sort of went on. On a lesser level.

On that Friday, Severus Snape conducted two brief conversations with Nicolai Mulciber, Lily Evans was partnered with James Potter in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Mary Macdonald met a Hufflepuff, the Quidditch Captain read a letter from his mother at lunch hour, Herbology passed much as it usually did (with Mary Macdonald rejecting a Ravenclaw), Lily Evans had a conversation with the Head Boy, and she learned that James Potter smoked too much. It was, on a lesser level, just a very normal day.

In the grand scheme of things, that Friday Halloween turned out to be very important. Lily didn't realize it at the time, and neither did James, but Severus Snape did. In fact, he realized it the first moment he step foot in the Slytherin Common Room that morning.

"Snape," said Nicolai Mulciber's voice, as the boy approached him. He drew close and in a confidential manner said: "Avery, Hester, and I are going out tomorrow night."

"Going out?" echoed Snape dryly. "How romantic."

"We're meeting Malfoy," Mulciber coldly elaborated, and before his housemate could needlessly inquire as to why, he added: "This is what we've been waiting for. I don't have to explain it, _do I, _Severus?"

Snape shook his head. His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

"Are you coming?" asked Mulciber. Severus didn't want to go, or rather, he _did_ want to go, but wished that he didn't.

"I'll think about it," said Snape, and he went down to breakfast.

_(Lily is Partnered With James in Defense Class)_

First period Defense Against the Dark Arts class started out torturously. Lily had known it would from the moment she walked through the door and felt the prospect of sitting still for eighty minutes choking her. She took a seat beside Donna and waited, her foot tapping anxiously against the ground. Donna tried to ask her what made her so anxious, but Lily insisted that she "couldn't say."

Truthfully, her mind had not been her own for days. Torment and indecision had plagued her like a raincloud: a grey, timeless little question hanging overhead. To tell or not to tell...

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Would you stop that?" James Potter snapped.

The way her day was turning out, Lily realized that she should not have been surprised when, upon his entrance, Professor Black announced that they would all partner up, and would every student whose surname began with the letters _A_ through _L_ please come and draw a name? She should not have been surprised, when it was statistically more probable that she choose a friend (Shacklebolt, Snape, Macdonald, Price, McKinnon...) than an enemy (Potter, for instance), that the slip of parchment she drew would contain the name of someone belonging to the latter category.

Such, however, was the case and the reason why, fifteen minutes into class, it was James Potter sharing the desk with her instead of Donna, and it was James Potter griping about her incessant foot tapping.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Would you stop that?"

"No," she retorted, uncharacteristically annoyed. After all, he hadn't really done anything.

"Well, have you at least finished your part of the essay?"

"I've only been at it for ten minutes," defended Lily.

"I'll take that as a 'no?'" James looked at her paper before she could cover it up. "You've barely written a paragraph. Look, I'm almost done." He showed her nearly a foot of scroll covered in untidy script.

"You have the easier part," replied the prefect. "Anyone can write a lot about the _effects_ of the Imperius. The history requires research."

"Information you would already have, if you'd done the assigned reading."

"Who are _you_? Professor McGonagall? I _did_ do the assigned reading, Potter. I just can't remember ever single detail off the top of my head."

"Well, _maybe..._"

"Well maybe," Lily interrupted, "we should stop talking, and you should let me get back to work."

James shrugged and returned to his own half of their assignment, putting the finishing touches on the essay. Lily, meanwhile, chewed the back of her quill, as she tried to concentrate.

_The earliest incident in which the Imperius Curse was officially cited as directly linked to a fatality occurred in St. Petersburg in 1908, and... and... and... and..._

And?

She'd been going _somewhere_ with that sentence, but _where_? Maybe Frank was under the Imperius...

_Tap. Tap. Tap_.

James set down his quill, turning once again to his desk-mate. "Evans."

"What?" She noticed her nervous foot. "Oh."

"What's wrong?" he demanded, running one thin hand through his black hair. "I'm serious: the sooner you just let it out, the sooner I no longer have to fight off the urge to strangle you." (Not that any such urge actually existed at this moment, but that was neither—as they say—here nor there.)

"I just... I can't concentrate," replied Lily, sighing. "_Sorry_, I'll try to be..."

"What's wrong?" James repeated. "C'mon, Snaps, just tell me."

Lily also set her quill down and rested her chin in the palm of one hand. "I... _can't_."

"Evans..."

"I'm serious, I can't. I can't. I _can't_. I... I know something." She whispered this, and James arched an eyebrow.

"Why are you whispering?" he asked (in a whisper). "There's no one around us, and no one's paying attention anyway." It was true; with Black's partnerships in place, the whole room was abuzz with collaborative discussion, and the desks directly around Lily and James were unoccupied in any case. Their conversation _did _appear private.

"Because I want to," replied Lily unoriginally. She scowled.

"So what is it?"

"What?'

"What is it that you know?"

"I told you: I _can't tell_ you. Are you even paying attention?"

"Well," said James, "you clearly need to tell someone... I recommend a good psych-healer. This thing is eating you alive. And it's giving me a headache." He indicated to her tapping foot.

"It _is _eating me alive," Lily sighed, massaging her forehead dismally. "I just don't know what to _do_."

"Well, I would tell you what to do," replied her partner, "if you would just tell me what it is you know."

Lily shook her head. "It's not that simple."

"So... it's a secret?"

"Sort of. I don't know. I just... someone told me something... and it was in confidence, but the thing that this person told me involves someone else, and _I'm_ not sure if I should tell that someone else that it involves."

"If you were told something in confidence, you shouldn't tell," said James. "That really isn't too difficult."

"But it's _not that_..."

"Simple," he finished knowingly.

"Right." Lily bit her lip, considering the matter for a moment. "Alright, so, let's suppose that you had a girlfriend..."

"Why?"

"Just go with it. Let's suppose you had a girlfriend..."

"A very attractive girlfriend."

"Yes, a very attractive girlfriend that you like a lot."

"Okay. I've supposed it."

"So, suppose this girlfriend, sort of... kissed someone else, while she was dating you..."

"Unlikely. Practically impossible, really."

"Right, but this girlfriend of yours, she's... slightly tipsy and undergoing some sort of existential crisis, so she kisses this other bloke when she's on holiday... it's one of those things that just happens, and then she immediately regrets the whole thing. It's not some kind of ongoing, sordid affair... just a one-time slip up. Would you want to know about it?"

James turned this over in his head several times, and then asked: "It was really just _one_ time? And there were no... complicated feelings or any of that rubbish?"

"Well..." Lily bit her lip. "Maybe, just maybe, the bloke kissed your girlfriend again, and she kissed him back, but _then_ she ran away and was perfectly solid to you."

"Two kisses and some conflicted emotions?" asked James. "I would definitely want to know. First, so I can knock one to the bloke, and second so I can break up with my tart girlfriend."

"But she's not a tart! She's an angel! She's wonderful and sweet and sensitive and you've been dating for a really, _really_ long time!"

James raised his eyebrows, leaning in with an intrigued smirk. "Did you cheat on Harper, Snaps?"

She slapped him lightly. "_No_. This isn't about _me_. Stop laughing, Potter. This _isn't_ about me. It wasn't even a bird who cheated—it was the bloke, if you must know."

"I see," said the Quidditch Captain, nodding slowly. "Say, it wasn't Marlene Price's bloke, was it? I could definitely see him slagging around with some tart..."

"_No_. Now stop guessing! I have to do this essay..." She tried to return to the assignment, but James grabbed her arm.

"Wait, no, I'll be serious. So this mystery couple—the bloke, he went away on holiday and just... ran into this other bird by accident, right? It wasn't planned?"

"Of course not."

"And he's a good chap?"

"Yes, definitely."

"So he accidentally kisses a bird and repents, but later on she kisses him again and he... possibly reciprocates a bit?"

"Yes," said Lily. "And then, the witch that he's kissing, she... she tells _me_ that she's got serious feelings for this bloke, and _she_ thinks something could happen. However, from what I can _personally observe_ of the situation, it seems like _he _wants to move on and forget the whole thing."

James nodded slowly. "You can't keep this a secret, Evans. You've got to tell."

"But if he's really, truly penitent, I might break up a great couple without any real reason!"

"There _is_ a real reason," protested the other. "He kissed another bird... _twice_."

"But if it's in the past..."

"It's not in the past if his girlfriend doesn't know that he's capable of doing something like this, is it? It's an unresolved issue that requires resolution."

Lily chewed the back of her quill. "You might be right," she admitted presently. "But I _really, really_ don't want to tell her the truth... I mean, she really loves him, and he's not a bad person, but..."

"Snaps," interrupted James, "you shouldn't tell the girlfriend."

"I shouldn't? But you said..."

"This bloke—is he a friend of yours?"

Lily nodded.

"Then you should talk to _him_. You don't want to confuse the facts or start a huge fight over something you heard secondhand, right? But at the same time, it's obviously important enough that you can't just dismiss it. So you have to get the facts—talk to him, see what he says, and then form a judgment. Tell him you know all about everything and see what he's got to say about it. If he's really so upright, then he'll confess. But let's face it, _you_ shouldn't be the one who tells the bird that her boyfriend kissed another girl... not if they're really so mad about each other as you're letting on. So don't do anything drastic. Just... talk to him."+

James finished and expectantly awaited her response, but Lily's sheer surprise delayed articulation for a moment. Finally, she brushed a flyaway strand of wavy red hair from her eyes and nodded. "You're right. That's... good advice. Thank-you."

He bowed his head a little and returned to his essay. Lily did the same.

_For decades, the inception of the Imperius Curse has been attributed to the efforts of the German government, who hoped to eliminate the variable of human will in late nineteenth century military exploits. However, even earlier reports of... _

...That was solid advice Potter gave... surprisingly solid. Why was it he could be so nice, and then seconds later prove himself to be such a bloody git? Why was it that...

..._even earlier reports of "controlling" spells, which manipulated and even disarmed the free will of the victim, have been uncovered in China, India, and parts of... _

...Strangest of all, there existed so little perceptible difference between mean, moody Potter and helpful, honest Potter. The inflection in his voice barely shifted, and yet the two personalities had such opposite effects...

..._parts of South Africa. The incantation "Imperio" did not officially appear until 1902, published in an American newspaper as the discovery of..._

_..._But wasn't it possible that the _real_ Potter was the genuine, charismatic, entertaining one, and the other one was just...

_...a German immigrant, who was later reported to have stolen the information from the government project to which he contributed. The "Imperio" incantation proved to be far more powerful than its early predecessors, such as "Untersuchen!" and "Atakku!" However, at the time of its discovery, the "Imperio" spell was also, falsely, believed to be invincible: that is, no person subjected to this magic could overcome the effects..._

...a coating of immaturity?

"Finished," announced James, causing Lily to start. He glanced at her parchment. "Well, at least you've made progress."

"Can I ask you something?" said Lily, setting down her quill. He raised his eyebrows again, and she interpreted that as affirmation. "Don't take this the wrong way... I'm not trying to blame you or anything, okay? I'm just... I just want to know why you didn't confess to McGonagall about the fight in the Entrance Hall."

After some time, James—with bitter humor—responded: "You want an excuse, don't you? I don't have one, though. I don't have a good reason that makes it all go away. It was just... I was just being a git. That's all there was to it."

"I don't believe that," she told him, before he could turn away. "I think there's a reason. There has to be a reason."

"Why does there have to be a reason?" he demanded, frustrated. Lily sighed.

"Because, you... you hit him. You hit Mulciber. You just appeared out of nowhere and dislocated his jaw, and that's not consistent with someone who cares about consequences. It doesn't... fit."

James breathed heavily. He seemed to labor over something in his mind for nearly a minute before at last opting to speak. "Have you ever heard of the seventy-five rule, Snaps?" he asked. She shook her head. "It's an old Hogwarts rule. _Really _old, and it doesn't come up a lot. The... uh... the thing is, this rule—the seventy-five rule—says that if a student receives seventy-five detentions, he or she has to go before the faculty and... and they vote whether or not the student should be expelled."

"So, you're saying that..."

"I have seventy-four detentions," he interrupted. Lily's eyes grew wide.

"Seventy four? That's... a lot. I have _five_."

James wasn't surprised. Smirking bitterly, he said: "Anyway, that's the truth. If I'd confessed to punching Mulciber I would have been in danger being expelled, and... I was _afraid that I'd get a detention._" This he pronounced with stringent irony, and he watched her for a reaction. "Not exactly heroic, yeah?"

"The faculty loves you, Potter," said Lily, ignoring his last words. "Even Slughorn loves you, and you're not particularly brilliant at Potions. Then there's Flitwick, McGonagall, to say nothing of Dumbledore, and Puttman and probably Black, too... you've got some of the best marks in the class. I'm sure they'd vote in your favor."

"Snaps... the only other two people who reached seventy-five detentions were expelled. It's just... expected. It wouldn't matter if they liked me. The staff would feel _obliged_ to..."

"Why didn't you just tell me? Or Black, or Remus, or anyone?"

James frowned, bewildered. "Why would I?"

Lily looked at him as though the answer were appallingly obvious. "Because any one of us would have gladly taken the fall! I mean, _I _did it just so Gryffindor wouldn't loose points—of course I would have done it to stop you from being kicked out."

"But... wait... _what?"_

"Well, don't you believe me?"

"Why would you stop me from being expelled? You don't even like me. Actually, don't you kind of _hate_ me? I'm the 'bullying toerag' who always bothered your best mate!"

"You've bothered _me_ a fair bit, too," Lily reminded him. "And maybe there are times when I wouldn't mind seeing you kicked out, but you... you socked Mulciber. And he deserved it. Maybe it was poorly timed and ill-thought-out, but... you don't deserve to be expelled for _that_."

The Quidditch Captain blinked. "I don't... I mean, I don't really understand you. But... thank-you. I guess."

"You're welcome." She looked down at her essay.

"Do you need help finishing?" he asked.

"No, I just have one or two more paragraphs, I think. It shouldn't take too long." James merely nodded in reply, before returning his eyes to his own half of the essay, which he began to reread. With her eyes on her paper, Lily softly added: "And I don't hate you."

...

"Oh. Okay."

_(Mary Macdonald Meets a Hufflepuff)_

Mary Macdonald was having a bad day. She'd worn an orange scarf in celebration of the holiday, and already it had nearly fallen off into her potion twice. She'd tripped on her way down to breakfast, and now one of her knees had a cut on it. She felt as though she weighed three hundred pounds for no apparent reason, and her school skirt seemed to be a little tighter and shorter that morning. Also, she'd wanted to be paired with Sirius Black or Donovan Atwater, and had, instead, ended up with some pokey Hufflepuff.

In no particular mood to be polite, Mary decided she ought to be forthright with her partner—the large eyed boy who stared too much and hung around with Adam McKinnon from time to time—and thus, as he withdrew his potions supplies, Mary turned to him and said: "_I _wanted to be partnered with Donovan Atwater."

The Hufflepuff blinked. "Oh."

"I thought that you should know."

"Oh."

"Because Donovan Atwater is excellent in potions, and I'm horrid, and we haven't talked all week, Donovan and I."

"Oh."

Mary pulled her perfectly glossed lips into a frown. "Is that all you have to say?" she asked (it was a very bad day). "'_Oh_?'"

The Hufflepuff's eyes grew—if possible—wider. "I'm... sorry?"

Mary sighed. He wasn't a hideous chap, though by no means good-looking. He had a narrow chin and a lot of non-descript brown hair, cut (or rather uncut) like one of the Monkees, so that it mostly covered his ears and flirted with the collar of his oxford shirt. He had freckles and decent teeth, and a long, thin nose. He looked positively terrified of the exceptionally pretty Mary Macdonald.

She took pity on him. "It's not your fault," she allowed, somewhat guiltily. "I've just... I've just had a rotten day, I suppose. I really wanted to be partners with Donovan Atwater... and now he's paired up with that _tart_ Alexa Kyle."

"Alexa Kyle isn't a tart!" said the boy, reaching what must have been a personal record, volume-wise. "She's really nice, actually, and she tutored me in Transfiguration in fourth year!"

It was Mary's turn to blink confusedly. "Fine," she said, "but right now she's partnered with Donovan Atwater, and _he_ doesn't look terribly unhappy about it, so she's a _tart!_"

"But she's _not_." He clearly did not understand the situation. They were both quiet for a moment, before the Hufflepuff continued: "So is Donovan Atwater your... your boyfriend or something?"

"I don't know," Mary admitted. "I mean, no, I suppose not. We went on a date this weekend, and... well... let's just say I haven't had any updates since then."

"You went on a date? How could you have gone on a date? There was no Hogsmeade trip or Quidditch match..." He awaited an explanation, and Mary felt herself blushing under his innocent stare. Mary never blushed.

"You don't get out much, do you?" she asked. The Hufflepuff did not understand what she referred to and consequently pretended to prepare his potions ingredients. "We... we stayed in the castle," Mary attempted to explain. _And I gave it away like some kind of tart to a boy that's not even my boyfriend..._ "We had a really lovely time, and... I don't know, I just haven't heard from Donovan lately, so I was hoping that if I was partnered with him today, we'd have the opportunity to talk. Instead, I'm with you, and he's with that tart Alexa Kyle, and I think he likes it."

The Hufflepuff nodded. "Well," he began slowly, not meeting her eye, "if he's the one who looks happy about being partnered with Alexa Kyle, wouldn't that make _him_ the tart? Because I _know_ Alexa Kyle, and she's very nice. She tutored me in fourth year for Transfiguration."

"You mentioned that," said Mary. "Boys can't be tarts, though."

"I bet they can," he replied in an undertone, which caused Mary to laugh.

With one last glance across the room at Donovan Atwater, the brunette returned her attention to this strange Hufflepuff partner of hers. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Reginald." He did not appear at all surprised that she didn't know his name, though they were in the same year.

"Reginald?" Mary repeated. Perhaps she could call him by his surname. "Reginald what?"

"Cattermole. Reginald Cattermole."

Or not.

"So... what do your friends call you, Reginald Cattermole?"

"Well..." he thought about it, and there was something almost cute about his expression in this process. "Well… mostly they just call me 'Reginald.'"

"Alright then, Reg," said Mary. "We're going to have to get you a nickname."

_(The Quidditch Captain Receives a Letter)_

"Quidditch practice is canceled," Adam McKinnon informed Donna Shacklebolt at lunch. The Great Hall was a grey place that afternoon. Despite the glowing orange jack-o-lanterns that levitated throughout, the clouded sky seemed to envelope the entire room in a haze, as raindrops fell from the heavens without getting anything wet. At the news her teammate had just provided, Donna set down her fork and frowned.

"Where did you hear that? And why is it canceled? We have our first game in two weeks."

"Black told me to spread it around the team," Adam replied, as he took a seat beside Donna. He shrugged. "He just said that Potter had canceled practice. I don't know much more than that."

"Potter never _cancels_ practices," noted Donna. "He schedules _additional_ practices. It's his thing. It's why he's captain. Fanaticism."

Marlene Price, Mary Macdonald, and Lily Evans all arrived at the meal. "Donna and Adam, sitting in a tree..." chanted Mary, causing Donna to glare.

"Grow up, and go away," she said, though Mary complied with neither demand, sitting down across from the pair. Lily and Marlene imitated the gesture.

"What were _you_ two talking about?" Marlene asked in a would-be casual tone, as she helped herself to an apple and did not meet anyone's eye.

"Potter canceled Quidditch practice," Donna informed them. "McKinnon's been spreading the word. And when did it become criminal for me to speak to him, anyway?"

"It's not criminal," said Marlene, a little more confidently. "I just thought it was odd, that's all, seeing as you never talk to blokes, Don, or... y'know... people at all."

"I talk to people!"

"People named Lily Evans," supplied Mary.

"I wonder why Potter canceled Quidditch practice," Lily interjected, fixated on that point, though she did not know why. "Not the weather, is it?"

"Potter would have us practice in a hurricane," said Adam dryly, and Donna nodded.

"He's probably in a bad mood," she said. "Now that I think of it, I saw him leaving when I came in a few minutes ago, and he looked a bit pissed. 'Course it's difficult to tell. And, Mary, I talk to a _lot_ of people who aren't Lily."

"Like _who_?"

"Well... the teachers, when they ask questions in class, and..."

Her companions continued to bicker, but Lily found herself disinterested. As Donna had suggested, the Quidditch Captain was, indeed, absent from Gryffindor table, and—after a moment's internal debate—Lily stood herself. Making some excuse to her distracted friends, the prefect hastily exited the hall.

She did not really know _why_ she felt compelled to pursue James Potter... it was something that one would do for a friend, and James was not exactly her best mate. At the same time, he'd been downright _nice_ during Defense class... and helpful, too.

As the redhead arrived in the Entrance Hall, she was so intently searching for James that she did not notice Frank Longbottom and ran straight into him.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" cried the Head Boy, grabbing her arm so that Lily did not fall to the ground. "Are you alright?"

"Alright? Oh, yeah, I'm... listen, Frank, I have to..." Lily was torn for a moment, then continued: "I have to talk with you. A little later on... it's very important."

"Er... yeah, alright, I'm free now if you want ta..."

"I can't now. I'll see you later."

With that, Lily pulled away, moving hastily through the crowded hall. Working under the premise that James had gone to the Gryffindor Common Room, she started up the ascending staircase. As she rose higher through the castle corridors, Lily encountered fewer and fewer students. Nearly everyone had gone to lunch by the time she reached the sixth floor.

A quick glance down the corridor told her that the hallway was deserted. A second look told her otherwise, for some ways down, a figure stood, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. And it was James.

"Potter, are you alright?" Lily asked, drawing closer. He looked at her, but he did not seem to properly comprehend her presence, and Lily knew she had never seen that expression on his face before: a terrible combination of anger and anguish and confusion.

"He's... he's moving back in," said James, as though he could not grasp the words he uttered. "He's just... he's going back." Then, the Quidditch Captain was quiet, and Lily did not know how to say. All she really understood was that the look on this boy's face stung her, and she wished she'd never seen it. Suddenly, James seemed to realize he wasn't alone. He started, straightening up and running a hand through his hair. In the other hand, Lily noticed a crumpled piece of parchment. "I'm sorry," said James. "I'm sorry... I didn't... I should go."

And he hurriedly did.

_(Herbology Passes Much the Way It Usually Does)_

_(With Mary Rejecting a Ravenclaw)_

James had returned to normal by Herbology that afternoon. Or anyway, that was how it appeared. He stood with the other Marauders and, at some point, slipped a dung bomb into Samuel Avery's book bag. He finished his assignment of de-seeding a Gordyshot plant with at least two somewhat dirty cracks about the process, and he adeptly smoothed things over when Professor Puttman wanted to know why several Slytherins seemed to be exuding a _horrendous odor_.

It was all fairly normal, at least as far as Lily could observe, and that wasn't much. She had chosen a spot beside Marlene, and Marlene was particularly clever in Herbology, which meant that she would have no trouble noticing if Lily were distracted or even just devoting above average attention to James Potter.

Not that it mattered, for Marlene was also preoccupied with surveillance that class. The blonde had noticed that Mary Macdonald was helping a Hufflepuff boy with his Gordyshot plant.

"That boy with Mary," began Marlene, as she and Lily started to clean up, having finished collecting the necessary seeds... "he's the bloke that was with Adam that night, yeah?"

"What night?" inquired Lily, then, comprehending, continued: "Oh, you mean that chap who saw him almost... jump?" Wincing, Marlene nodded. "Yeah, that's him. His name's Reginald."

"He was Mary's partner today in Potions, right?"

"Right." Lily watched the pair. "You don't think there's something there...?"

Marlene shook her head. "I'd give Mary credit for an awful lot," she said, "but that boy is not nearly... _Mary_ enough."

Lily shrugged. "Give her some time. She's only sixteen, and she's..."

"Pretty," finished Marlene. "I know."

Across the room, the Marauders were washing up at another sink. "Do you know what I think," began Sirius thoughtfully, "I don't think there was any such person as Merlin. I bet it was all invented... like a myth."

"Rubbish," said Remus, rolling his grey eyes. "Of course he was a real person."

"Then why is it that every painting of him has him looking different?" Sirius wanted to know. "And the voices always sound different."

"That doesn't prove anything," argued Mr. Moony. "He was an old blighter with a white beard... no one pays attention to what they really look like. The pictures were probably painted from memory."

"Or from imagination," suggested Sirius knowingly. "And that's another thing—how is it there aren't any portraits of a _young_ Merlin. No one thinks about him as a young bloke."

"Because he didn't accomplish anything of significance as a young bloke," said Remus.

"Or because he didn't exist until someone invented him as an _old_ chap," finished Sirius with satisfaction. Once again Remus rolled his eyes, a practice that had become something of a habit in recent years. Still debating the point with Sirius, he finished washing his hands and started back towards their table, while Padfoot followed, smirking contently. Peter stayed behind while James rubbed off the last remains of dirt from his fingernails.

"Are you alright, Prongs?" Wormtail asked. "You disappeared for a bit there at lunch. Is everything okay?"

James finished washing his hands. He dried them with a towel. "Everything's fine, Wormtail," he said, for the first time since the beginning of class betraying anything but merriment in his voice. "I'm doing fine. C'mon—I've got another dung bomb that has Mulciber's name on it."

Peter didn't argue the point.

When class ended, it was raining again, and there was something of a rush for umbrellas. Sirius Black summoned one from the castle, expanding it to encompass all four Marauders. A few cleverer students cast rain repellant charms, and as for Lily, she had brought her own umbrella down at the beginning of class. There was room to keep two students dry.

"I say let Mary fend for herself," said Marlene. "Her hair looks as perfect wet as dry... lucky wench."

"I'm just going to make sure," Lily replied, waiting for Mary to finish packing up her supplies.

Growing impatient, Marlene noticed Miles across the greenhouse and started towards him.

"Do you have an umbrella?" the blonde inquired of her boyfriend. He shook his head, indicating towards his wand.

"I've got _magic_, Marly," he said sarcastically. "You should try it sometime." Miles waved his wand once, muttering an incantation. "An _Impervius_ spell," he informed her. "You won't get wet if you go out in the rain now. I'll see you at the feast tonight." With that, Miles departed.

Dispirited, Marlene returned to Lily, who was still waiting for Mary. "I'm off to the castle," said the blonde. "Impervius spell," she added in response to Lily's inquisitive look. "I'll see you in a bit." However, Marlene had not taken three steps outside, when she felt rain drops in her hair.

"Damn it," swore the blond, drawing her wand to perform her own Impervius Charm when the rain stopped. For her, at least.

"Risking the elements?" asked Adam McKinnon, appearing. He held an umbrella over her head. "Risky business there, Price."

"I had an Impervius Charm, but it must not have been a very good one," replied Marlene, gratefully stepping closer.

"Sometimes a raindrop or two can sneak through even the best Impervius charms," Adam casually consoled her.

"Well, I don't care. Miles cast the spell."

"Hmm... I guess it wasn't a very effective spell, was it?"

Marlene laughed. "No, I guess it wasn't."

Meanwhile, the Hufflepuff with whom Mary had spent class was departing with one of his housemates, and Mary herself was just on her way to rejoin a patient Lily when something—rather, someone—sidetracked her.

"Hi, there, Mary," said Donovan Atwater. He was a handsome, broad-shouldered Ravenclaw, and he approached the Gryffindor girl wearing a smile. "'Sorry if I've been distant this week... I've been a little busy lately. The weekdays are always so hectic."

"No problem, Donovan," replied Mary, and her voice had that sweet, flirty sound it often took on when she spoke to boys. "Happy Halloween."

"Happy Halloween," replied the Ravenclaw. "I like your... your scarf, there." He indicated to her spirited orange accessory, and she thanked him coyly. "So, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Halloween feast tonight with me... as a date. I had a great time on Saturday."

Mary thought about it. He had an excellent smile. She beamed at him. "That's very sweet of you, Donovan, but I've made other plans."

Taken aback: "Oh. Really? A—uh—a date?"

"No. I'm just going with Marlene and Lily and Donna," Mary told him truthfully. Why was this so... satisfying?

"Well," began Donovan, his smile resuming, "They're your dorm-mates. I bet they wouldn't mind if you spent the evening with me."

"I'm_ certain _they wouldn't," said Mary. "But I'm not particularly interested in being a weekend project of yours." With that, the witch turned and joined Lily, who wore a curious expression.

"What was that?" she asked, as they started towards the castle. "Did Donovan Atwater ask you out again?"

Mary nodded. "I said 'no.'"

"Is that right?"

"Yes."

"I thought you liked him."

"I did."

"Then why did you say 'no?'"

Mary considered the question, and then smiled. "Because he's a tart."

Lily laughed. "A tart?" she repeated. "You've always said blokes can't be called 'tarts.'" The brunette simply shrugged. "Mary Macdonald, I think you must be evolving."

"You might be right, Lily. It had to happen eventually."

_(A Word with the Head Boy)_

Perhaps in an effort to distract the students of Hogwarts from the dire situations of the outside world, or perhaps to distract the students of Hogwarts from the dire situations of the school itself (Lathe's investigation had, so far, proved less than fruitful), the Halloween Feast was particularly magnificent that year. There was more food, better food, more elaborate decorations, and the ghosts performed what was supposed to be a very dramatic version of The Elder Wand fairytale, but—due to Peeves' involvement—took more than one comical turn.

When everyone was seated to start on the delicious food set out for them, Lily noticed that Luke Harper took the seat to her right. He kissed her on the cheek, and Lily realized that she had not actually spoken with her boyfriend for the last two days. She leaned over and kissed him, much more passionately, on the lips.

He smiled when they broke apart (Donna—who was nearby—rolled her eyes) and asked: "What was that for?"

Guilt, mostly. "You're a good boyfriend, that's why," Lily replied. Luke poured her a glass of pumpkin juice: an unnecessary but not altogether annoying gesture. "Why are you at this table?"

"No one pays attention to house formalities on holidays," he told her cheerfully. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, of course not."

"Good. Of course, the food won't be quite as good as it usually is at these feasts." Luke selected a sizeable cut of ham. "They ordered from some shop in London, instead of my family's business in Hogsmeade."

Lily courteously inquired why this was done, and while Luke embarked upon the explanation, Lily spared a glance across the room to the Slytherin table. Snape wasn't looking at her, but he was seated alone. Then, with even less cause, Lily found herself searching for the Marauders. James, accompanied by the customary other three, seemed to be in perfectly good spirits. She'd had no contact with him since his strange outburst at lunch.

"...Anyway, that's what my sister said in her letter," Luke was finishing his story, and Lily nodded.

"That's..." _Too bad? Good?_ What had he been saying? "...interesting."

"It's the business," replied Luke with a shrug. At that moment, Lily observed Frank Longbottom entering the hall, with Alice at his side. A wave of apprehension swallowed her, as she recognized that she had to confront him _tonight_. Luke could not help but notice his girlfriend's sudden uneasiness. "Are you alright, Lily?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine. There's just... something I have to do. It's a... a prefect thing. I'm kind of dreading it, that's all."

"Anything I can do to help?" volunteered the Ravenclaw. Lily tore her eyes from Frank, fixing her gaze upon Luke Harper instead.

No. There really _wasn't_ anything he could do, was there? She considered sharing some version of the story... asking his input on the situation, but then again, that just seemed unnecessary. She already knew exactly what she had to do, and she could contain herself because, to tell the truth, she'd already discussed the issue.

With James Potter.

* * *

"Frank!"

Lily caught up with the Head Boy after the feast, as students made their way up to their common rooms fit to burst with food (quiet excellent food, no matter what Luke Harper said). He smiled benignly at her, while she waited for the other students nearby to pass them on the stair.

"Hi, Lily," he greeted. "You wanted to talk to me, right? Oh, and while I have you, I was wondering—and I wouldn't normally ask this—but I was wondering if you could switch patrol shifts with Bertram Aubrey, on account of..."

"I _know_, Frank."

"You know...?"

In the shortest fraction of a second, Lily considered everything. She considered Alice, and she considered Carlotta's smile as they sat on the bed in the dormitory discussing her new love, and she considered how long she'd known Frank, and she considered how—back so many years ago—Frank had spent weeks, working up the courage just to speak to Alice, and she considered that she might not have this friend anymore.

"I know about Carlotta," Lily interrupted him. Frank's expression changed radically, fading from casual cordiality to complete shock in just seconds. "I know what happened over holiday and what happened on Sunday, and I can't hold it in anymore."

"Lily," began Frank shakily, "it was a mist..."

"Please, don't," Lily continued loudly. "Please, I can't take this anymore. If it's over... if it's _really_ over with Carlotta, then you have to speak with Alice. If it's not, then _I'll_ tell Alice, because it's not fair to her."

"I know that, and..."

"It's not fair, because she loves you, and you've been keeping this from her, and there is _never_... I mean _never_ an excuse to cheat." Frank was quiet. "You have to tell her, Frank. Tonight. Now."

He was still quiet, and then he looked up to meet her eye. "I will."

_(Lily Evans Learns James Potter Smokes Too Much)_

Really, it was kind of a funny sight. James Potter just lay there, stretched out along the Gryffindor table top with a cigarette between two fingers as he brought it to his lips and inhaled. His hazel eyes were fixated upon the changing sky—a mass of black nothing, white starlight, and heavy clouds, which seemed to be moving out. It was late, and his chances of getting caught were slim, but he ought to have been more conscientious, Lily thought, for he did not even hear her enter the Great Hall. He did not hear her at all until she spoke.

"You smoke."

He started and looked about. Then—noticing it was just Lily—he lay his head back down on the cigarette-less hand. "Should I contrive a really witty way of telling you how efficiently you conveyed the most obvious statement in the world, or will a simple 'well, _obviously_' suffice?"

"I can see _why _you smoke," said Lily dryly, "it puts you in such a cheerful mood."

James waited as she approached the table: he waited for the statement that just about every human being made upon learning of his cigarette habit. He awaited the cliché and abundantly obvious observation, which usually went something identical to: "Those things will kill you, y'know." It did not come. Lily reached Gryffindor table and sat down on the bench, completely unperturbed by the fact that he was lying on the table (or keeping her mouth shut about it, anyway). In fact, they remained in that vein for some time, utterly silent, until James felt compelled to speak up.

"Listen, about earlier..." he began, hoping she would cut him off, but she didn't. "In the corridor at lunch, I... it was nothing. I just had a quick moment, and... it was nothing..."

"What happened?" Lily quietly prompted.

"My mum wrote," James told her, uncertain as to why. "She was just... she said my dad was moving back in to the house... he and mum split over the summer, and now I guess he's... back."

Lily felt as though she were hearing something that had not been uttered aloud as of yet. She nodded slowly, trying not to appear too shocked, because in reality, the only words that came to mind would be completely inappropriate at this time. Nonetheless, these four words played over and over in her head like a damaged record, overcoming her hesitance to believe them.

_James Potter is human_.

"I'm sorry if that's something that makes you unhappy," she said at length. "I really am."

James made no reply. Instead, he off-handedly asked: "So how'd you find me? Or was it fate?"

"Sirius Black, actually," Lily told him. "He said I'd find you here."

"Why were you searching?" pressed the other, with a hint of amusement that made Lily uncomfortable.

"To thank you," she said at once. "You were very decent in Defense class, and I thought I should say thank you for that—and for the advice. Consider it positive reinforcement." That made James laugh, which made Lily smile, though he didn't see, because he was still lying on the table top with his eyes on the ceiling-turned-sky, while she remained, properly seated, on the bench. James rectified this situation a moment later by sitting up, and Lily, in turn, pushed herself to sit up on the table top beside him.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked, as he took a long drag from the cigarette. James said that she could. "Why don't you want your dad to move back in to your house? I mean, I don't pretend to know a lot about you, but... just my limited experience and knowledge from you and from Sirius and whatnot... it just seems like you and your family have always got on pretty well. The first time I met you... on the train in first year... you said the reason you wanted to be Gryffindor was on account of your dad."

James exhaled. Cigarette smoke swirled up towards the black night sky. "I've spent most of my life idolizing Dad," the wizard began thoughtfully. "I wanted to be him when I grew up. I wanted to have his position at the Ministry, and I was proud because Mum said I looked like him. I don't know when exactly I realized that he made Mum unhappy but... they're just not right for each other. I'm not saying it's his fault or her fault. But, I don't know, eventually a kid looks at his parents as an actual couple... not just his mum and dad, but as people, and... as people, they're not right for each other. They're just... they're wrong. They bicker, and I know that they'd be happier apart: Dad with all his time for himself and Mum without... without having to wonder if she should keep supper out." Another long drag.

Lily tried to imagine ever thinking any such thing about her own parents. "My dad's dead," she said at last. James looked at her. "You might have already known that—I missed some school back in fourth year, and word always spreads so quickly."

"I'd forgotten," James admitted.

"Right, well... he wasn't perfect or special, my dad, he just... he was just _normal_." Lily strived to express everything in the right words. "He and my mum bickered sometimes. He also had a betting problem... not a real one, like, where he lost all our money or anything, but gambling was always such a temptation for him, so he couldn't go to the races or anything. He drank a fair bit, too. Mostly he could handle it, but this one time, when I was probably about... I don't know, seven, maybe, he lost his job, and he went out and got so completely plastered. 'Course, I don't want you to think my parents were unhappy, because they weren't... not at all. They were one of those meant-to-be couples that everyone hopes their parents are, but... y'know, things didn't always work perfectly. They'd fight about the most ridiculous things, too, y'know, like... Dad smoking in the house, or Mum working too much. This one time, they had an argument about—I don't know—money or something, and Mum was so upset she went to their room and cried, and I was so... _angry_ with my Dad, I thought: '_when I'm drawing my pictures at school, and the teacher says to bring it home to our dads, I'm not going to give it to him_.' I was six, so defying that sacred teacher's order was the most hurtful thing I could imagine doing to a father. And of course, like I said, _I was six_, so when he brought ice cream home for Petunia and me, and flowers for my mum, all was forgiven, but... I think that was probably the only time in all my life when I've used every bit of anger within me and directed it at a single object. I really just wantedto hurt him. It was... frightening." Lily breathed.

James waited a long time to speak. "I really don't know what you're talking about, Snaps," he finally said.

"I'm _saying_," Lily pressed, undaunted, "that my dad wasn't perfect... not by a long-shot, but he's dead now, and I'd give anything to have him back."

Unable to think of a proper response, James stared at his slowly dwindling cigarette. "That's great and all, Evans," he roughly began, "but it's not the same situation at all, y'know, and..."

"Oh, I know," Lily interrupted at once. "No, I was just... I just wanted to tell you something, because you told me something."

"I don't know why I told you."

"Because I'm here, and I'm a pretty girl," said Lily, which made James smirk. "Why do you smoke?" she asked casually.

He considered the question. "I like how it looks."

"God, that's the stupidest reason."

"No, that's not how I meant it," James amended hastily. "Look." He took a drag and exhaled. A pillar of silver smoke cascaded forth, twisting and swirling against the walls of the darkened hall, as though prodded by some invisible force. "See?" said James, quietly. "You have to admit, there's something striking about the smoke."

Lily's eyes shifted from the haze to James. "It's still a pretty stupid reason," she said frankly. "But at least it's interesting." And maybe he was right.

"Thank you." He made headway in the cigarette, and Lily watched the smoke. "I guess you listened to what I said in Defense class, then?" James asked after a while. "You talked to this bloke with the girlfriend?"

"Yeah. I reckon everyone will know all about it soon enough... I won't spoil the surprise for you."

"Don't worry too much about it," the other advised. "I mean, if these two are as destined as you seem to think they are, they'll survive."

"I can't believe I was such a coward about the whole thing," Lily lamented. "I should have just spoken up right away. I was only fooling myself: there's never an excuse to cheat."

"I guess not," said James.

"Don't you _know_?"

"I don't know... life is complicated. I guess there's no _excuse, _but... things don't always make sense. Maybe sympathy was the better option."

Lily did not agree, but sitting there with James was oddly comforting, and she didn't want to ruin it with a fight. She watched the glowing orange embers at the end of his cigarette and waited for him to speak again. The cigarette was all but gone before he did, and it was on a new topic: "He just left, y'know..."

Taken by surprise, Lily asked: "Your dad?"

James nodded. "I mean, he told my mum and everything, but he didn't even stop by my room to say 'bye.' The next morning he just... wasn't there."

"Maybe he thought it would be too difficult to leave if he saw you," Lily suggested. James shook his head, sardonically amused.

"More likely he knew I didn't want to see him. Dad and I hadn't been getting along for most of the summer... he was on some kind of 'discipline' kick. Trying to give me curfew for the first time and whatnot. He must have read a parenting book... finally."

"Discipline? Imagine that."

"I know, right?"

Laughing, Lily said: "So, I gather there wasn't a lot of punishment growing up?"

James sighed. "I don't want you to think I'm some sort of 'poor little rich boy' you know. My parents were in love with me... childhood was relatively drama-free. They never tried to control me or tell me what to do—I've had all the best broomsticks and pets and family heirlooms. And for most of the time, my parents were fine... times have been... crazy, and my dad's in the DMLE... that's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which meant he worked just about all the time. Mum didn't go back to work till I started at Hogwarts, and by that time, she'd raised a child and grown up. Dad... he just made the money. Not that we needed it, by the way, as we're bloody loaded."

"Classy."

"I'm not going to lie," said James. "I could spend a hundred galleons every day without earning a knut, and I wouldn't have to worry for years."

"That's mad. So what are you going to do with yourself once Hogwarts is done with? You won't exactly worry about paying the rent... will you sit about with magazines and Bertie Bott's?"

"Quidditch," replied the other. "I'd like to play Quidditch." But he found that he didn't want to talk about that quite yet, so he redirected: "What about you?"

"I want to write," said Lily.

"Noble," James observed. "A nobler profession than my chosen one, I suppose. So, what, the Daily Prophet? Or are you more of a novelist?"

"Well, I, unfortunately, _will_ have to worry about paying rent," Lily explained, "and novels are hardly a practical way to get started on that account."

"Practical is boring."

"Practical is necessary."

James shrugged. "Well, I'm glad I don't live according to what's 'practical' all the time. I'd be bored out of my mind. Don't know how you do it, Snaps."

"You probably wouldn't have seventy-four detentions if you had a little more practicality, Potter."

"So? I've immensely enjoyed nearly every single thing that's landed me in detention. I wouldn't take any of it back."

Lily looked at him, and he fancied that she looked a little disappointed. "Wouldn't you? Not anything?"

And he would have been a liar if, at that moment, he'd said that he regretted absolutely nothing. "Maybe a few things," the Quidditch Captain confessed. "I guess I haven't always been the epitome of _nice_¸ and there's a Hufflepuff or two who... I don't know... maybe I wouldn't hex, if I were to do it all over again." A thought occurred to him: "Hey, maybe I _should_ get another detention. I reckon getting expelled would piss 'em off pretty well, yeah?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "I forbid you to get yourself kicked out to piss off your parents," she said.

"You forbid me? On what grounds?"

"I don't know... sanity, for one. And who would keep the leash on Sirius?" James grinned. Lily blushed faintly. "Listen, Potter," she began presently, "what—what are we doing here, exactly?"

"I'm smoking. You're stalking-slash-judging me."

Crossing her arms, Lily arched her eyebrows. "First of all: wrong. Second of all, that's not what I meant. I mean... today, we've been... fine. You gave me sound advice, and I followed that advice, and now we've been sitting here, talking like maybe we're..." But she couldn't bring herself to say the word: "...not enemies."

"Does _everything_ require definition, Evans?" asked James with a sigh. Lily shook her head vigorously.

"I'm not saying we should be best mates," she argued. "I'm just… I just want consistency. If you're going to be nice to me sometimes, I want warning. If you're going to tell me I'm an idiot and put me down for no reason, I want warning, so that I can keep some fair sized rocks in my book bag to hurl at your head from time to time. I just... you confuse me, and I hate it, and it makes me dislike you even... _especially_ when you're a decent bloke. Which..." she hastily added, "is very rare, but there you go."

James looked at her carefully. In the dying torchlight and artificial moonshine, Lily Evans seemed just about perfect, and James knew what _he_ wanted, but he also knew that this would be the last time in a very long time that she would sit so close if he told her the truth just now. Instead, he quite safely said: "Well what do you want me to say?" And perhaps it came out slightly harsher than he intended, but... only slightly.

Lily noticed that his tone possessed an unmistakable edge, but for whatever reason, she found that she didn't much care. She thought maybe she could get used to his sharpness. "I don't care what you say," she informed him coolly. "But I sort of want to be your friend."

(Here, even _Lily _was surprised with Lily.)

"Oh." For once, James had nothing to say.

"But I could go either way on it," she continued. "If you want to be a git to me and everyone else, that's _your_ prerogative, but... well... I think you might be okay if you'd just... deflate. And give yourself some credit. And those might seem like conflicting ideas, but they aren't. So..." Lily slid from the tabletop and, straightening her skirt, prepared to leave the hall. "...that's how I feel. But it's entirely up to you."

The redhead started to leave. She had traveled about a quarter length of the hall before James said: "Snaps." Lily turned around, hands in the pockets of her robes. "How—how did your dad die?"

(Uncertainly) "Why do you ask?"

"Because... I told you something else about me, and you should tell me something else about you." The witch looked unconvinced. "And because it's something that someone should know about their... potential friend." James brought the cigarette to his lips in order to fill the silence. "How'd he die?"

Lily chewed on her lip for a moment. Without a trace of resentment, judgment, or _anything_ really, except irony, she replied: "Lung cancer." Then she was gone.

(_The Second Conversation)_

Severus had decided. He knew. Maybe he'd always known, or maybe the sight he had so unfortunately stumbled upon in the Great Hall was simply the manifestation of one of his most terrifying nightmares. Either way, Severus Snape had never felt as ill as he did when he entered Slytherin Common Room late Friday evening.

He had decided... but maybe he had already decided, too. Maybe the sight of Lily Evans and James Potter chatting like the best of friends in the Great Hall was simply a nudge down the path he had already decided upon long ago. Maybe it was an excuse, or maybe it was simply a much needed surge of courage. Either way, when Severus's eyes fell upon Nicolai Mulciber, sitting by the fire and finishing his Transfiguration homework, all doubt had been eradicated.

"I've decided," Snape told Mulciber.

The latter glanced up from his homework. "Have you?"

"Yes," said Snape. "I've decided I'm going."

"I'm glad. You're a smart bloke, you know."

"What time do we leave?"

"Meet here by half past eleven tomorrow night."

Nodding slowly and feeling that it was very important, Snape said: "I'll be here."

* * *

**A/N: **oi, dramatic! I wish there were meatier plot here, but that will be along ASAP. This chapter was very difficult to get through, as I've been stumbling through writer's block, so I'm rather nervous about this... PLEASE review! I'm seriously begging.

Reviews are Chuck Norris.

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	8. Dates With Ravenclaws

**A/N: **For those concerned about Luke's lack of "screen time:" have no fear. Not only does he get a whole TWO scenes in this chapter (in which he doesn't do a single relationship-harming thing!), but he has so much to do before the story ends.

**Dislcaimer:** JKR, friends. Also, a little credit should go to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, without whom about half of this chapter would not exist. "Cheated Hearts" makes my life.

I am reinstituting the recap, incidentally.

**Recap: **Luke Harper says 'I love you' to Lily, but she said isn't ready to return the sentiment. James and Lily agree to a sort of tentative friendship. Frank agrees to tell Alice the truth about "what went down" concerning pseudo-suicidal Carlotta Meloni.

Chapter 8- "Dates With Ravenclaws"

Or

"_The Way We Were"_

"You know, don't you, Lily?" said Alice. Before the dormitory door had closed behind her, the seventh year had entered the room, spotted Lily, recognized the sixth year's expression, and interpreted it. Lily nodded slowly.

"I'm _so_ sorry."

Alice began to cry, and Lily closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Alice's shaking shoulders.

_(One Week Later)_

"Good morning," greeted Lily, yanking the bedclothes off Alice Griffith's bed. The seventh year groaned and rolled over, attempting to bury her curly haired head underneath a pillow.

"Go away!" came the older witch's muffled cry.

"No."

"_Lily_." Hestia Clearwater, Alice's friend and dorm mate, appeared from the bathroom and hurried over. Observing the situation, Hestia raised her eyebrows: "You're brave, Evans."

Lily smiled briefly, then returned her focus to the girl in bed. "You're getting up, Alice," she announced. "The mourning period is over."

"Mfgambpeemelphameep!"

...

"_What_?"

"I _said_," Alice began, rolling onto her back again; "it's only been a week!"

"You've barely left the dormitory," said Lily, crossing her arms. "When you're not in class, you're up here in bed."

"She ate an entire carton of whipped cream last night," Hestia informed the sixth year, and Alice scowled.

"Traitor."

"Al," said Lily, taking a seat on the edge of her friend's bed, "today is the first Hogsmeade trip of the year... your _last_ first Hogsmeade trip. If you don't go, you'll end up regretting it, and if you don't go _because of him_, you'll end up regretting it even more."

"She's right," Hestia agreed. She sat on the other side of the bed. "Alice, I'll be with you the entire time. You won't have to see anyone you don't want to."

The seventh year sat up, brushing her severely disordered hair out of her face. "I can't!" she whined. "I can't handle everyone looking at me and whispering and feeling sorry for me... debating whether or not I did the right thing, or if it was my fault, or whether it's true that I tried to claw out Carlotta Meloni's eyes."

"No sane person believes that story," promised Lily, patting Alice's shoulder affectionately. "And don't you think they'll talk even more if you _don't_ show? You don't want them to think you're hiding, do you?"

"To tell the truth," Alice confessed quietly, "I don't really care what anyone thinks. I just... I can't face him. And I _certainly_ can't face _her_."

"You won't _have to_!" cut in Hestia. "I will make sure that no one crosses your path unless I give them explicit, written permission."

"You can go to the Hog's Head instead of The Three Broomsticks," suggested Lily. "Students hardly ever go there, so you won't have to see anyone you don't want to."

"We'll send a gullible third year to pick up anything you might possibly want from Zonko's," added Hestia. "We won't even have to go inside!"

"You could go to the post office," Lily went on. "The only people who go there are the first-timers. Or the Shrieking Shack..."

"I'm not going to the Shrieking Shack," said Hestia.

"Coward."

Alice sighed. "You two are being very nice," she said, "but I don't want to ruin Hestia's trip... you'd spend the entire day trying to get me to be cheerful... avoiding people I don't want to see and... going to the post office. I can't force that on you."

"Sweetheart," said Hestia, taking her friend's hand. "What I want—what Lily and I want—is for you to get out of this bed. If you're up here, unhappy, while I'm down in the village, I won't have a good time anyway. Nothing will give me more pleasure than if you're down there... looking fabulous and having _fun_."

"Looking fabulous and having fun?" echoed Alice, panicking. "No, no way. Too much pressure. I can't."

"Well, just looking fabulous, then," said Lily. "Or at least _clean_."She grabbed Alice's hand and pulled her off of the bed.

"But I ate all that whipped cream!" whined Alice. "I won't fit into any clothes!" She currently wore striped pajama trousers and a Hollyhead Harpies t-shirt that must have been four sizes too large.

"We're _witches_," Lily reminded her. "I'm sure we'll be able to come up with something."

_(Geraldine: October, 1971)_

Alice Geraldine Griffiths was not just a normal, thirteen-year-old witch. The golden brown ringlets framing her pretty, cheery face did not belong to an _average_ girl. Her round eyes did not simply take in the world around her, and when she spoke, mere words were not all that she articulated. Alice Geraldine Griffiths was an angel.

That, at least, was Frank Longbottom's take on it.

Now, if only the unfortunate third year wizard could contrive a method of _speaking_ to her again. That would, at least, show progress.

It had been so much easier being in love with the witch when they were only first or second years, Frank mused (as he glumly consumed porridge one October morning), because no one expected an eleven or twelve year old bloke to go about talking to birds. But their first Hogsmeade trip was fast approaching, and at least two others in his year had already asked girls as "dates." When Gideon Prewett—a fourth year, but one of Frank's mates—had asked him if there was anybody _he'd_ like to take, only one girl came to mind, and she had golden brown ringlets and a smile like an angel.

Alice Geraldine Griffiths.

Perfection.

But from the moment that Frank thought of her like _that_, he found that the mechanism which typically allowed him to speak malfunctioned whenever the girl in question occupied a space within a twenty foot radius of him... somewhat inconvenient, considering he planned on asking her out, becoming her boyfriend, marrying her, and living happily-ever-whatever with her, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera...

Yes, he would certainly have to master the whole "talking" thing... and quickly. Gideon said that some fifth year git named Logan had been flirting with Alice Griffiths, too. Frank would be willing to bet that this Logan prat didn't know her middle name. Frank, however, did. Alice Geraldine Griffiths really was a _beautiful_ name.

"Sweetheart," Hestia Clearwater was saying, as she and Alice stood not far away, smiling madly, "I don't understand you sometimes. He's positively _gorgeous_."

"He's a Slytherin," Alice replied uncertainly, and Frank (who was shamelessly eavesdropping), squirmed at the knowledge that they must be talking about that Logan jerk. "He _is_ pretty cute," she added, "but I barely know him. If I'm going to Hogsmeade with a boy for my _very first time_, I'd want it to be with someone I'm comfortable around..."

"If you were going with someone to be _comfortable, _you'd go with _me_," argued Hestia. "I think you should accept him. It's not every day a fifth year asks out someone two whole years younger."

"Well," answered Alice proudly, with a twinkle in her hazel eyes, "I _am_ very mature." Both girls giggled at this.

"Anyway," Hestia continued presently, "I have to finish something for Ancient Runes. I'll see you in second period, alright?"

"Bye!" said Alice, as her friend hurried away. With a thoughtful little sigh, the young witch took a seat at Gryffindor table. She poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice and, without looking up from the goblet, said: "Good morning, Frank."

Frank pretended he hadn't been watching her. A soft ringlet bounced in front of her eyes. "Good mor... hi, Alice!" He winced.

"How are you?" she asked, smiling. "We haven't talked in _ages_..."

(Thirteen days, counting the time Frank had tried to speak with her after Transfiguration but lost his nerve and pretended to cough instead).

"I—I guess not." Well, at least that was _technically _a full sentence.

"I was beginning to think you were angry with me," Alice tentatively continued, watching him in her peripheral vision. "I mean, we were Potions partners last Tuesday, and you didn't say a word to me."

"I was... er... soar throat."

"Oh. I'm sorry! I hope I wasn't rude."

"No... no you were..." _(Perfect) _"...nice."

"Well, I'm... glad." Alice finished her pumpkin juice. "I had better get ready for muggle studies..." she said, though she remained seated.

"O-oh. Aren't you going to have your breakfast?"

"I already ate."

"Did you?" he asked, a little too enthusiastically. "I mean—that's... good. It's, y'know, healthy, to eat... early." Frank made a mental note to relay _none_ of this conversation to Gideon or... anyone else. Ever.

Alice nodded, clearly baffled. She got up from the table. "Alright. I suppose I'll see you in..."

"Wait," Frank interrupted, also rising. She waited. "Are you going to Hogsmeade with that Logan gi... er... bloke?"

Alice blushed. "I hadn't decided. Why do you...?"

"I was asking because if you're not, maybe you would want to go with me?" said Frank, very, very quickly. Alice brightened considerably, which sent shivers down Frank's spine.

"As... as friends, you mean?" she asked, chewing on her lip.

His heart sunk. "Yeah. Yeah, of course, as… as friends."

Alice's pink lips frowned a little. "Well... I think that would be very nice," she said. "I'd like to go with you as... friends." Then she started to leave.

Frank slapped himself—literally and physically, because there was no way he could truly be such a stupid coward. He was a Gryffindor, for God's sake. "Wait, _Alice!"_ he said again, hastening to catch up with the retreating witch. "I didn't mean that. I meant... what I meant was: I don't want to go to Hogsmeade as friends, I want to go like... like..."

"A date?" finished Alice, beaming. He nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I'll go with you as a date to Hogsmeade."

"Really?"

"Yes!" Alice was positively glowing, as she reached out, took Frank's hand, and—leaning forward—kissed him on the cheek. "I'll meet you here around nine?"

"What? Yes. Yes, right. Nine."

"Okay."

"Okay."

She practically skipped away. Perfect.

_(Present Day: Kathy Pritchard)_

"Kathy Pritchard is very pretty," Sirius Black observed, sitting down across from an unhappy Marlene Price. The blonde sat—previously alone—at a booth in Hogsmeade village's Three Broomsticks pub, sipping butterbeer and looking as though her cat had just died.

"What do you mean?" Marlene asked, looking up startled. Sirius grinned at his fellow sixth year, while Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew also joined the pair in the booth.

"_Kathy Pritchard is very pretty_," Sirius repeated innocently. "That _is_ Kathy Pritchard over there, right? The Asian girl with a blue scarf and a date?"

Marlene looked across the pub, clearing her throat. "Yes, that's Kathy Pritchard. I don't know what you're talking about, though."

"I bet you do," said Sirius. "Wouldn't you say so, Lupin?"

"Don't involve me in your use of teasing as means of self-elevation," replied Remus. Sirius frowned.

"What do you know about self elevation, Moony?"

Marlene rolled her eyes. "That's gross. Can this conversation end now?"

"I didn't know Kathy Pritchard was going out with Adam McKinnon," Peter observed casually, glancing towards the booth at which said pair sat, laughing over butterbeer and scones.

"Neither did I," said Sirius, with a significant look to Marlene. "Did you, Lovely Lady Price?"

"He might have mentioned something about asking her out," Marlene said simply. "And I think they make a... a very cute couple, you know. Kathy Pritchard _is_ very pretty."

"Mmm, quite," said Sirius dryly. "What about you? Where's your bloke? I can't imagine a reason in the world that a pretty bird like _you_ is deserted in the Three Broomsticks just now."

"I'm meeting Miles later," Marlene told him with dignity. "Why don't _you_ lot have dates? And where's James?"

"Well," began Padfoot, "Peter doesn't have a date because he hasn't got the nerve to ask a girl, Remus is gay, and _I_ feel that restricting myself to just one witch would be too great a deprivation for all the world's women."

"I have nerve!"

"And I'm not gay." Remus glared at his friend. "Ignore everything he says, Marlene. He probably smoked an illicit substance. James has a date with some Ravenclaw... that's why he's gone."

Marlene nodded. She found her eyes wandering towards Adam and Kathy's booth. "They... they really are a _very_ cute couple," she said forcefully. The three Marauders nodded, not meeting her stare. "What? Why are you all being awkward?"

"We're not," squeaked Peter.

"Seriously, boys," said Marlene, "I'm _fine_. Miles will be along... soon."

"How soon?" asked Remus.

"Two o'clock."

"That's three hours away," Peter observed.

"I can wait," the blonde defended herself. "Miles and I aren't one of those couples that have to spend every second together, or that..."

"Like each other?" finished Sirius. "Honestly, Marlene, you could do better."

"_Please_. Miles is really smart. Plus, he's good looking and quite athletic." And she felt a surge or pride, knowing that all of this was true. The Marauders appeared less impressed.

"He's also noticeably absent, Marlene," Sirius pointed out. "Alright..." before she could argue... "Ten fingers." He held up his hands, and Marlene gave him a blank stare.

"Ten fingers?"

"Yes. Ten fingers. The game." Marlene didn't catch on, however, and the Marauder sighed. "Good god, what do women do when their drinking? You don't know the game ten fingers?" She shook her head. "We'll need alcohol. Hand me your bag, Moony."

"I don't have liquor in here," said Remus, handing the bag to Sirius nonetheless.

"You do, though. I put it in there before we left." Remus did not bother protesting. Sirius grabbed Marlene's now empty butterbeer cup and, withdrawing a dark glass bottle from the bag, poured its contents into the glass. The amber liquid reached the brim of the glass, and when Sirius set down the bottle, he once again held up both his hands.

"Hands up, everyone. You too, Wormtail." Remus, Peter, and Marlene all reluctantly imitated him. "Now, most of you know how to play, but for those who don't..." (with a significant look towards Marlene) "...I'll go first. I have never... had blond hair."

"Well, obviously," said Marlene. Peter, however, sighed wearily and took a drink from the goblet. He winced at the alcoholic burn, and then slid the glass along the table to Marlene.

"You have to drink," Remus told her, rolling his eyes at Sirius. "You have blond hair." Marlene scowled.

"This is a stupid game."

"Don't worry," Peter assured her, "It's your turn next." She took a drink of the firewhiskey, wincing as well.

"Now you and Peter have got nine fingers," Sirius informed her. "Whoever reaches zero fingers first is the biggest prat. And it's your turn, Price."

Marlene considered it for a moment. "_I _have never snogged a girl."

Sirius proudly took a drink, trying to prevent his other two mates to do so as well, which caused Peter to protest, Remus to roll his eyes, and Marlene to laugh. Adam McKinnon glanced over from his table, but she didn't notice.

_(First Date: November, 1973)_

"I'm in love," fourteen-year-old Marlene Price announced, collapsing into the only vacant seat at Mary Macdonald's Three Broomsticks booth. Mary laughed, and the other occupants—who were far less acquainted with Mary's best friend—exchanged bewildered looks.

"Everyone," Mary began, addressing her friends, "This is Marlene. Marlene, this is... everyone."

It wasn't really everyone, as Marlene observed a moment later. There was Ule Kellis (a fifth year that had a crush on Mary), Milton Shutterby (a Hufflepuff who had a crush on Mary), Derrix Pomfrey (a third year Ravenclaw who had a crush on Mary), and Adam McKinnon. Only the lattermost did Marlene really know, and even _their_ acquaintance was merely casually passing. Nevertheless, Marlene nodded to them all, blushing faintly, because she realized that she had just declared her love to a table full of strangers.

"So," said Mary, when the table had finished murmuring their hellos. "I take it the first date with Miles Stimpson went well?"

"Very well," Marlene agreed. "Miles is fantastic. He knows _so_ much about everything, and..." but that conversation would be better held in the privacy of the Gryffindor fourth year girls' dormitory; "...Everything. What have you lot been up to, then?"

"Mary was just telling us about her parents," Derrix said, sending a glowing look towards the witch in question. "Now—Mary, could you explain again exactly what a greengrocer _does_?"

Marlene was only too used to this kind of behavior when it came to her best friend. The boys positively flocked towards her. Perhaps that was why Marlene had so enthusiastically accepted Miles Stimpson's invitation to accompany him to Hogsmeade this weekend. Dates were something to which Mary received invitations all the time, but this was Marlene's very first, and Miles—the youngest member of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team—had surpassed all expectations. He had a lovely smile.

"I've told you twelve times," replied Mary wearily. "I'm thirsty. I think I'll go for another butterbeer."

She rose, and so did Ule, Milton, and Derrix. "I'll buy it," volunteered Ule.

"No, let me!" said Derrix.

"Please, _I_ would be honored..." said Milton. The three boys hurried towards the bar and Mary, who had not even picked up her purse, winked at Marlene, before following them. Marlene was left alone with Adam McKinnon—another fourth year Gryffindor and severely out of place in that coalition of Mary Macdonald fans.

"Hi," said Marlene, as the pair waited for Mary—and her club—to return.

"Hi," said Adam.

"How did you get dragged into this?" asked the blonde. Adam grinned.

"My best mate has a date with a girl," he told her. "And Mary was alone when I found her... we were talking when the other three showed up."

"Story of my life," sighed Marlene, but she laughed as she said it, because today... today nothing could be unpleasant.

"You were on a date, is that it?" asked Adam. Marlene nodded.

"Miles Stimpson. He plays Keeper on Ravenclaw."

"Right... he's a reserve, isn't he?"

Marlene, no less impressed, confirmed this. "He asked me to be his girlfriend," she added, because this news was too great to wait.

"I see. Well... congratulations."

"Thank you."

An awkward silence settled between the two for a moment. Marlene tapped her foot, wishing that Mary would hurry up. It had not been uncomfortable in the slightest with _Miles_, she thought. He'd had so much to say.

"_I la-la-la-love the way you've cursed my name_..." sang a voice over the WWN playing in the background. It was the new Cockatrice song and a current favorite of Marlene's.

"I love this song," she said, more to herself than to her companion.

Adam looked up from his butterbeer, clearly surprised. "Me, too," he said. "I didn't know you liked The Cockatrice."

"Oh, yeah, they're brilliant. Have you heard 'Spells and Spills?'?"

"Yeah! That whole album is fantastic!"

"Isn't it? Mary says it's dull, but I love the guitar solo on the fourth track..."

"'Round and Round?' Oh, yeah, that's genius. You know, you're probably the only girl I know that likes The Cockatrice."

"Lily Evans introduced me to most non-muggle music," Marlene admitted. "She has so much music; it's like going to a record store digging around under her bed. Do you like any muggle music?"

"I don't know any."

"I'll have to lend you some Pink Floyd. They've got the same sort of feel as The Cockatrice, only even _stranger_."

Adam arched his eyebrows. "That can't be possible."

"It _is_. Do you like Hate Potion?"

"Who _doesn't_? Their first album was the first I ever bought."

"Really?" asked Marlene, excited. "That's so funny—it was the first magic album I ever bought! 'Course, their second album wasn't as good..."

"No, but a few of those songs were really brilliant. Like..."

"'Unlucky Thirteen?'"

"Yes—that's my favorite song."

Marlene beamed. "You have good taste in music."

"So do you," agreed Adam, bowing his head. Marlene laughed, just as Mary returned to the table (with the three others, each carrying two goblets of butterbeer).

Later that evening, Mary and Marlene entered Honeyduke's candy shop, having managed to evade the former's entourage. "So what were you and Adam McKinnon talking about?" Mary asked casually, looking over a wall of chocolate.

"Music," Marlene told her. "He has good taste. I'm surprised I haven't spoken to him more. How was it you two came to be mates?"

"We're not, really," said Mary with a shrug. "I only know him a little. We were potions partners a few times last year."

"He seems cool."

"Yes," Mary agreed. "Of course," she went on teasingly, "he's no Miles Stimpson."

"No," said Marlene, idly looking at a box of Sugar Quills. "_In the eleventh hour, I'm the unlucky thirteenth..." _chanted the throaty vocals of a singer on the WWN. Marlene felt herself smiling. "No, he's no Miles Stimpson."

Adam McKinnon was something entirely different.

_(Present Day: Acting)_

There wasn't anything _wrong_ with Daniela Prentiss. She was pretty, in a common sort of way. She was clever, in the archetypal fifth year Ravenclaw sort of way. She was funny, in a predictably quirky sort of way. She was nice, in a habitual, conventional sort of way. There was nothing inherently _wrong_ with Daniela Prentiss, and yet the back door had never looked so appealing, as far as James Potter was concerned.

She hadn't inspired a genuine laugh once, and it had been three hours since the date began. Even Zonko's seemed duller than usual.

"Have you ever tried these?" Daniela asked, smiling in way that James suspected was supposed to be idiosyncratic. She held up a box of fake wands.

"They're a little prosaic," James admitted. "Funny every once in a while, but all together overused."

Daniela replaced the box on the shelf. "I agree," she said. "Oh, look, ever-bashing boomerangs." Hurrying towards the item, James saw his opportunity.

"Listen, Daniela, I need to use the loo across the street. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Alright," said Daniela, and James stepped out the front door. At once, he moved around the building to the alleyway and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a mirror.

"Sirius Black," said James. He waited, and repeated: "_Sirius Black_." A minute later, Sirius's face appeared in the glass. "You need to get me out of here."

Sirius squinted, as though trying to comprehend the message his friend had just relayed. "Okay?"

"What's wrong with you? Why do you look... weird?"

Sirius frowned. "I," he began, quite seriously, "am leaning slightly towards the intoxicated end of the spectrum. If you know what I mean."

"It's the middle of the afternoon, Padfoot."

"Moontail and Wormy and I played ten fingers with Marlene Price."

James raised his eyebrows. "Why do you play that, Padfoot? You always loose. There's nothing you haven't done, freak."

Sirius grinned. "Marlene is _surprisingly_ innocent."

Shaking his head, James asked: "Where are you, Padfoot?"

"Bathroom. Three Broomsticks."

"Well, I need you to come and get me... pretend Moony's feeling sick and you need me or something."

"I don't know," sighed Sirius. "I'm kind of... dizzy."

"Padfoot."

"I have four fingers left," replied the other, holding up said fingers in demonstration. "It's neck and neck with Marlene. I'll... come on over when I lose. Or win. Or... lose." He frowned. "Right. That's what I meant. Bye."

Sirius's face disappeared from the mirror, and James, sighing, returned the object to his pocket. Resigned to facing at least another half hour with Daniela Prentiss, James started back onto the main street, and it was there that he spotted another potential loophole.

Lily Evans was walking up the street. She wore a plaid skirt, cream colored jumper, black wool stockings, flats, and a thoughtful expression. James was inspired.

"Hey, Snaps!"

She looked around, and, noticing James, quirked an eyebrow. "Hi, Potter. What's...?"

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him back into the alley. "I need your help," he told her, in response to the bewildered expression on Lily's face.

"O...kay?"

"I'm on a date..."

"Congratulations."

"I'm about to commit suicide."

Lily crossed her arms. "It can't be _that_ bad. Who's the girl?"

"Daniela Prentiss."

"She's _nice_."

"And pretty and smart and funny," agreed James. "And bloody _boring_. Y'know how some girls try to do the 'interesting' thing? This one's been rehearsing it for weeks... I've had three hours, and I can't take anymore of it. You have to help me."

"How?" asked Lily suspiciously.

"Just run into Zonko's and say something like... Remus has had a spill, and he needs me."

"_James_…"

"Did I mention how I was approaching a loss of all will to live?"

"It's dishonest!"

"Snaps, the bird doesn't believe in handbags! What kind of person has a moral opposition to _handbags?"_

"I'm not going to help you lie to a girl," said Lily firmly. "It's uncharitable, and it would show a distinct lack of solidarity on _my_ part. If you agreed to go on a date with a girl, it's only right that you follow through with it."

James rolled his eyes. "Did your parents _know_ how it would turn out when they named you 'Lily Buzz-Kill Evans'?"

"I'm _sorry,_" she said, and she sounded it. "Really, but I _couldn't_." Lily withdrew her arm (he'd been holding it the entire time) and sent him an encouraging smile. "Just hold out another few hours... then you can say you want to head up to the castle for supper or something."

"If I don't make it, make sure Sirius knows he's my best mate, and tell Remus I was the one who took the Chocolate Frogs."

"Stop being so dramatic," scolded Lily, amused. She started for the high street: "And... good luck."

Wearily, James returned to Zonko's. Daniela simpered at his arrival. "I've decided on a Fanged Frisbee and a few hiccough treats," she announced, heading for the counter.

"Wise," said James. He took out his wallet, and Daniela raised her eyebrows. She pushed his arm away.

"_Please_. Don't insult me!" Laughing merrily, she withdrew a few coins from her pocket ("Handbags are the tools of misogynists and _stupid _girls!" she had informed him earlier). "I don't believe in chivalry," Daniela went on. "In fact, I find that manners of all kind are obsolete."

James couldn't say he completely disagreed about the chivalry bit, but—mostly out of spite—he did not resist the urge to ask: "If manners are obsolete, then how could you be insulted when I attempted to pay? I mean, if there's no social standard for offensiveness, how could you have any standard by which you judge something to be insulting or otherwise?"

Daniela blinked. "What?"

"I..." but he reconsidered: "Nothing. Never mind."

Having reached the front of the queue, Daniela attended to the clerk, and James tried to imagine a way out of the situation. A few more hours... just a few more hours...

"Potter!"

Both the Quidditch Captain and his date wheeled around at the sound of his name. The door to Zonko's swung closed behind the breathless, windswept form of Lily Evans. James felt his stomach lurch in response to the fearful expression on her flushed face.

"Remus has had an accident!" Lily said, urgency surging through her words. "Sirius sent me to fetch you right away! I'm not sure what's wrong, but..."

James could have kissed her right there. Instead: "No, of course, I'll be right there. Daniela, you don't mind if I go, do you?"

Daniela, who was halfway through paying for her items, looked extremely confused. "Hang on a minute, I'll go, too..."

"You'd better hurry!" said Lily quickly.

"I don't want to ruin your afternoon, Daniela," James added. "Really, I'm so sorry... but I don't know how long this will be... maybe I'll see you at dinner?"

"Oh... alright."

"I'm _really_ sorry," the Quidditch Captain added. "I hope this doesn't wreck your trip too much?"

"No, I understand."

With that—and a polite peck on Daniela's cheek—James followed Lily out of the shop, walking very quickly. Outside in the chilly autumn air, James waited till they were well past Honeydukes before he began to laugh. It was infectious, though Lily clearly tried her very best to restrain her own mirth.

"Just so you know," she said, attempting to frown: "I'm _very_ disappointed in myself."

"Oh, obviously," he sarcastically replied. "Who knew you were such an actress, Snaps? I'm impressed, really."

"Don't rub it in! I feel guilty enough!" Lily half-laughed, covering her face with one hand. Her companion grinned at her.

"Sorry, Snaps, it's official: helping me out of a sticky situation, lying to another girl, faking an accident... you're practically Sirius Black!"

"Don't tease me," warned Lily. "Or I'll go back and tell Daniela Prentiss where she can find you."

"Well, that wouldn't be very friendly."

"_We're_ not friends," Lily reminded him. "Except, as I remember, potentially."

"Fair enough," remarked James. "But, if that wasn't the reason that you _rescued_ me, what was?"

Lily bit her lip. "I wouldn't have," she said, "Except that... I guess... I guess I just like handbags, that's all."

"Well... thank you," James said. "I owe you one, don't I? C'mon, I'll buy you a butterbeer..."

"Sorry," said Lily, shaking her head, "I should get back to Luke, actually. I just left for a few minutes to check in on Alice at the post office, so—y'know, he'll be waiting."

"Oh, right. In that case..."

"Thank-you, though."

"Yeah, of course. And... thank you, too."

"You're welcome."

_(Really, Really: June, 1975)_

"Please, Lily..."

"For the last time, Snape, _NO!"_

Lily Evans slammed the bathroom door of the Three Broomsticks closed behind her, leaving her Slytherin _ex_-best-mate devastated on the other side. The teary-eyed fifth year moved hastily towards the sink, turning on the tap and running her hands under the cold water for no real reason.

_Don't cry_, she commanded herself. _Don't cry. Not here. Not in public._

But it was no use. Unable to restrain the tears, Lily hurried into a stall (they were all mercifully vacant) and began to sob. Why did he make her feel like this? Why did he have to make it that much harder? Why had the two days since the dissolution of their friendship been two of the worst in her entire life?

She knew the answer to all three, but it only made her weep all the more.

"Get a grip, Evans," she whispered (hiccoughing) to herself. "Get a _grip_ on yourself. This is stupid. You have to get over this. You can't burst into tears every time he speaks to you!"

Slowly, Lily began to follow her own advice. Her tears subsided, and her breathing steadied. Knowing that she must be a mess, Lily exited the stall and made for the mirror. A little make up concealed the blotchy skin and red nose, but there was nothing she could do about her bloodshot eyes except wait. Unfortunately, the witch had little time. Luke Harper was waiting.

This must have been his worst first date in history, and Lily would be shocked if she was asked for a second. Sure, Luke was sympathetic enough, but Lily had departed their booth ten minutes ago to use the loo, and he must have been growing suspicious. Then again, it wasn't Lily's fault. How was she to know that Snape would accost her in the back corridor, repeating his pleas for forgiveness and incurring Lily's present state?

"I'll live," Lily announced to her reflection. "Luke Harper's nice, but if he doesn't want to date me, I'll live."

Forcefully holding her head high, Lily left the bathroom. Snape had, fortunately, gone, and Lily was able to return to her table with no interruption. Luke Harper, the handsome Ravenclaw sixth year that had asked Lily to accompany him to the village only last evening, awaited her with two, full butterbeers. He had waited until she returned to drink his own, and Lily noticed.

She smiled genuinely at the sixth year wizard. "Thank you."

"I thought you might have gotten lost," Luke attempted to tease, though jest was not necessarily his talent. He rose from his seat as she reached the table and sat down.

"No," said Lily. "I ran into someone, and they wanted to talk at that very second. I'm sorry—it was really rude of me..."

"Oh, not at all. I understand." Luke quietly sipped his butterbeer for a moment, before adding: "Was it that Snape bloke?"

Surprised, Lily nodded. So did he, and they were mute once more, till Lily felt obligated to say: "Listen, I don't think I ever thanked you properly for the other evening. I was... distraught, as you doubtless gathered, and just the fact that you were there... just the fact that you listened to be ramble for twenty minutes was... beyond valuable. So... thanks."

"Lily, I was happy to listen to you ramble for twenty minutes," said Luke. "I know what it's like to lose someone like that... I mean, not _quite_, but—I have a brother, and since he finished school, we've drifted apart. It's difficult, I realize, so if you _ever_ want to talk about it, then I'm here for you." (He had such fantastically melancholy eyes). "But," the Ravenclaw continued, "I don't want you to feel like you _have_ to go out with me, because I was your shoulder to cry on the other day. I really like you... I've liked you for a while, and the more time I spend with you, the more I like you. But if you're with me today just because you feel obliged on account of the other evening... then you don't have to stay. Truly, I understand."

Lily sipped her butterbeer to buy time. Was it possible that this Luke Harper could be as romantic as he ostensibly seemed? Was it possible that he could really be as sweet as all that? Was it possible that, not two hours ago, Lily had considered calling off the date?

Snape had not vanished from Lily's thoughts, but his presence was, perhaps, slightly less obtrusive. She was not a girl to lead people on or give false hope, but, at that moment, Lily Evans made a decision. It was impossible for her to fall in love, she knew, because too large a portion of her heart was devoted elsewhere. There was, after all, a reason that she'd never had a proper _boyfriend_ before. However, all that did not mean she couldn't _like _someone a great deal, and no one in the world seemed more worthy than Luke Harper. She smiled at him.

"I really, really want to be here," she said. And she meant it.

_(Present Day: Cheated by the Opposite of Love)_

"Marlene, where the hell _were _you?" Miles Stimpson wanted to know, confronting his girlfriend as the pair met near the carriages. Marlene thought about it, her mind somewhat blurred by the drink and her head feeling the right amount of light.

"Miles, I am just a little _drunk_," she informed him. "Just a little. And you were very, very late. We went to the Shrieking Shack." Standing on her toes, Marlene wrapped her arms around the Ravenclaw's neck and kissed him (with intoxication inspired passion), which mostly made Miles forget the fact that he was somewhat peeved with the girl. At length, she pulled away and accused: "You _suck_ at punctuality."

--

In a carriage nearby, James Potter was hiding with his fellow Marauders. "I'm confused," said Remus, drunk enough to be confused, but sober enough not to slur the announcement of it: "What happened with the girl you were out with?"

Peter, the smallest of those who had been drinking, found this amusing and began to laugh. Sirius rolled his eyes and muttered: "Lightweight."

"The—the—the g-g-g-girl he wa-was out with!" laughed Peter.

"So what happened to her?" Remus wanted to know.

"She's still alive as far as I know," said James. "But if you should happen to see Daniela Prentiss anytime soon, Moony, it would be brilliant if you'd mention something about getting ill in Hogsmeade."

--

"I had a good time," Kathy Pritchard said, as Adam McKinnon helped his date into a carriage.

"Yeah, me too."

"Maybe we could do this again sometime?" she suggested

"Um, yeah, maybe," said Adam, nodding. It hadn't been a _bad_ date, exactly. Nothing exceptionally awkward occurred, and the conversation had been easily maintained. Kathy Pritchard was certainly very pretty, and maybe there was something that vaguely resembled chemistry between them, but...

It was either there or it wasn't, and...

(Kathy Pritchard's favorite band was _Wizards Without Wands_, and she didn't know a thing about muggle music. She didn't care about professional Quidditch either.)

...It just wasn't there.

"Look, Kathy, you're really nice," Adam began. "And I had a nice time today."

"But nothing is going to happen?" finished the Ravenclaw girl for him. Adam looked confused. "Please, Adam, you used the word 'nice' twice in that little statement. I'd have to be completely thick not to know where that was going."

"I'm... sorry?"

"Don't be." She kissed him on the cheek. "I had a nice time today, too."

"Good. I'm glad."

"But," Kathy continued: "you'll have to find a different carriage."

"Fair enough."

--

"So, listen," Lily Evans was saying, lacing one arm around Luke Harper's waist as the pair of them made their way up the High Street, "I was thinking how I've been sort of... distracted, lately."

"Oh."

"And there's a reason for that," Lily went on, "I don't want you to think that's your fault in any way. With school, and all of the... drama... I guess I've just been..."

"Distracted?" Luke finished for her, smiling. Lily nodded, mirroring his expression.

"I'm sorry," she reiterated.

"Well," said Luke, "I've probably been the same way." To tell the truth, Lily hadn't noticed. "I'm not worried. Actually, though, er—the way you started, I... I thought the conversation was going in a different direction."

"What direction?" asked Lily, innocently. An idea occurred to her: "Oh, you didn't think I was going to break up, did you?" she asked, half laughing.

"No, no, I..." Luke averted his eyes. "It doesn't matter."

"What was it?" Lily asked, her curiosity growing. "Tell me!"

"No, it's just... It's not important."

"Then why won't you tell me?" She hung on his arm, smiling because he was blushing so. "C'mon, Luke, I'm curious!"

"It's not important," he insisted, and his tone was serious. Lily was about to recapitulate her appeal, when it struck her what he must have meant.

_"I love you."_

_"I can't say that back... It's not that I don't care about you a great deal... I just couldn't say that unless I truly, completely, unrestrainedly meant it..."_

_Severus holds a grudge._

_"I'm afraid you've joined the ranks of 'bad girls' with the rest of us, Ginger... good girls say 'I love you...'"_

"Luke," said Lily, holding her boyfriend's hand tightly in her own. "I'm really, _really_ glad that I'm here with you." And she—almost completely—meant it.

--

"You survived," Hestia Clearwater observed draping her arm around Alice Griffith's slumped shoulders. "No discomfort... no awkwardness... just a nice, relaxing day in Hogsmeade."

Alice could not help but laugh, as the two girls made their way towards the carriages. "We sat in a corner of the post office playing Exploding Snap and Gobstones for three quarters of the day until the witch kicked us out," she pointed out. "You're going to pretend you weren't bored the entire time?"

"I wasn't bored!" Hestia insisted. "Really, it was nice catching up with you... I haven't seen much more than the top of your head for a week. Anyway, I bet we're the first people in history to be kicked out of the _post office_."

Alice smiled gratefully but was quiet for some time. "Listen, Hestia," she began. "Did I do the right thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... should I have just... broken up with him? Right there, on the spot, without... without even...?" Suddenly, Alice stopped: she stopped walking, stopped speaking, and—for a moment—stopped breathing.

"Alice, what's wro...?" But then, Hestia saw what Alice had already noticed. A short distance down the street stood Frank Longbottom. He leaned against the wall of a shop (Honeydukes) and was not alone. The Head Boy seemed to be conducting a serious conversation with Carlotta Meloni. Hestia grabbed her friend's arm, striving to pull her away. "Alice, c'mon, let's..."

"He said he didn't love her," Alice murmured, breathless. "He said he didn't like her. He said he would never speak to her again if I just..." She closed her eyes. "I have to go."

Turning, Alice hastened in the opposite direction.

_(November 11__th__, 1972)_

"Do you trust me?" asked fourteen-year-old Frank, and though her eyes were closed, Alice could _hear_ the smile he wore.

"Yes," she said. "Though I don't know _why_... if I trip, I swear to Merlin, I'll..."

"You're not going to trip," Frank promised, guiding her with his hand. "Just hold on, and we'll be there soon."

"And _why_ is all this secrecy necessary?" his girlfriend asked. Despite her protests, however, Alice felt a thrill of anticipation in her spine. She could not keep the smile from her lips.

"It's not _necessary_," said Frank. "I just like the idea. Watch your step, here..."

Alice cautiously stepped forward and found that the ground beneath her feet was no longer stone, but soft like grass. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?" she teased.

"_No_. Not intentionally, anyway."

She tried to swat him, but missed because... her eyes were closed.

"Alright, we're here," he announced at last. "You can look now."

Alice opened her eyes and took in the scene around her. The pair stood at the top of a low hill, just outside the proper Hogsmeade area. A field of tall green grass stretched out before them, and wildflowers grew all around. Alice looked at her boyfriend.

"This is pretty," she said. "But I'm not sure it was worth all the hype, Frank."

Frank rolled his blue eyes. He placed his hands on her hips, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you," he said. Alice stopped: she stopped smiling and—for a moment—stopped breathing.

"Really?" she asked.

Frank nodded. His uncertainty about her response showed clearly on his face, but Alice was too agitated to shatter his doubts at once. At length, she found that she was smiling again. The fourteen-year-old witch stood on her toes and kissed him.

"I love you, too," she told him.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"And was it worth all the hype?"

Alice beamed. "Undoubtedly."

_(Three Years, Four Days Later)_

Before the dormitory door had closed behind Lily, the redhead was at Alice's side. The seventh year lay in her bed, covered up to the collarbone by her blankets. Her eyes were red from tears.

"Hestia said you were..." Lily began, but she stopped. The sixth year took her friend's hand. "I'm so sorry—I shouldn't have made you... Alice, I'm _so sorry."_

"It's not your fault," coughed Alice, sitting up. "You did the right thing, really, but I... I just... I can't see him like that... and I..."

"I heard," interrupted a new voice. Marlene appeared at the door, with a bag in hand and a determined expression on her face. She held up the bag. "Chocolate," she said. "And firewhiskey."

Alice smiled a weak, watery smile. Marlene also took a seat on the bed. "You're going to be okay," said the blonde.

"You're going to be okay," agreed Lily.

And once again, Alice began to cry.

* * *

**A/N:** The real story here: where the hell is Donna?! I haven't the faintest... she just didn't make it into the chapter today....

_**PLUG ALERT**_: I have a one-shot called, but not necessarily about, "A Tree." It's about nothing at all.

Thanks so much to the anonymous reviewers **Katie, Annabell,** and **Queen Moanna. **You, and everyone else who reads and reviews, are fantastic!

Reviews are the world's number one renewable resource.

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	9. The Art of Walking

_**A/N: **__**I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU SPEND A FEW SECONDS RE-READING THE FIRST BIT OF CHAPTER 2. You might also be interested in re-reading the prologue... part of it might look familiar after this chapter**_**...**(el gaspe!)

**Disclaimer: **I am neither JKR nor Merle Haggard. Though I don't know what I wouldn't give to be Merle Haggard.

**Recap: **James and Lily agree to a tentative "potential" friendship. Sirius argues with his uncle, the Defense teacher Alphard Black, about Regulus, whom Alphard suggests Sirius forgive for past wrongs. Frank and Alice break up on account of Carlotta Meloni.

_**THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO HAS READ AND REVIEWED!**_

Chapter 9- The Art of Walking

Or

"_All My Friends Are Gonna Be Strangers"_

"I hate her."

Peter sighed. "Prongs, you..."

"_No_. She's insane. She is barking mad. _Out of her sodding mind_."

"Maybe she's just..."

"You're defending her!" said James dangerously, turning on his friend.

"No," Peter protested at once. "No, I'm not. You're right. You're completely, absolutely right."

"Damn straight I'm right," replied the other, resuming his pacing from one end of the dormitory to the other. "What the hell is her problem anyway? Why is she so...? Why can't she just...?" He stopped to breathe. "Lily Evans is going to be the death of me."

* * *

"Should we kiss on it?" Carlotta asked dryly. Her almond shaped brown eyes sparkled with amusement and victory. The satisfaction of winning after a long, arduous battle was perhaps even more gratifying than the easy triumph she usually experienced.

"How about we just shake?" replied Frank quietly, holding out his hand. Carlotta slipped her own smaller, softer hand inside his grasp, leaning further forward still, so that their noses nearly touched.

"See you on Friday," she said, before pulling back and sidestepping him. She walked away, her perfectly glossed lips curved into a smile.

* * *

"Sirius, I'm sorry_! _Sirius, _listen to me!"_

Sirius wheeled around to face the younger wizard who pursued him. "And why the hell _should_ I, Regulus?"

Regulus Black looked hurt. "Because I'm your brother."

"That," said Sirius, anger charging his words like electricity, "is the _second _lie you've told me today." He turned and stalked away.

* * *

"I am _so_ stupid!" Lily sobbed, burying her face in the handkerchief he had handed her moments before. "I am just... _so stupid!_"

Remus Lupin, her companion on the corridor floor, patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. To say he was utterly inexperienced with the fairer sex would be inaccurate, but he had never found a way to stop a girl from crying when she'd really set her mind to it.

"Lily, you're not _stupid_."

"I am too!" contradicted Lily, emerging from the handkerchief. "I'm the stupidest human being... the stupidest living _creature_ to ever walk the _Earth!_ And I'm a total _bitch_, too!" She dissolved once more.

"You're not all _that_ bad," Remus attempted to console. "C'mon... what happened? It can't be _so_ awful..."

_Hiccup._ "It is, though," she whispered desperately. "You know, in all of my rows over the years... with Potter, with Severus... I'm so used to it being _their _fault. But this... this is completely _mine_."

Remus frowned. "I don't understand, Lily," he said, "Can you explain?"

"N-n-no," croaked the redhead. "You can't understand. No one can understand... _I_ don't understand, for Merlin's sake!"

"Lily..."

"But, Remus, you'll hate me for it."

He wrapped one arm around her shaking shoulders. "I won't hate you," he assured her warmly. "Really, Lily."

She began to regain composure and fussed with the handkerchief. "You _will_ hate me. I hate me."

Remus sighed. "Come on, Lily. Whatever this is, I'm sure we can devise a way to fix it."

"We _can't_, though; that's just..."

"Why don't you start from the beginning?" the Marauder interrupted. "Just... start from the beginning and tell me what's happened."

Lily exhaled dramatically. "Well... I guess... I guess it started this morning."

(That Morning)

"They write songs about mornings like these," Lily noted, as she passed a window, through which the yellow sunlight streamed. Donna rolled her eyes.

"It's too early for that kind of rubbish," she said. "I swear, the next happy thing you say, I'm not sitting with you at breakfast."

"What _will_ I do?" asked Lily sardonically, spinning around to walk backwards beside her friend. "It's not as though I haveanybody else in the vastness of the universe to sit with at breakfast."

Donna crossed her arms. "You could sit with Potter," she said. "I notice the two of you have been awfully chummy lately."

Lily laughed. "Jealous?"

"Curious," corrected Donna, quite seriously. "Are you two...?"

"We're just trying to get along," interrupted Lily lightly. "There's nothing going on between us... we're not even proper mates. We're just... trying to get along."

"With great success apparently."

"The success is only comparable to the effort we contribute," Lily informed her. "For the sake of the school and Nicolai Mulciber's jaw." But this was a lie, Lily thought, as they reached the Great Hall: an act of mendacity the purpose of which she did not understand herself. Of course, they'd bickered a few times, but on the whole, getting along with James Potter was almost appallingly simple.

"Good morning, Lily... Donna..." said Adam McKinnon, as the two girls sat down close to him. Adam—like Donna—was dressed in Gryffindor Quidditch robes. "You going to the match today, Lily?"

"I never miss them," she replied. "Hence my current patriotism..." She indicated to the red and gold scarf hanging around her neck.

"Lily, you wear that every day," Donna pointed out. "I would hardly call that house pride."

"Only in cold weather and only with my uniform," argued Lily. "I never wear it with street clothes. It _is_ house pride."

"The Hufflepuff players look more enthusiastic for Gryffindor than you do," said Donna coolly.

"They do _not_. They _don't_, do they, Adam?" She turned to the wizard for support, but he frowned.

"I don't know, Lily, I think a few of them are probably wearing more red and gold than you are, right now. Actually..." He surveyed her outfit. "Considering your top is sort of yellow-ish, and your skirt is black... I'd reckon you're wearing more Hufflepuff colors."

"It's a cream colored sweater for Merlin's sake!" protested Lily, as Donna laughed. "You two are ridiculous."

"'Morning, Shack," said James Potter's voice, as he appeared, taking a seat across from them. "'Morning, McKinnon... Snaps." He was in a good mood. He was in a Quidditch game mood, and he looked it, Lily thought, the way his hair seemed even messier today, and a crooked grin was fixed upon his face.

Pouring a goblet of pumpkin juice, James glanced at Lily. "Gee, Snaps, you really went all out with the house spirit, didn't you?"

"_Quiet, you_."

(An Indecision)

"_Dear Sirius,"_ Andromeda Tonks's letter predictably began.

"_Please accept my sincerest apologies that I've taken so long to respond to your last letter. As you can imagine, life has been hectic for my family over the last few weeks. Incidentally, how strange is it that I now use the term 'my family' in a tone other than guilt, shame, fear, or falsified pride? This whole business certainly has taken a strange turn over the last few years... even more so in the last couple of weeks._

_So I told you in my last letter that I was a little worried about Nymphadora, on account of her using more involuntary magic than could surely be entirely normal for a child of her age. Well, she had an appointment with a Healer the other day, and—as it turns out—my three year old is a metamorphagus. The healer gave me a potion so she doesn't hurt herself (I guess that's common in metamorphagi her age?), but otherwise, apparently Nymphadora will be perfectly fine... if a little eccentric. This should be interesting come adolescence._

_Ted is doing well. He was as upset as I was by what Healer Clancey said last month about my having more children, but we're both (slowly) recovering. Maybe it's for the best: this pseudo-hidden life we're leading at the moment is dangerous enough with just Nymphadora. Of course, Nymphadora is more rambunctious than the typical three-year-old anyway (she reminds me of you... and Ted... then again, Ted always did remind me of you)._

_I ran into Narcissa the other day. She told me she's broken off her engagement to that bloke she was running around with, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I know exactly who she's turned to since. Merlin, I can only hope the rumors to that effect are false; Narcissa neither confirmed nor denied and was decidedly cold, but at least it wasn't Bella, or I probably wouldn't be around to write this. I hope you'll write if you hear anything about Cissy. I think you know my opinion of Lucius Malfoy by now, favorite cousin._

_Well I have been working up the courage to mention this: please don't get angry. Uncle Alphard wrote me about your little spat. I'm not going to recommend you make amends with Regulus—that would be hypocritical—but I don't think our uncle deserves to face your wrath, Sirius. He's done so much for us (you and I), and he wants to have some manner of relationship with you before it's too late. Please don't interpret any of this as judgment upon your decision to run away, your fight with Regulus, or even your disagreement with Uncle Alphard: I really just want what's best for you, and I can't think of anything that would be better for you than a good relationship with someone in this family (with irony, that time) who really cares about you. Besides myself, of course. _

_It's bizarre that I am now giving you advice, Sirius, when only a few years ago my life was a train wreck of poor decisions and uncertain principles. Things have changed so much: you're no longer a little boy, and I'm no longer a Black. Maybe I am the least worthy person in the world to be handing out advice, but I do so entirely out of love. _

_Incidentally, Regulus wrote me the other day—strange, no?_

_Keep close to the people you love, and remember that—wherever I am, whatever you do—I love you. Ted and Dora send their love as well._

_Always yours,_

_Andromeda"_

Sirius folded the letter up and placed it in his pocket: the edges were already worn soft from folding and unfolding, though he'd only received it an hour ago. He sighed.

"You ready, mate?" It was James. He appeared from some corner of the locker rooms, holding his state-of-the-art broomstick in both hands and wearing an expression of mixed anticipation (for the match) and concern (for his best friend). Sirius, in turn, did his best to shake off the indecision weighing upon him.

"I'm ready," he replied. He couldn't think of Andromeda just now. He couldn't think of her advice, or his uncle, or Regulus, or any of it. Right now, there must only be Quidditch: the quaffle and the hoops and his ability to connect the two. Quidditch.

"You're sure?"

Sirius picked up his broomstick (a present for his fifteenth birthday... from his uncle Alphard). "Absolutely."

(Pursuit)

"Running late, aren't you?" said a voice, as Frank reached the portrait hole. He half jumped when he spotted Carlotta, rising from the couch nearest the fireplace. The witch wore a skirt that made her slim olive toned legs appear to be several miles long, and a red sweater that clung suggestively to her thin frame.

"Carlotta, I told you in the village that I needed time away from... everything. To think." The Head Boy grew pale as she approached.

"Am I somehow preventing thought process, Frank?" she asked quietly.

"No, but you're going to try and convince me to..."

"Relax," she interrupted. "I wasn't _waiting_ for you to go down to the game. I was dodging Connor Plex... he's been trying to get me to go on a date with him for ages." She tossed her long, chestnut hair out of her face, waiting for a reaction from her companion. He did not meet her eye.

"Maybe that's a good idea," he said at length. "Connor Plex is a nice enough bloke..." Carlotta smiled a little.

"But I don't _want_ Connor Plex."

Frank decided now would be a prudent time to make his exit. She pursued. "You're being thick, you know," she said, as the pair started down the corridor, he at a slightly quicker pace. "You're not seeing anyone anymore, and you're _still _acting as if the fact that you fancy me is something to feel guilty about."

"That," said Frank, stopping suddenly, "is because I _was _seeing someone when we... when we..."

"Kissed," she finished for him. Frank continued walking. She pursued.

"I don't want to talk about this right now," he told her. "I just want to get to the Quidditch match and forget about..."

"Forget about _what_?" Carlotta demanded. "Forget about Alice?" With an icy edge: "Because she's sure forgotten about _you_. Or is it _me_ you want to forget about, Frank? Honestly, you're so _thick_. You're Head Boy... smart, talented, funny, and you're still acting like some little lost puppy just because..."

"Carlotta, it was _wrong_ what we did! What _I_ did!"

"But _why_?" the brunette asked, as they reached the marble staircase. "Because some stupid convention says so? Why does it matter? Why can't you just go with what you _feel_?"

"Carlotta, _please_. Just... just _don't_," he pleaded, a bit desperately. Carlotta sighed. She quietly pursued for a while, until they were well along the lawn. The Quidditch pitch was in sight before she spoke.

"You didn't deny it, you know."

"Didn't deny what?" asked the Head Boy.

"I said that you were still acting guilty over the fact that you fancied me," Carlotta reminded him, her eyes on the blue sky. It was a cold morning, and she'd forgotten her cloak. "And you didn't deny that you fancied me."

Frank stopped. "Listen, Carlotta..."

"Look... the game must be over," she interrupted, for indeed, a large number of students could be seen exiting the pitch and starting across the green towards the castle.

"Already? It hasn't even been twenty minutes..."

"I guess," said Carlotta, raising her eyebrows significantly, "all that running was for nothing." She then turned back to the school. He followed.

(Friends)

"Not at the party?" inquired James, and his sudden remark caused Lily—who had apparently thought she was alone—to start.

Tucking a flyaway strand of red hair behind her ear, the prefect shook her head. "No—I'm meeting Luke for a late lunch."

"A late lunch?" repeated James. He approached her at her perch atop a low windowsill in one of the school's exterior corridors. "It's not twelve-thirty yet."

"Well," Lily confessed, "I'm not meeting him till two. He's got homework to finish up."

"I see. So, the question still remains: why desert your house's victory party? I _knew_ you had no house spirit."

"The party's been on for more than two hours and will undoubtedly go on for many more hours," said Lily. "I'm simply taking a break. It's a beautiful day."

James shrugged, leaning against the wall and sliding his hands into the pockets of his Quidditch robes. "I suppose. If you're into that sort of thing."

Lily sent him a look. "Stop acting tough. It's beautiful, and you _know _it." She sighed, and James followed her stare across the lawn at the wasted trees and blue-grey sky. "I love November," she remarked.

"You love November? Who _loves_ November?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's... it's just so average. _November_. The trees aren't all orange and red anymore, and there's no snow. It's just... dead."

"It's quiet," corrected Lily. "It's... contemplative."

"The month? The month is contemplative?"

"_Yes_," insisted the redhead. "I like it. I think it's a very neglected month, on the whole. People love June because it's warm and bright, and people love December because of Christmas, and people love October and April, because everything's just starting to change... but November is unduly overlooked."

James shook his head. He almost ran his hand through his hair, but stopped just short, and fiddled with the frame of his spectacles instead. "I like March," he said after a while. "I think March is a neglected month."

"March deserves to be neglected," judged Lily. "I don't see why we need it. It's the part of the year that just stretches out... all the Christmas glow has worn off, and there's none of the fun end-of-the-year, springtime activities yet. It's just... there." She realized this was harsh. "No offense."

"None taken. I probably wouldn't like March either, but my birthday is in March."

Lily began to laugh, covering her mouth with one hand. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to abuse your birthday month. Everyone has to love their birthday month—even it if it's _August_, they have to."

"I _do_ hate August," replied James.

"Something we agree on, then."

"Good thing, too. It was about to come to blows."

Lily smiled. "Listen," she began, "I'm not meeting Luke until two... do you want to go for a walk? I'm not quite ready to go back to the party. Of course, if you are, you're more than welcome to say 'no,' I just..."

"No, sure, I'll go for a walk."

She hopped off the wall, but as he started outside, Lily shook her head. "No, not there. I want to walk around the castle... it's always so quiet on Saturdays after Quidditch matches."

Shrugging, James followed. To his surprise, she did not lead him up to the Astronomy Tower, or to the third floor where there was an excellent view of the lake, or to one of the more ornamented corridors, or anywhere remotely attractive at all. She headed for the dungeons.

"For someone who's always all 'sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows,' the dungeons are an awfully dismal destination," he pointed out, to which Lily shrugged.

"I feel like torchlight." They sat down in a randomly selected corridor, dark enough so that the torches burned even when the rest of the castle was soaked in daylight. "So," Lily began after a short silence, leaning her head against the stone wall behind her. "What shall we talk about?"

* * *

"First time you did magic," said James, and Lily frowned thoughtfully.

"By accident or on purpose?" she clarified.

"Accident, I suppose."

"Alright, good." She considered it, then said: "I was five or six... I made a closet door fly off its hinges."

"Wow," said James, impressed. "Why?"

"Predictably enough, I was angry," said Lily. "Petunia—that's my sister—she hid something of mine in the closet and locked it. I didn't have the key, and... it just flew off."

"Yeah, that sounds like you."

Lily made a face. "My turn," she said. "First... first chapter book you read."

"Hell if I know. You?"

"'The Ballet Shoes.' It made me want to become an actress. I've got a good one for you, now: first time you broke the law."

"Easy," said James. "I was six. I stole my dad's wand and set fire to the neighbor's shrubbery... also their cat, I think. My turn: your first alcoholic drink."

"Vodka. New topic. Um... First... first love."

She smiled, but James rolled his eyes. "Pass."

"Pass? You can't pass in this game."

"Well, what if I don't believe in love?" he asked, half joking, half to see her reaction, which did not disappoint. First, her green eyes grew wide. Then she scowled.

"You can't _not believe in love_. That's ridiculous. You're too young to be that cynical."

"I'm a bloke, Evans. I'm never too young to be cynical."

"Well, it's stupid all the same."

"I take it you _do_ believe in love? Fairytales and all that, too?"

"My parents were in love," Lily told him. "I can't attest to fairytales."

"Well, my parents were in love, too. And then they weren't."

"And then they were again."

"That remains to be seen."

"But lots of marriages are..."

"Well, that's the problem, isn't it? I don't believe in marriage, either."

"You're impossible," the redhead informed her companion. "Fine. I get another turn."

"No you don't," protested the other. "You should have chosen your question better. _My_ turn."

"Fine."

"Alright, how about your first... um... oh, got it. Your first... y'know..."

Lily frowned. "First _what_?"

"_You_ know."

"Oh." Lily shook her head quickly. "No. I don't... um... do that."

"Oh." James nodded. "Well, it's just as well. The whole thing is overrated." That made Lily laugh, and he was relieved.

"You're just saying that so I'm not embarrassed," she accused.

He nodded again. "Pretty much, yes, but all the same..."

"I'm not embarrassed," Lily informed him. "I just don't think... I mean, the relationships you have in school are so superficial anyway. Most girls just date the boys they think they're supposed to date, you know... the ones their friends say look good standing beside them. And I'm not saying those relationships are without merit, because it's important in a lot of ways, but... I don't know... I'm just not going to sleep with any boy I fancy. I want to be in love. Deeply and seriously and... you know, the for-better-or-for-worst kind."

"You mean the happily-ever-after-fairytale kind," said James.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Agree to disagree," she said. "Even though I'm right and you're a posing cynic." She looked at him. "What about _you_?"

James arched his eyebrows. "I have this little voice in my head... saying something about 'kissing and telling' and... not to do it."

"You wanted _me_ to kiss and tell."

"It's completely different for a bird," said James. "Blokes don't care."

"But you _have_... you know...?"

"Evans..."

"I'm not asking for names! I'm just _curious!_"

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "Fine. Yes, I have. Happy?"

She didn't _look_ happy. "Yes." A moment of silence, then: "Alright, my turn. How about—er... first kiss?"

"I'll tell that," allowed the other. "Carlotta Meloni, actually."

"Carlotta Meloni?" Lily looked even unhappier.

"I suppose she's not your favorite person right now," James allowed. "I know what everyone's saying about Frank Longbottom and what not... but she's not wholly bad, you know."

"I used to know," said Lily skeptically. "I never knew you two dated," she added quizzically a moment later. James shook his head.

"We didn't. It just... happened. End of fourth year. What about you? First kiss."

"Robbie Castle."

"Robbie Castle? That prick?"

"He was not a prick! Well..." She thought about it; "he was a little bit of a prick, but I thought he was divine at the time."

But it shouldn't have been Robbie Castle. "If you say so."

"I do. And I'll have you know that kiss was perfect. We were in a garden, and..."

"A garden?"

"Yes. It was sunny and colorful and _perfect_, and..."

"What garden? Here at Hogwarts?"

"Hogsmeade. It was my first real date, and there's this patch down the road, where the clerk at Honeydukes planted a garden. Oh stop laughing, it was _romantic_. It was perfect, which I bet is more than you can say. You and Carlotta Meloni..."

"It is," he agreed. "Carlotta and I snogged because we were bored. But it was a good snog."

"But it wasn't perfect," triumphed Lily. "And mine _was_. God himself smiled."

James laughed, and she let him. "Well, _I_ don't..." he began.

"You don't believe in God," she finished for him. He nodded. "_Merlin, _do you believe in _anything?"_

With a shrug: "We'll see."

Lily shook her head. "You do, though," she said. "Believe in God, I mean. You do believe in God. You only think that you don't."

"I'm _pretty_ sure I don't, Snaps," stated the other. "I find it sort of ridiculous. Don't _you_?"

Lily didn't answer his question, instead saying: "It's quite easy to sit here and laugh at a God. No one laughs at God when they're staring down the end of a wand." James watched her very carefully, cementing her image in his brain. She shook the hair out of her eyes, then caught James looking at her. "Stop looking at me like that, James Potter," she ordered, amused.

"Like what?" He hoped he sounded innocent.

"Like... like you know something about me."

"But I _do_." (Relieved.) "I know a lot of things about you. We've been playing this for almost an hour and a half."

The redhead went rigid. "An hour and a half? What time is it?"

"About ten minutes to two..." It was then that he remembered her date with Luke, and James wished he hadn't said anything. Lily got to her feet.

"I'd better go," she said. "Luke's always early for everything."

_I'm always late for everything,_ James thought, also getting to his feet. Lily hesitated for a moment. "Thanks for walking with me. It... it wasn't too terrible. Even though, y'know... _you_ were there."

"It was alright for me too," agreed James. "Mostly because I'm so doped up even you _seemed _interesting, but..."

"Oh, be quiet." But she was smiling. "I'll see you later." With that, the witch was gone. James sat down again. It shouldn't have been Luke Harper...

(Party of Three)

Frank wasn't having a very good time. It was supposed to be a celebration, but he found himself strangely apathetic to the fact that his team had just defeated Hufflepuff in one of the shortest matches in recent history. He just didn't care. Alice was nowhere to be found in the crowded, noisy Common Room, and Carlotta stood across the room with Connor Plex, laughing and flirting loudly.

Frowning miserably, the Head Boy rose from his corner seat and started for the drink table. He had just grabbed a butterbeer when he spotted Hestia Clearwater some distance away, chatting casually with Remus Lupin. As he watched, however, Remus began to move away, and while Hestia was left momentarily alone, Frank hastily approached her.

The smile on the witch's face vanished the moment she saw the Head Boy. "What do you want?" she snapped, upon his arrival.

"I just..."

"Well, I'll tell you what _I_ want," Hestia interrupted. "I want to smack you. I want to pour this butterbeer all over your stupid... _hair_. But I won't, because I haven't got the nerve. Nonetheless, I would appreciate it if, while you are walking away, you pretend that your soaked with butterbeer and feeling _very uncomfortable_."

Frank had never seen Hestia so angry, and he certainly had never had such anger directed at himself. "Hestia, I just want to make sure she's okay."

"She's fine."

"Where is she? I haven't seen her all day... I _never_ see her, except in class."

"She's busy. And she hates you."

Frank nodded. "I don't blame her," he said dejectedly. "But..."

"Frank, you should go," cut in Hestia.

"I will, just... just tell her that everyone misses her."

"She knows," said the other. "She's fantastic. Anyone who didn't miss her would be a complete dolt. But then again, maybe missing her is all _some people_ are ever going to get to do... even when she does start coming to Quidditch matches again." The Head Boy began to leave. "Why'd you do it?" Hestia demanded suddenly.

Frank sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. Without another word but looking highly dissatisfied, Hestia disappeared into the crowd. Frank was not alone for long.

"I told you so," said Carlotta Meloni. "I told you she's moved on."

"Carlotta, _please_..."

Frank made for the portrait hole, and she followed him. Out in the corridor, Carlotta demanded: "I don't understand you. I know the way you look at me, and the way you feel about me... I _know_ that kiss meant something."

"But it _didn't_," insisted Frank, as though he were pleading with her to believe him. "It didn't... I just... it was just a..."

"Don't say 'mistake.'"

"Carlotta..."

"Frank, be honest with me: do you feel _nothing_ for me? Standing here, right now, can you honestly say you don't feel _anything?"_

He took a long time to answer, the color rising in his cheeks. "I—I don't _know_."

"You _do_ know," said the other. "You fancy me. And I fancy you. And that kiss _did_ mean something... not just that you were bored with the relationship you _had, _though you clearly were..."

"That's not true!"

"It _is_ true!"

"Alice and I were perfectly..."

"Perfect," finished Carlotta. "Frank, just because everyone thought you were completely perfect and meant-to-be, doesn't mean that you _were_. You were bored. Alice is a nice girl, but she's not _like_ you. She's... she's girl-next-door, and sometimes girl-next-door isn't enough!"

"Don't say that. Carlotta, seriously, stop, I'm not going to let you say..."

"The truth?"

"_No_." He exhaled. "Listen, I really need you to give me space. I have to think about all of this, and I can't, if..."

"I'll give you space if you go out with me," interrupted the sixth year. "If you agree to go on one date with me... to let me convince you of what I already know about us, then I won't bother you anymore after that... unless you want me to. If we go on one date, and you still want your 'space,' I won't bother you, or talk to you, or follow your or anything."

"Carlotta..."

"Don't answer now," she said quickly. "Stop thinking with that confused brain of yours and just... just do what feels right to you. When you've done that, tell me what you've decided."

She walked away. Frank closed his eyes, grateful for the solitude. He needed to clear his head. He needed to _think_.

"She _saw you_, y'know." Frank's eyes flew open. Marlene Price stood before him, hands on her hips and the flush of anger in her cheeks. "Alice saw you down in the village on your little date with Carlotta Meloni."

Frank blinked. "I wasn't with Carlotta Meloni in the village..." Then he remembered. "Oh, no, it wasn't a date. She just foll... that is, we just ran into one another for a few minutes at the end, and..."

"I don't care," said Marlene, waving away his response with one hand. "I just thought you should know that Alice saw you and that I think you're a prat for going around in public with _her_ only a week after breaking your sweet, perfect, wonderful girlfriend's heart. And I would say the same thing to Carlotta... only..." this in a rushed undertone: "...she's-my-room-mate,-so-I-sort-of-have-to-keep-peace-with-her. But watch your back, _Frank_."

Haughtily, the blonde departed.

No, Frank was most certainly _not_ having a good time.

(Tea)

_Knock, knock._

Sirius's fist rapped once more against the wooden door and was, this time, met with a response. The door opened, his uncle standing on the other side, with a reasonably confused expression.

"Sirius," Professor Black noted in surprise. "Hello. I thought you'd be celebrating in the Common Room with the rest of the team... congratulations on the match, then."

Sirius nodded slowly. "Listen, Uncle Alphard... that is... _Professor Black_, I wondered if I could have a word with you."

"Oh. Of course. Come in."

The younger Black stepped into his uncle's office, feeling awkward as he still wore his Quidditch gear and might have—he thought—had a touch of firewhiskey on his breath. Nonetheless, he took both the seat and cup of tea offered to him, and waited till his uncle was similarly situated before speaking again.

"I've had a letter from Andromeda," Sirius told him. "Have you heard the news about... about her kid? Nymphadora?"

Professor Black had not, and Sirius related the news that the letter had related to him. The elder Black was sufficiently astonished, and they both discussed the news for a few minutes. Then, Sirius continued: "That's not the reason I came here, though."

"I thought not," said Black softly.

"Andromeda thinks your right about my brother." Sirius stared into his teacup. "She didn't come out and say it, but she meant it. I could tell. She wants me to forgive Regulus."

"Sirius..."

"And," he went on, speaking over his uncle, "You and Andromeda are the only blood relatives I've got, so... so I think I should probably listen to you."

"Sirius..."

"...Because if you two think that there's a chance that he won't turn into Slytherin's golden boy, I trust you, and... and I should listen to your input." He was met with quiet, which prompted him to add: "So... what are you thinking?"

Alphard Black was quiet for some time. "Sirius," he finally began. "This is what I've been hoping for, I won't deny it. But you're not a child anymore, and... and as much as I might like to conceal things from you, 'for your own good' as they say... I believe you deserve the truth."

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean that... that you have made a difficult decision, and I think—I _still_ think it is the right one to make. However, I don't think that you should make it before you have all of the information."

"What... what information?" Sirius asked unevenly.

"About your brother," said Professor Black. "I've just had to give Regulus a detention... along with some of his friends. They were... they were cursing a young muggleborn. It was messy... more than just a harmless prank, and... Well, he wasn't seriously hurt, this boy, but..." Sirius stood up abruptly. "Sirius, please, be patient. Don't do anything that..."

"I can't believe this. Who was it? Who was the kid?"

Looking as though he wasn't sure he should be telling this, Black replied: "David Michaels. He's a..."

"Second year."

"Yes. Now, Sirius..."

He made for the door, stopping just short and turning to his uncle. "Thank-you," said Sirius. Black clearly did not understand. "Thank you for telling me this," Sirius went on. "I know that you didn't want to. Thank you for not protecting me."

Professor Black nodded. Sirius left the office, his tea unfinished.

(The Ultimatum)

Luke kissed her softly on the lips, and then stepped back. "I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" he whispered. Lily nodded, smiling.

"Alright." He turned, starting out of the Great Hall and pausing at the door to wave goodbye. When he had gone, Lily sat down at Gryffindor table once again—she and Luke had been alone in the hall, and it was a nice change. She was thinking over their conversation while toying with a napkin, when the sound of her own name recalled her from the reverie.

"Lily."

Severus Snape approached the table.

"Hi, Sev. What's wrong?" For the Slytherin was pale and flustered. He was also, Lily noticed a moment later, displeased.

"I can't let you do this, Lily," he said. Her heart beat very fast, and something about the tone of his voice made the color rise in her face.

"What are you talking about?"

"You've got to choose, okay? You've got to chose between the two of us... between him and me."

Lily stared, gaping like a fish for a moment. "Between... between you and _Luke_? Sev, I don't understand." And though her heart was beating like mad at a thousand and one implications (which frightened more than pleased her), she was telling the truth: the topic of Lily's boyfriend was never discussed with Severus. It had seemed strangely wrong to discuss Luke with him.

"No," said Severus, his black eyes cooler than ever. "You have to choose between me and James Potter." Here, Lily believed that her heart actually stopped beating all together.

"Sev... that's..."

"What?" he interrupted, which startled Lily, because Severus never interrupted her. "Are you going to pretend it's unfair of me to ask that? It's _not_. You and I were mates first... we were mates long before you ever even met that Potter git, and you're not supposed to become friends with the people who _pick on_ your friends."

"Sev, he and the Marauders haven't done anything to you in _ages_..."

"How would _you_ know? You never ask me, do you?"

"Because," countered Lily heatedly, "you haven't _told_ me, and you're always quick to tell me every time James Potter steps on a fly, much less anything worse..."

"So I'm being unfair to _Potter_, now? All he ever did was step on flies? All those years of rubbish mean _nothing_, because..."

"That's not what I said, and it's not what I meant," snapped Lily, getting to her feet. "But James Potter and I are housemates, and... it's easier on everyone if we get along."

"_Get along?_ Lily, I've seen the pair of you together... he just stares, and you..."

"Sev, you're completely misinterpreting this."

"He wants to be your friend, Lily."

She hesitated, and then asked: "So what? Is it wrong for me to be friends with someone from my own house? I'll have to spend the next two years with him no matter what, and if he's stopped picking on you..."

"Is _that_ what this is about? You've agreed to be his 'friend' if he stops starting rows with _me_? You're trying to _protect_ me, is that right?" With his pride on the line, Snape's tone became colder, shakier.

"It's not like that," insisted Lily. "But he's trying... he really is _trying_ not to be a completely immature git, and I don't think it's my place to judge him on what he's been in the past."

Severus looked at her carefully. "Is that your answer, then?"

"Sev..." He started to leave. "_Sev, _please!_" _Because Severus Snape was her childhood; he was Petunia before she hated Lily and Petunia when she hated her the most. He was the first time she did magic on purpose, and the time when her Dad had still been around, and a million other things of which Lily had not yet let go. "Sev, _wait!"_

And he did.

"You're my best friend," she said, starting towards him. It was the first time she'd admitted as much in what seemed to be centuries... since before they quarreled last year. "You've been my best friend for so long... I have to choose you. You _know_ that I do."

Lily Evans thought she was in love and disliked the fact.

"Lily..."

"But I hate you for making me do this."

(Brotherhood and Other Lies)

Regulus Black was on his way down to supper when Sirius, now changed into casual robes, found him. The older boy called out his younger brother's name, and Regulus paused in his progression up the corridor.

"I want a word," said Sirius, and Regulus nodded for his fourth year companions to go on without him. Glowering at Sirius, they complied.

"I can't believe you're speaking to me," marveled Regulus, a handsome young wizard, who might have been Sirius's twin a few years before. He had hit his growth spurt, however, and was almost as tall as his brother. Regulus's hair was cut short, and his grin was not so captivating, but otherwise, the two looked very much the same. Except, of course, that Regulus wore his Slytherin colors. "I thought you..."

"Shut up," interrupted Sirius. Regulus blinked. "Lily Evans," began the elder, "is sixteen times the person you will _ever_ be."

"W-what?"

"Marlene Price, Mary Macdonald—both your superior by miles."

"Sirius, I..."

"_Remus Lupin_," the older boy cut off his brother, "is a hundred times the wizard, and the person, and the _brother_ that you could even hope to be. So the next time you want to go taunting some muggleborns or half-bloods because you're _so superior_, think about that, alright?"

"Sirius, I didn't..."

"Davey Michaels is telling a different story, you two-faced _git."_

"Davey Michaels is _lying_," Regulus said. "You have to believe me. I didn't _do_ anything."

Sirius crossed his arms. "I didn't hear the story from Davey Michaels, Regulus," he said. "I heard it from our uncle."

Regulus had no words for some time. "I'm—I'm sorry, Sirius. C'mon, don't think that..."

"Stay the hell away from me," snapped Sirius. He pushed past Regulus, moving quickly away. He was followed.

"Sirius, I'm sorry! Sirius, _listen to me!"_

Sirius wheeled around to face his pursuer. "And why the hell _should_ I, Regulus?"

Regulus looked hurt, and Sirius knew it. He knew it, and he really didn't care. "Because I'm your brother."

"That," said the other, anger charging his words like electricity, "is the _second _lie you've told me today." He turned and stormed away.

(Defeat)

Carlotta was alone in the Common Room at supper time. The remains of the party lay scattered around her, as everyone had gone off to supper or to lounge about the castle. Frank found her there, just sitting by the fire, her eyes glazed over and her expression somewhat vacant.

"Carlotta?"

She woke up, as if from a trance. "Frank."

"I wanted to let you know," the Head Boy began, as Carlotta rose and crossed the room to him; "I've decided. I've decided that I'll go on a date with you."

She blinked. "Really?"

"Yes. We'll go on a date, but after that, you'll give me space. Is that a deal?"

Carlotta nodded. "Unless you don't want me to give you space," she said, softly and sweetly. "It's a deal."

"On Friday, then?"

"On Friday then." She leaned forward and dryly added: "Should we kiss on it?"

Frank saw the glint of triumph in he eyes. In spite of everything, there really was something fantastic about her. "How about we just shake?" he replied quietly, holding out his hand. Carlotta slipped her own smaller, softer hand inside his grasp, leaning further forward still, so that their noses practically touched.

"See you on Friday," she said, before pulling back and sidestepping him. She walked away, a swish in her slim hips and a smile on her perfectly glossed lips.

Victory was beyond sweet.

(Hell If I Care)

The smoky grey clouds moved in overhead, and Lily watched. The grass beneath her was cold, in a nice, November kind of way, but her interest in that had dwindled half an hour ago. She lay out by the lake, hands behind her head, and eyes on the unhappy, changing sky.

"A little earl for stargazing, isn't it Evans?"

Her view of the sky was suddenly disrupted. James Potter looked down at her, and Lily sat up. "I was just... looking at the cloud," she said awkwardly, brushing the grass from her hair. "Nothing terribly interesting there, I just..." She stopped. "You're... you're heading up to the castle, are you?"

"No. Why do you say that?"

_Wishful thinking._ "I don't know, I just assumed. It... it looks like rain."

"Well, I'm thinking of giving November a chance," he announced.

"In that case," said the other hastily, "you don't want to get rained on. It might ruin your second first impression."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I'm going in soon anyway..."

James crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side. "You're trying to get rid of me, aren't you?" he asked, not in the least bothered by this.

"No, I just..."

"No, you're definitely trying to get rid of me. You don't want me here." So, of course, he sat down. "Why not?" (With that stupid, crooked grin). "Now I'm curious..."

"It's not that I'm trying to get rid of you," stammered Lily, unable to meet his eye. "I just don't want you to get caught in the rain, that's all. I'm barking mad, so I wouldn't mind, but, y'know, you're more... normal, and I thought..."

"You're a terrible, terrible liar sometimes."

Lily sighed and nodded. "But... but maybe it would be better if you left."

"_Why_?"

"I want to be alone, that's all."

James nodded understandingly. "Sounds boring," he said, unmoved. Lily rolled her eyes and tried not to smile.

"Really, Potter, I just..."

"We've returned to 'Potter' have we? That's not very friendly. Even potentially."

Lily was quiet. "Listen, James," she said after a while, speaking in a low voice with the impossible hope that she might not hear herself, "maybe we should just... just try to take things... that is, maybe we should just try to get along."

"Get along?" repeated James. "Sans one _barely_ heated argument about legal restrictions on animagi in Transfiguration class, we haven't so much as _bickered _in days. Isn't that... _getting along_?"

"Well," Lily said, summoning her courage, "maybe that's just it. I mean, we... we find a way to fight about legal restrictions on animagi for heaven's sake, and that doesn't even apply to us. Imagine if it were something that really affected one of us! And 'days' isn't a very long record for not bickering, James. You're always getting on my nerves, and I'm always getting on your nerves, and maybe it's just better if we don't spend a lot of time together, so that we don't fight."

James's expression was unreadable. "Have I done something _wrong_?" he asked.

"No. It's not like that. Believe me; it's not.

"Then how is it? Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm..." She couldn't deny it, though. "I'm just... sorry."

"Alright." His hand was in his hair. "Fine. I don't... I don't care. I thought that this was what you wanted. Personally, Evans..." Getting to his feet, "...I could care less." He started to leave.

"Sev was my friend first," Lily called after him. James stopped and looked back at her, comprehension just beginning to dawn on his face. "He's always been there. He risks his reputation in his own house to be my mate, and I have to choose him. If there's a choice, I'll _always_ have to choose him, whether I... no matter what. It's not fair, and I'm sorry, but that's just the way it _is._"

A series of emotions passed across James's face too quickly to be read, and then it became utterly stony. "Hell if I care, Evans," he said and left.

(Insanity)

"I hate her."

Peter sighed. "Prongs, mate..."

"No. She's insane. She is barking mad. _Out of her sodding mind_."

"Maybe she's just..."

"You're defending her!" said James dangerously, turning on his friend.

"No," Peter protested at once. "No, I'm not. You're right. You're completely, absolutely right."

"Damn straight I'm right," replied the other, resuming his pacing from one end of the dormitory to the other. Where their roommates had got to, James neither knew nor cared (though he rather wished Padfoot would show up to take over Peter's position. Sirius was excellent at agreeing with his hatred, no matter how artificial). "What the hell is her problem anyway? Why is she so...? Why can't she just...?" He stopped to breathe. "Lily Evans is going to be the death of me. Damn girl can't make up her mind... and I am _done_. I am _done_ trying to figure out what the hell she's on about, because she is... _insane_."

Peter agreeably nodded as his friend searched the room for a cigarette.

James Potter knew he was in love and positively hated it.

(That Night)

"So that's it," Lily finished, and Remus was quiet. "They write songs about these kinds of days," she went on, drying her eyes with the moist handkerchief. "Sad, depressing, slit-your-wrist songs." But her companion remained silent, which worried her. "You hate me, don't you? I know and I get it: I was stupid to think I could be friends with the both of them... I was stupid to think that Snape would accept that I was mates with his worst enemy..."

"Not stupid, Lily," cut in Remus. "Optimistic."

"It was wrong of me," the other pressed on. "I was thoughtless... I didn't take everyone into consideration from the start. Now James hates me, _I_ hate me, _you_ probably hate me..."

Remus shook his head. "I don't hate you, Lily," he said. "You're too damn sad to hate. But," he continued, quieter and more seriously: "you should know... he might not be able to forget this. Prongs is... James is... complicated, and I think that... that the whole civility thing is pretty much going to be over for the two of you."

Lily pushed her hair from her eyes. She had realized this, but not really. "Right."

* * *

**A/N: **And now that everyone hates me... please review! So, in case it was unclear, the only parts that Lily is relating to Remus are the parts in which she features.

I PROMISE there will be more mystery-plot in the next chapter. That keeps getting delayed... originally it was in chapter 7, then 8, and now it didn't make it into 9, but I guarantee it in 10.

Feedback is especially crucial for this chapter, incidentally—I'm getting a bad vibe from it, and I want to know what you think.

Reviews are Half-Baked Ice Cream! (...which I am now craving. damn it.)

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	10. The Connection

**A/N: **not as much Lily-n-James this chapter, but lots of action!plot, and a little Lily/Sirius action! Non-shippy Lily/Sirius, that is, unless that's your ship, in which case: have at it.

**Disclaimer:** I still don't have any stake in Harry Potter (though I could use the money) or the Beatles (though I'll probably play Beatles' rock band at some point... whether I like it or not).

**Recap: **Carlotta Meloni, Adam McKinnon, and another student all try to kill themselves, and a Ministry investigator, Lathe, is brought in to investigate why. Carlotta confides in Lily that she kissed Frank Longbottom over the summer, and the result is Frank and Alice's break-up. Luke Harper's (Lily's boyfriend) family owns a shop in Hogsmeade. Snape tells Lily that she has to choose between James and himself as chooses Snape out of loyalty. Carlotta convinces Frank to go on _one_ conditional date with her.

I did NOT re-read this after it was all finished, so I pray to God it all makes sense...

**THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO READ, REVIEWED, and FAVORITED THE LAST CHAPTER! **(dig the surreptitious underlining?)

Chapter 10- The Connection

Or

"With a Little Help from My Friends"

"Where in Agrippa's name is my hairbrush?" Carlotta Meloni demanded of the universe, and—suspecting that their input was not required—her roommates said nothing, continuing their own preparation for the day without regard to Miss Meloni's plight. "Have you seen it, Shelley?" she asked, turning to her friend, who was unhappily surveying the reflection of her own dishwater blond hair in the looking glass.

"Sorry, no," said Shelley. "You can borrow mine if you..."

Carlotta eyed with distaste the particular item that Shelley Mumps put forth for use and shook her head, endeavoring to conceal her distrust of the hairbrush in question and the strands of hair stuck within its bristles. "No, thank-you, Shelley. I was looking for..."

Lily Evans emerged from the washroom, clipping in small silver hoop earrings. "Lily!" said Carlotta, hurrying over. "Have you seen my hairbrush?" But Lily hadn't.

"I'm going down to breakfast," announced Shelley, while Carlotta searched the dresser for her belonging. "Shall I wait for you, Car?"

"No, go ahead," replied the other distractedly. "I'll be along in a bit." And when Shelley was gone, Carlotta turned to Mary, who sat at the vanity, touching up her eye-liner. "Mary, can I borrow your hairbrush?"

"Sorry," said Mary lightly, getting to her feet very quickly. She pushed the remainder of her cosmetics into her ocean blue handbag, along with her own hairbrush, her auxiliary hairbrush, her de-tangling hairbrush, and several combs. "But I like to take them with me, and I'm going down to breakfast now." With that, Mary practically skipped out of the dormitory.

Confused, Carlotta turned to Marlene. "Mar, could I...?"

"It's unhygienic," interrupted the blond sweetly. "See you in class." And she, too, departed. Carlotta sat down on a bed.

"Is it just me," she began, speaking to the only two girls left in the room with her—Lily and Donna—"or have Mary and Marlene been acting very strangely towards me for the past few weeks?"

"It's just you," said Lily, far too quickly. "I mean... I don't think Mary and Marlene are acting strangely on _purpose_... it's probably just... y'know... health. Problems. Of sorts."

"Mhm," agreed Donna, slipping into her shoes. "Or they think you're a whore for stealing Frank from Alice."

Lily rolled her eyes. "_Donna_. Tact. We've talked about this. I _know_ we have..."

"They... what?" And Carlotta appeared genuinely surprised. "But... they haven't _said_ anything, and... they were fine until just recently..."

"Well," began Lily slowly, "I think that, maybe, it's just a little difficult for them to accept that, regardless of what happened over the summer..."

"They think you're kind of a bitch for not only breaking Frank and Alice up, but then going on a date with him after they'd split," said Donna.

Carlotta flinched. "So... so everyone knows about that, then?"

"Not everyone," said Lily; she sent Donna a silencing look. "I mean... Marlene found out, and she told Mary... so... well... actually, yes, everyone probably knows by now."

"Right," said Carlotta. "That's just... _great_. And... and do _you_ think I'm a bitch, too?"

"Yes," said Donna.

"I was _talking to Lily_."

Donna shrugged. "I'm going to breakfast," she announced, doing so. Lily tried to look busy with her book bag.

"_Lily_," repeated Carlotta "Do you think I'm a bitch, too?"

It was unavoidable. The redhead sighed. "I... I don't… Carlotta, it's not really any of my business."

"But I made it your business. I confided in you about everything. I asked your advice... and you were the one who told me that I should go for it with Frank..."

"Carlotta," Lily interjected sternly, "You failed to mention that the bloke you were after had a girlfriend, and that the girlfriend was one of my mates."

"And... I'm not one of your mates, am I?" asked the brunette, coldly.

"You _are_, but Alice didn't try and steal your boyfriend."

Sighing, Carlotta rolled her eyes. "That's what's so silly, you know. All this convention and habit... who is to say that Alice wasn't the one stealing Frank from _me_? If Frank and I were destined for..."

"Carlotta," Lily repeated, "the two of you got drunk on the beach and snogged. This isn't _Romeo and Juliet_, okay? Whether or not you two would make a 'good couple' is beside the point. If you wanted to try to have something with him, you should have talked to him. And when he said he wanted you to stay away, you should have listened. That's just the way things work."

"The way things work is wrong," retorted Carlotta. She rose from the bed. "But I'm glad," she went on, ice in her tone, "that you're finally being honest with me."

"Carlotta..."

"Don't lecture me, Lily... like you're some little _saint_, trying to keep peace. I don't want you to be nice to me unless you mean it, and I don't need you to protect me from your stupid friends. My God, you're just like the rest of them... so bloody artificial, it makes me _sick._" And with that, Carlotta stormed off.

Lily's shock had already worn off before the other reached the door; the redhead stood there, fury smoldering within her... oh, how she wished she'd had time to shout back. How she wished she... _what was that?_

Lying on the floor near the dresser was a wooden handled hairbrush. Lily glared at it, and kicked it under the dresser.

(Ask Me Why)

"I told you so," Donna whispered to Lily, as the two girls sat down in Defense Against the Dark Arts Class. Mary and Marlene took the desk beside them. "I mean, not _exactly_, but I've always told you that being nice to people... being so optimistic wouldn't get you anywhere."

"My being nice wasn't the problem," retorted Lily. "Carlotta being evil was the problem."

"It's not just Carlotta," Donna went on. "What about Potter, then? He doesn't even look at you, and every time you say anything in class he tries to make you sound ridiculous."

"Well, that's my own doing," said Lily. "I wasn't exactly fair to Potter, was I? Making peace, trying to be friends, and then cutting him off completely..."

Marlene leaned over. "When are you going to stop making excuses for Potter's bad attitude, Lily?" she asked. "It's ridiculous."

"_You're one to talk,"_ Mary whispered in a sing-song voice. Marlene didn't hear.

"I'm giving him a month to be angry with me," said Lily. "After that, I figure he doesn't have to be _nice_ to me, but he's no longer justified in going out of his way to be a git."

"A month?" asked Donna.

"Yes. I think it's a proper amount of time: long enough to be really pissed _and_ to move on to apathy, but not so long that he gets used to being a prat to me."

"Well, it's been about a month, hasn't it?" mused Mary.

"A month next Saturday," said Lily. The other three looked at her. "_What_? I have a good memory."

"You've really given this a lot of thought," Marlene noted, eyebrows arched.

"What else am I supposed to do in Ancient Runes? Stop raising your eyebrows. It's not _that_ weird."

"It's a little weird," said Mary.

"_You're_ a little weird," said Lily.

"Well, _you're_..."

"Good morning, class," said Professor Black, sweeping into the room with a smile on his tired face. "It snowed this morning. First snow of the year... keep that in mind. Historically, wizards have placed great emphasis on climate events like these."

"What kind of emphasis?" one Ravenclaw wanted to know.

Professor Black merely smirked. "Just keep your eyes open. Now, put your books away. We're practicing for the term exams today with a practical lesson. You're all to pair up for dueling... oh, but first..." He withdrew a scroll from his bag, "Professor McGonagall has asked me to have everyone who intends to go home for the holidays to sign this. Pass it along, and then we'll get started."

"Are you going home?" Lily asked of Donna, who nodded.

"My brother expects me," she replied glumly. "And the nanny's gone and quit again, which means he's had to take fewer shifts at work... they're helpless without me."

"You're helpless without _them_," Lily noted, amused. "Admit it, Don, you'll at least be pleased to see your little brothers and sisters."

"I don't _object_ to seeing Bridget," said Donna. "But that's it. Isaiah is a nightmare, and Brice is always making a mess."

"You know," said Lily, "you don't have to pretend to hate _everything_. Emotions can be your friends."

"No, they can't. Even friends can't be your friends."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Why is it you're at arm's distance from _everything_?"

"I'm not at arm's distance."

"Then why did you reject that cute Ravenclaw who asked you to Hogsmeade?"

Donna shrugged. "It wouldn't have worked out. What? It wouldn't."

"Arm's distance."

"I am _not_ at arm's distance!"

"She's not," Marlene weighed in. "She's much more closed off than that. Emotionally speaking, I reckon you could fit at least a dozen arms between her and the rest of the world."

"I am _not_ closed off," said Donna. "I'm just smart. Practical."

"Emotionally inept," said Mary.

"_You_, stay out of this."

"Alright," Lily interrupted, "if I pull out a shiny object, will you all be too distracted to continue this debate?"

"How shiny?" asked Mary. The list arrived for the girls to sign: Lily, Donna, and Mary all signed; Marlene did not.

"If I go home," the blond explained, "Mum buys me loads of presents. If I stay here, she just sends one... it's cheaper."

"Home won't be any fun without you," Mary pointed out. "Mum and Dad like you better than me, I reckon, and there's no one interesting left in our building anymore... just that shoddy old couple who were investigated for the narcotics racket."

"Maybe next year," replied Marlene, trying to sound casual. "So, now, who wants to duel me?"

"Not _me_," said Mary. "You always beat me, Mar. I'm going to find a puny Hufflepuff girl."

"I'll duel you," volunteered Donna boldly. "'Should be fun."

Marlene argued, but Lily did not pay them much heed. The Marauders sat nearby, and as the sign up sheet approached the boys, Lily overheard a bit of their conversation.

"...Do you say, Prongs?" Sirius asked. "You headed home or staying at Hogwarts?"

"Please," James replied. "I don't want to see my _dad_. I'm staying."

"It's just as well," remarked his best friend. "I was thinking about staying, in any case... considering my uncle's here and all. I think it might enrage Mum a fair bit if her brother doesn't consider me the scourge of the Blacks."

"Sirius Black: Scourge of the Blacks," said Remus thoughtfully. "It's got a certain ring to it, you know."

Sirius laughed. "I reckon _you're _staying, Moony." He was. "What about Wormtail?"

"If you lot are here, I'll stay," said Peter. "It'd be better than Mum's mincemeat pie and mulled wine."

"Excellent," said James with satisfaction. "It'll be fun. Maybe we'll gatecrash at Slughorn's Christmas party..."

Peter snorted. "You and Sirius don't _have_ to gatecrash, Prongs. You're always invited." James merely shrugged.

"It's more fun to gatecrash, though."

(Because)

The snow did not lay very thick that morning: it was wet and sludgy, in parts translucent, but everywhere very, very cold. Still, the change in weather certainly made the coming of Christmas seem quite imminent, and Lily found her attention wandering in Potions class, later that morning. Nonetheless, when Professor Slughorn came around to collect a sample of her Aging Potion, he appeared no less pleased than usual.

"Very nice work, Lily." As he collected some of the potion in a small vial, Slughorn continued: "Will I be seeing you at the Christmas Eve party this year?"

"I'm afraid not," replied the witch. "I go home this year."

"That's too bad," lamented Slughorn with a sigh. "Deirdre Shakenurt was quite impressed with you last Christmas, you know."

"It was fantastic meeting her, too," said Lily honestly. "But I usually alternate years, and Mum will want me home this Christmas."

"And who can blame her? Very well, Miss Evans. Oh, and incidentally—you haven't seen Mr. Snape today, have you?"

She hadn't. In fact, she had been curious about his absence as well. "No," she admitted. "I think he must be ill or something. He wasn't in Defense class, either."

Slughorn nodded slowly. "Very well. Excellent work, as always, Lily."

When at last the bell dismissed the class, Lily was the first one to the door, only stopping to wait for her friends at the end of the corridor. Donna, Mary, and Marlene at last caught up.

"I sat in front of Chipper Plex today," Donna informed them, as they started for the Great Hall and lunch. "He was talking to his girlfriend, and I heard the whole thing."

"Kinky," said Mary.

"Not like _that_. Chipper's works for the Ministry... Charlie says they're recalling Lathe."

"Recalling Lathe? Back to London?" asked Lily. Donna nodded.

"Apparently, they're giving him until Christmas, and if he doesn't have any significant leads on the investigation by then, they're closing the book on the case."

"You mean, they're not sending a replacement?" asked Marlene, shocked. "They're just... moving on? But what if someone else tries to... to jump of the Astronomy Tower, or into the lake?"

"It's been months," Donna pointed out. "And Lathe—unfortunately—is one of the Ministry's best investigators. If _he_ can't get anything on this, I suppose the Ministry just thinks they're wasting resources. They've made so many cuts financially to the auror department over the years, and now they're stretched thin."

"They can't just close the book," protested Marlene, as though this were all Donna's fault. "It could happen again!"

"Healer Holloway said it was probably chance that those three were the only ones affected," said Lily, putting an arm around Marlene's shoulders. "If it were going to happen again—which seems unlikely after more than three months—the chances seem astronomical that it would happen to any of the same people."

Adam McKinnon was not far from any of their thoughts.

"Even still," Marlene muttered, though she seemed to receive a little comfort from those words. They reached the Hall and took seats at Gryffindor table. Adam McKinnon himself arrived moments later, but as the girls were just serving themselves, he gathered a few items.

"I've got Charms homework to finish," he explained. "See you later." With a smile, he started to leave.

"At least take a sandwich, then," said Marlene. "You'll starve if that's all you're taking to eat."

"You're one to talk," chorused Mary and Adam. "And I'm not eating meat today," Adam added. "See you in class." He left, and Marlene shrugged, taking fruit for her own lunch.

"What did he mean?" asked Lily. "'He's not eating meat today?'"

"Oh, that's just Adam being Adam," said Marlene casually. "He does this on-and-off vegetarian bit. He's not strict or anything... it's just one of those things. When he feels guilty about eating meat, he won't. Don't spread that around—he keeps it very hush-hush, because he thinks it's stupid. _I_ told him it was just sensitivity, but... Merlin, Lily, _what's wrong_? You look as if you've seen a ghost!" She had, indeed, gone very pale.

"So what?" asked Donna. "She probably did. Nearly Headless Nick's bound to be around here somewhere."

"It's an _expression_; it means..."

"Adam's a vegetarian?" Lily interrupted. "_Adam's a vegetarian?"_

"Only sometimes," Marlene told her, confused. "I just explained: he..."

"I heard," said Lily. "Who else knows?"

"Well... I don't know. _I_ know... not many others. Like I said, he's not very strict or..."

"Does Lathe know?"

Marlene blinked, questioning Lily's sanity with her stare. "Lathe? The Ministry investigator? How should I know? I wouldn't _think_ so, but..."

Lily got up suddenly. "Adam's a vegetarian," she marveled. "I can't believe you never mentioned... Merlin, I have to go. I'll... I'll be back." And she hurried out of the hall, a thousand thoughts pounding in her head. _Adam McKinnon was a vegetarian. How could she not have known? What did it mean? How could that possibly make a difference? _But all of that made little difference: now, she had to find Lathe.

"Shit, Evans, are you alright?"

Lily had been rushing so that she did not so much as slow when rounding a corner, and—as a result—ran straight into Sirius Black. He wasn't alone (was he ever?) but accompanied by James Potter. Lily stumbled backwards, grasping at the wall and nearly falling, but that both James and Sirius grabbed an arm to halt the process.

"I'm fine," said Lily, too distracted to be flustered even by James's presence. "I have to... I have to go... something's happened."

"What's happened?" asked Sirius, before she could sidestep them. "C'mon, Evans, breathe. What's wrong?"

Lily didn't know what else to say. "Adam McKinnon is a vegetarian."

Sirius stared at her (she had no idea _what_ James did; she made a point not to look). "Bully for him. I didn't realize that was a well-known sign of the apocalypse, though."

"Don't you see?" pressed the redhead, eager to be understood by _someone_. "He's a vegetarian. He doesn't eat meat. Adam McKinnon _doesn't eat meat_."

"Right. I got that part." Sirius raised his eyebrow, bewildered. "But what's the big deal?"

"Carlotta Meloni's a vegetarian." But it was James who answered. Lily at last made eye-contact with the Quidditch Captain.

"Exactly," she said gratefully.

Sirius cocked his head to one side. "I'm still not seeing the connection. So Adam and Carlotta are vegetar..." He stopped, evidently seeing the connection. "Adam and Carlotta?"

"Adam and Carlotta," confirmed Lily. "Two out of the three people who tried to off themselves right after a meal at this school are vegetarians."

The three of them were quiet. "We should find Lathe," said Sirius.

"Right."

And off they went.

But Lathe was not in his designated office. "We should find McGonagall," said Lily, but James shook his head.

"We should find Lathe," he said.

"How would we do that?" the witch wanted to know. "He could be anywhere. I've already been to the Great Hall, and he wasn't there. We wouldn't even know where to begin."

The two Marauders exchanged looks. Without saying a word, some information seemed to pass between the pair. "Right," said Sirius, starting down the corridor. "I'll go."

"Wait." James stepped forward. "I'll go. You..."

"Just wait here with Evans," said Sirius, jogging further and further away. "I'll be back in five minutes!"

"Where is he going?" Lily asked, utterly bewildered, as Sirius disappeared onto the stairwell.

James averted his eyes, leaning against the wall. "He's going to find a way to find Lathe. It's... complicated."

"Oh." Lily nodded. "Okay. Is there... I mean, does he have a specific plan, or...?"

"He's getting the map," said James. "We have a map... of the school. Sirius is getting it, and that will help him find out where Lathe is."

"But... how?"

The Quidditch Captain frowned. "It's... complicated."

"So you've said," muttered Lily suspiciously. Crossing her arms, she, too, leaned against the wall, and the pair waited. Sirius did not return for five minutes, however. He did not return in ten minutes, and nearly a quarter of an hour had passed before the two spoke.

"Maybe we should go find him," said James uncomfortably.

"Yeah," agreed Lily. "Where is he headed?"

"The dormitory, I suppose."

Quite awkwardly, Lily and James started in that direction. After some time, the silence became too much for Lily to tolerate. "So, I saw you and Sirius dueling in Defense class," she started conversationally. "You two are really brilliant at that. You used a lot of really complex magic; I have to say, I was..." James gave her a look. "I'm just trying to make conversation," she defended.

"You don't have to. Plus, I don't think _Severus_ would approve."

"He doesn't _own_ me, James."

"'Could've fooled me."

"Listen, it's not like that."

"Then what's it like?"

"It's... it's complicated."

"That's not an excuse."

"You just used it not twenty minutes ago, Potter!"

"Well that's different."

"But it _is_ complicated. Listen, Sev gave me an ultimatum, and he said I had to choose. If it had been anyone besides you, I would've told him to take a flying leap, but..."

"Wow, Evans, that's flattering. Anyone _besides_ me you would have defended simply on principle, but because it was _me_..."

"You two have been enemies _forever,"_ Lily explained. "Imagine if Sirius all of a sudden became mates with... with Nicolai Mulciber. Wouldn't you raise some objections?"

"Yes. I would sock Sirius in the jaw, and hex Mulciber. But I wouldn't run around making ultimatums like a seven-year-old girl who needs to have her own way." James glared. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now."

"No, I guess not," said Lily quietly. "If it's any comfort, I'm... sorry."

"Whatever."

Some more silence followed. "I heard you're staying at the castle for Christmas this year," Lily said after sometime. "That should be fun."

James shrugged. "I just don't particularly care to see Dad, that's all. Last time we saw each other, he was on some discipline kick, and if he thinks that's going to last, he's delusional."

Lily nodded. "Yeah, that could be uncomfortable."

"What do you mean?"

"I—only that, y'know... you haven't seen him in months. He just took off and then just came back... you might feel awkward around him."

"I wouldn't," said James, determinedly. "_He_ might, but I wouldn't."

"Okay." Silence.

"You think I should go back, don't you?" the Quidditch Captain demanded.

"What? I didn't say anything _like_ that."

"You were _thinking _it."

"So now you read minds?" asked Lily skeptically.

"You're not denying it. I'm right, aren't I? You think I should go home for Christmas!"

"It's none of my business."

"_That's _not an answer!"

Lily frowned. "Maybe it would be good for you and your dad to resolve outstanding issues... that's all. I'm not telling you what I think you should do, or judging your decision: I'm just giving you my opinion, _which you asked for_. So don't snap at me for it, alright?"

"I wasn't _planning_ on it."

"Well, good."

"And I'm not going home for Christmas."

"That's entirely your choice."

"It is."

"Excellent."

"Fantastic."

They reached the portrait hole, but before either could give the password to the Fat Lady, Sirius appeared, stepping through. "Oh, there you are," he said cheerfully. "Sorry I took so long. Mrs. Norris, you know..." Lily didn't know, but James did. "Anyway, I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

"_Padfoot_," said James, and Sirius cleared his throat.

"Fine. I'll just tell you. The good news is, Kelly Hacker and Jake Preston have broken up—I just ran into them on the fourth floor, where Mrs. Norris is currently trapped in a suit of armor... it was very dramatic, I assure you: the break up, that is... not Mrs. Norris going into the suit of armor. That was relatively drama-free."

"_Padfoot_."

"Right. So, the bad news is Lathe's not in the castle."

"And you—you know this from a map?" asked Lily, bewildered.

"You told her?" Sirius questioned James.

"Barely."

"I really don't understand," Lily sighed.

"We have a map that shows the exact locations of everyone in the school," said Sirius. Lily stared. "No, I'm not joking. We do. It's real. It's helpful. _You can't tell_."

...

"I won't. That's... where did you get it?"

"That's enough of that," intervened James, as Sirius opened his mouth to explain. "Quiet, or I'll tell her your middle name, Black."

"Whatever you say, James Alexander."

James rolled his eyes. "Where's Lathe at if he's not here?"

"He was at breakfast," said Lily. "I saw him then... maybe he's gone down to Hogsmeade, or apparated to London."

"That's likely," agreed Sirius. "But there's not much we can do until he gets back, is there?"

"I think I'm going to McGonagall," said Lily. "She should know that..."

"That what?" James spoke up. "That Adam McKinnon is a vegetarian? Lily, I don't think you realize how mad you sound, going about like that. You can't just go to McGonagall with that—it's different than with Lathe... he wants every piece of information, but McGonagall..."

"Then what do you suggest, Prongs?" asked Sirius. "Sitting and waiting? Not really your style, is it?"

"No," said James. "But you're forgetting about someone. Carlotta and Adam are vegetarians. Someone else tried to kill themselves though."

"He's right," the other Marauder agreed. "What about the Hufflepuff who tried to jump in the lake?"

(Not Guilty)

Her name was Linda Maxson, and she—like any rational fourth year girl—was reasonably confused when Lily Evans approached her between fourth and fifth period. The Marauders' mysterious "map" (which James had refused to bring down from the dormitory and was therefore remained out of Lily's sight) had shown her to be in the Great Hall at lunch time, but by the time they located her, the lunch hour was nearly up. As a result, Lily had spent an impatient ninety minutes in Charms, before dashing off to locate Linda Maxson.

"Hi, Linda," began the sixth year, in what she hoped was a friendly, inviting way.

"Hi," said Linda, puzzled.

"I'm Lily Evans."

"I know. It's... good... to meet you?"

"And you," said Lily, smiling. "Linda, I have a question for you."

"Okay?"

"This might sound really strange, but—are you by any chance a vegetarian?"

Bewildered but compliant, the fourth year shook her head. "No. No, I'm not a vegetarian."

Lily stared, unsure what to think. She had been so certain: so convinced that the answer would be positive, that this was the answer that they had been looking for, that this was what Lathe had missed. How could it be otherwise? As a result, she was completely unprepared for any other kind of answer.

"You're... you're not?"

Linda shook her head. "No."

"And—and you've never _been_ a vegetarian?"

"No."

"Never?"

"_Never_." Lily was quiet for a while. "It's funny you should ask though."

"It is?" asked the redhead. Linda nodded.

"Yes—that Mr. Lathe bloke: the Ministry investigator: he asked me the same question at the beginning of the year... after I'd done my initial interview with him, he asked me a few follow-up questions about a week later, and he asked if I was a vegetarian. I told him I wasn't and that was all... why is it important?"

"I suppose it's not," said Lily, "not if you aren't a vegetarian. Linda, is there _anything_ unusual about the way you eat... what you eat, when you eat... especially on September second."

"I don't have any kind of disorder, if that's what you're saying," replied Linda indignantly. "_No_, there's nothing unusual. I eat just like everyone else, and I did so on September second as well. Now, if there's nothing else… I have Herbology."

Lily sighed. "No. Thank-you so much for your time."

Nodding, Linda departed. Lily turned and ascended the marble staircase, at the top of which James Potter and Sirius Black awaited her arrival, chatting idly.

"So?" asked Sirius, when she arrived.

Lily shook her head. "She's not a vegetarian, and she never has been. Apparently Lathe asked the same question back in September, which would explain why he didn't investigate Adam, because if _she's_ not, the whole connection is lost."

"I bet Lathe did ask Adam, though," said Sirius. He checked his watch. "You have class in a few minutes, Lily dear, and so do James and I."

It was true—Ancient Runes started soon, and the classroom was on the other end of the castle. "You lot have Care of Magical Creatures, is that right?" asked Lily, to which the two Marauders nodded. "Adam McKinnon's in that class—don't ask him about it without me, alright?"

"Alright," said Sirius.

"Alright," said James.

Lily crossed her arms. "Seriously, _don't_."

Sirius placed a placating around her shoulders. "Seriously, Lily, we _won't_."

(No Reply)

"So, Adam, I hear you're a vegetarian," said Sirius. James rolled his eyes. "Sod off, Prongs. I'm not a saint."

Adam looked at the pair of them—one standing on either side of him, shivering with the rest of the class in the bitter December air. "Damn it, you lot are going to be gits about this, aren't you? So I like animals—are you really going to take the mickey outta a bloke for that?"

"On the contrary," said James, "we respect it."

"I, myself, love animals," agreed Sirius.

"No one wants to hear about your personal life, Padfoot."

"That's not what I meant, _Potter_. Bite me."

"And once again, mate, no one wants to hear about your personal life..."

Adam shook his head. "Is that all you had to talk with me about? The fact that on occasion I feel guilty about butchering animals?"

"No," said Sirius. "We actually were a little curious about that—how often would you say you feel guilty?"

"And," James pressed, "were you feeling particularly guilty about it around lunchtime on September second?"

Adam raised his eyebrows suspiciously. "You two sound like that Lathe from the Ministry... but I know what you're getting at. He asked me the same question back in September, and I told him—I didn't even _have _lunch meal that day. I remember, 'cause I was in the Great Hall with Marlene Price, but she was... being Marlene, which means she randomly decides she can't eat, which is ridiculous of course, because I tell her she's not... well, the point is: I didn't eat anything that day."

The two Marauders stared. "_Nothing_?" asked James.

"Nothing _at all_?" asked Sirius.

Adam shook his head.

"Not even—not even a sip of pumpkin juice?

The Keeper considered the question. "It's possible I had some pumpkin juice," he allowed. "I don't _remember_ drinking anything, but there is a slight possibility I had some juice."

"And that's it?" Sirius questioned. "_No_ food?"

"None whatsoever?" James clarified.

"None whatsoever," Adam said.

* * *

"None whatsoever?" Lily asked. Sirius shook his head.

"No food. Possibly some pumpkin juice, but no food."

"I _knew_ you would ask him when I wasn't there," the redhead added resentfully. The two Marauders merely shrugged, as the three made their way into the Great Hall for supper. "So... so does that mean it really is just a coincidence—Adam and Carlotta both being vegetarians?"

"Maybe it was something in the pumpkin juice," suggested Sirius.

"But that..." began Lily, only to be interrupted by James:

"That wouldn't explain why only those three random people were the only ones affected," he said. "It looks like a coincidence."

Lily sighed. She'd been so _sure_. They reached Gryffindor table, and James and Sirius spotted Remus and Peter, while Lily spied her own friends further down. "Well..." she awkwardly began, "thank-you for your help today."

"Rubbish. We were bored anyway," said Sirius. James said nothing. "See you 'round, Evans." The two boys joined their friends, and Lily joined hers. Taking a seat beside Donna, she scanned Slytherin table for Severus, but he was still missing. Lily sighed, serving herself a sausage and attempting to join in the other girls' conversation.

"What's all the extra food for, Mar?" she inquired, noting that Marlene was dishing potatoes and lamb chops on an additional plate.

"Well," replied the blond, "it turns out some thick-headed Hufflepuff asked Alice Griffiths how she was handling the fact that Carlotta and Frank have gone on _two whole dates_... she didn't much feel like coming down for supper after that, so Hestia Clearwater asked me to bring them up something to eat."

"Fabulous," murmured the prefect. "Just fabulous."

As the girls ate, Lily found her eyes wandering in the direction of Hufflepuff table. Linda Maxson sat with a few of her fourth year friends. An untouched plate lay before her, while the witch chatted and laughed with her friends as though nothing in the world bothered her.

_She'd been so certain that was the connection. It had all fit so..._

"It was fairly stupid, Mary," Marlene, meanwhile, was saying to her friend. "I told you to eat something... but _no, you could handle it_."

"I wasn't _that_ drunk," Mary argued, laughing. "I _wasn't!_"

"You were doing your very best rendition of 'Joy to the World,'" Donna pointed out. "At the top of your lungs, while wearing a bathrobe."

"That," argued Mary, "did not happen until we went back upstairs to the dormitory: it was only you three that saw me anyway. And it's not my fault I'm a midget with no ability to hold liquor!"

"You should have eaten something," Marlene once again chimed in.

And then, revelation. Lily looked at her friends, awestruck, but they carried on the conversation completely oblivious to the sudden inspiration that had struck the prefect or that they played any role in that whatsoever.

Why wasn't Linda Maxson eating anything?

"Shit." Lily got to her feet. Her friends looked at her.

"Are you going to do that 'going crazy' thing again, where you leave here with a manic expression and no explanation?" Donna asked wearily.

"It's like alcohol!" she cried. Donna sighed. "And... and she has an eating disorder! She got defensive when I asked her about the food, and--and she has an eating disorder!"

"I do _not_," said Marlene.

"I'm not talking about _you_." Lily chewed her lip. "I have to go to the library. I'll... I'll see you later."

"I knew it," muttered Donna, as Lily, once again, hurried away.

(Nowhere Man)

Lily spied Sirius, uncharacteristically alone in the Common Room later that evening. Carrying a large book she'd borrowed from the library, the witch hastened towards him.

"Black," she announced her presence, and he looked up.

"Evans. Blimey, you could murder someone with that book—it would probably look like an accident, too."

"Actually," said Lily, sitting beside the Marauder, "that's precisely what you could do with this book." She opened the front cover. "It's all about poisons and cursed items. Where's Potter?"

"On a date," Sirius told her off-handedly. "What's with the murder book, then?"

Lily shook off the news that James was on date; it inexplicably irritated her—he ought to have been around to hear this, though she didn't know why his presence seemed necessary. "I think I've found the connection between Carlotta, Adam, and Linda Maxson."

"Seriously? What is it?" He straightened up, his interest growing.

"Carlotta and Adam are vegetarians: they don't eat meat, which can lead to a deficiency of something called protein. It's in meat—I'm not sure how up on health wizards are, but..."

"Stay on topic, Evans."

"Right. Carlotta and Adam ate something—actually, they probably drank something (the pumpkin juice) that reacted badly with them, because it was exposed to dark magic. Healer Holloway said that the reason the three of them tried to off themselves was a result of 'accidental exposure to darkly magical objects.' _They_ weren't exposed... the food was."

"Then why didn't everyone try to off themselves? We all drank the pumpkin juice."

"No, we didn't," corrected Lily. "Think: it was the Welcoming Feast... there was butterbeer there this year. That explains why any other vegetarians in the school weren't affected like Carlotta and Adam. _They_ drank butterbeer instead of pumpkin juice. Carlotta _must_ have had the pumpkin juice at the feast... I would verify, but she sort of hates me at the moment... long story."

"What about the Hufflepuff fourth year? She's not a vegetarian."

"No," agreed Lily. "But she's got an eating disorder. She doesn't eat very much. She didn't have any meat—maybe she didn't have anything to eat at all except the juice. _My_ theory is that if you ate enough at the meal—or if you ate meat—whatever was wrong with juice didn't have any affect on you. Like, if you're drinking alcohol, but you're eating at the same time, you won't get drunk quickly."

"So... so someone hexed the pumpkin juice?"

"No." Lily shook her head. "I mean, I have no idea, but... probably not. It's all too random to be intentional. I was reading about it in _this_..." She held up the book. "'Accidental exposure to darkly magical items,' Healer Holloway said. The _food_ was exposed to something... probably in storage, or before it arrived at the school. The particular effects... making the three students loose their self-defense instinct, are probably just the result of a perfect storm of unpredictable occasions: the pumpkin juice being stored improperly, their not eating meat, etcetera. The only part that doesn't make sense is that Adam and the Hufflepuff weren't affected until the _next_ day, and the food we have at the Feast is different from the rest of the year."

"No," said Sirius thoughtfully. "No, it makes sense. When the house elves over-order for the feasts, they preserve the food and prepare it for the next day. There was left-over food for days this year... I would know. I go down the kitchens almost every day. There must have been extra pumpkin juice from the feast."

"And that triggered everything."

"Whoever's responsible for storing the food like that is going to be in some serious trouble."

Lily nodded. "We have to find Lathe."

Sirius shook his head. "He doesn't get back until ten tonight... I overheard McGonagall and Slughorn after supper. Long story: we were changing all the trophies in the Trophy Room to read: 'Peeves the Poltergeist, for Services to the School.'"

"Why on Earth would you do that?" Lily asked.

"Mostly to annoy Filch." He rose from the sofa. "So, are you coming?"

"Where?"

"To wait for Lathe, of course."

* * *

"You know," Lily remarked, as the pair sat on the steps outside Lathe's office some time later, "we could have waited in the Common Room."

"Don't even talk about the Common Room," replied Sirius, teasingly curt. "I still don't understand why you won't let me break into the office itself. It'd be cake."

"We'd get in trouble!"

"Before or after we give Lathe the leads he needs to continue his investigation at the school?" Sirius gave her a look. Lily didn't meet his eye. "You're just paranoid, Evans."

"Well, that's true. How did you hear about Lathe having to leave?"

"My uncle told me," said Sirius casually. "But don't spread that around... nepotism and all that."

"Please," scoffed Lily. "I didn't know nepotism was frowned upon in magical society. It's always come across as encouraged more than anything else."

"Fair enough," allowed the other. "But it's not something we're _all_ proud of. Believe me, if I had it my way, I'd be a family-tree-less muggleborn."

Lily nodded awkwardly. "But... but you're uncle... he's alright, isn't he? I mean, he's a really good teacher, and he seems solid, otherwise."

"Yeah." Sirius nodded, staring at a bit of lint on the step below. "Yeah, he's alright. I mean, I don't know him _too_ well... before this term, we only saw one another once or twice a year."

"Why's that? I thought the old magic families were more... close knit."

"Generally, we are. I grew up with my cousins like siblings, and every other aunt and uncle had supper at the house every week. But Uncle Alphard's more... you know... sane. He traveled a lot, didn't stay in England too much, so he wouldn't have to confront his sister—that's my mum—about all the things they disagreed on. That's why he's never been disowned. He just keeps his mouth shut. You can see..." this he added, with an ironic smirk, "...the two of us don't have _everything_ in common."

Lily smiled genuinely. "You look like him."

"Well, I'm about eighty years younger," Sirius told her, and then—in response to the questioning look she sent him—explained: "Yeah, Professor Black is almost one hundred. He doesn't look at it, does he? But that's the beauty of being magic, isn't it? You don't start looking _really_ old until... a hundred and five, maybe one-ten. Of course, _I_ don't intend on living past forty."

"No," said Lily, "you wouldn't, would you?"

"Did you need something?" said a new voice. Lathe appeared on the landing below them, confused by the presence of the two students who impeded the path to his office. He was back early.

"Yes," said Lily, standing up.

"Yes," agreed Sirius. "And after you've given us all the money you have on you, we'll tell you something _very_ interesting." Lily elbowed him. "It was a _joke_."

"We have something to tell you," said the redhead loudly, hoping to prevent any more jokes. Sirius nodded. Lathe looked at them. "It's really important."

(Do You Want To Know a Secret?)

Minerva McGonagall was leaving the staff room when James Potter caught up with her that evening. He had known exactly where she was (courtesy of the Marauders' Map), but remained nonetheless grateful that he caught her on her departure, because she was far more likely to give him detention for bursting into the staff room twenty-three minutes past curfew than for catching up with her in the corridor at that hour.

"Professor McGonagall!" called the Quidditch Captain, and she halted, confused, as he reached her. "Professor, I..."

"It's past curfew, Potter," said McGonagall coolly. "This had better be important."

"I just came to find you, Professor, I promise..." Technically, this constituted a falsehood, because he had been on a date for the last few hours. However, the vast majority of the date had transpired _before_ curfew, so James felt mostly truthful. "I just wanted to talk to you before tomorrow, because I know you're in charge of reporting who is staying at the castle and who's going home... and I wanted to give you as much notice as possible. I know I didn't sign the list, but I've decided to go home for the holidays."

McGonagall surveyed the young wizard, fairly confused. "That could have waited until tomorrow," she said, obviously not seeing the significance, though James felt it acutely.

"I'm sorry. Like I said—I wanted to give you notice."

She was quiet, and then nodded. "Very well. You'd better return to your dormitory, now..."

"Yes, Professor." He started to leave.

"And, Potter," added the Transfiguration teacher, "if you don't want a detention, you had better be careful that Mr. Filch does not notice that you're up and about."

The wizard nodded, grinning a bit. "Yes, Professor." He turned and left.

James was about halfway to the Common Room when he ran into Sirius. "Prongs, mate," said the latter cheerfully, "Good news: we've seen Lathe."

"I'm going to need more details than that, Padfoot."

"Right. Of course. Lily figured everything out, and the two of us went to see Lathe... we told him everything, which is very complicated, and I don't much feel like trying to explain it all... something about alcohol, dark materials, pumpkin juice... I barely paid attention," he added lightly. James raised his eyebrows. "The point is, Lathe will very shortly be off to Hogsmeade to investigate why deeply cursed items are being stored next to food... or being stored at all, for that matter, and the world is saved, courtesy of Sirius Black."

"Why do I doubt that?"

"You're right. Lily did most or all of the work... she even went to the library for it, Padfoot... I don't think I've been to the library since we were solving Moony's... health issue. It shows dedication on the part of the lovely Miss Evans, wouldn't you say?"

"Sirius, you haven't even told me what this is all about. Why did the three of them try to off themselves? What does any of this have to do with alcohol?"

"Later," said Sirius crisply. "More importantly, how was your date?"

James rolled his eyes. "Fine. It went fine. Larisa Montanez was very impressed with the simplest spell I performed and laughed at everyone of my jokes... even the ones she didn't quite get. It went fine."

"Did-ja get lucky?

"No. We... made out a bit."

"A gentleman."

"Sod off." James remembered something: "Where were you going, just now?"

"To find you, of course."

"That would have been fruitless, as you had absolutely no idea where I _was_."

"Didn't I?" asked Sirius enigmatically.

"Well, _I_ have the map, so you couldn't have known."

Padfoot nodded. "So, does that mean that you _weren't_ speaking with Professor McGonagall outside the staff room?"

James looked at his friend, puzzled. "How did you know that?"

"I know _you_," replied Sirius. "Prongs, we've been mates forever. We've been mates since before either of us knew what a Confundus Curse was... since we were so oblivious that we actually wished Hogwarts wasn't co-ed. We've been through just about every single important life experience together... except birth. I mean, when you were getting your very first detention, who were you taking the blame for? Me. And when I got my very first detention, who was I trying to spring from _his_ very first detention? You. We first heard the White Album _together_. We worked out how to get into the girls' dormitories together. We convinced Marvin Eggers that he was a girl for an entire day _together_. I was even in the room for your first kiss, which was _awkward_, let me tell you, and I am damn pleased Carlotta never found out I was in the closet. Point is, we have hand signals and secret codes for just about anything we might need to say but want concealed... You've always been my best mate, Prongs, and I _know_ you."

Sirius clapped James on the shoulder. James nodded slowly. "But, really, how'd you know?

"'Ran into Larisa Montanez on my way back from Lathe's... she told me you'd gone to find McGonagall in the staff room."

"Right." In what he hoped was a casual tone, James added: "I thought you and Evans went to Lathe's together. Where did she get to?"

And because—in spite of everything—Padfoot really did know Prongs very well, Sirius repressed the teasing remark that rose to the tip of his tongue, repressed the knowing look he wanted to send his friend, and only chanced a very small smile as he replied: "She had to stop by the hospital wing for something. I think she wanted to visit someone."

James nodded. "And, you _know_ you're going to have to tell me what this all about... with Lathe, and the suicides..."

"Oh, I know. I'll explain everything when Moony and Wormtail are around."

* * *

Inexplicably, Lily hesitated before entering the Hospital Wing. She had come to see if Severus—who had shown for neither class nor meal all day—was feeling ill and incarcerated thus. When she did push open the door and step through, the prefect was mentally formulating an excuse to give Healer Holloway, for it was past curfew and she wasn't much in the mood to receive detention.

At first, the infirmary appeared empty: Healer Holloway was nowhere in sight and all of the cots were empty. _"Holloway must be in his office_," thought the redhead. She was about to start in that direction, when she caught sight of a closed-off cot in the corner. Holloway stood just outside the curtain, and he was speaking to whoever resided behind it.

"As a healer, I _must_ advise you to leave the school," Holloway said in a very serious voice. Lily got the feeling that this was the sort of conversation on which she ought not to eavesdrop. Though curiosity burned within her, she was about to leave, when a male voice—familiar but momentarily unidentifiable—replied to the Healer's advisement.

"I can't _leave_. I've made commitments: to Dumbledore and to... well, I've made the commitment to stay here. I can't just leave now. I just need pain potions to help me through the rest of the year..."

"You might not _live_ through the rest of the year," responded Holloway gruffly. "You might not live through _Christmas_. For Merlin's sake, you don't want to spend your last days here, do you?"

There was a brief moment of silence, then: "Where else would I want to be, Holloway? I've spent some of my _best _days here, after all."

"But your _family_..."

"I have family here."

"There might be something they can do at St. Mungo's. There are experiments being conducted as we speak..."

"There's no cure," interrupted the man behind the curtain. "Holloway, I'm going to die. I'm going to die very soon, and most likely, I'm going to die here. Let's not sugar-coat."

"I don't sugar-coat," grunted the healer.

"Excellent. We're on the same page, then. Excellent."

And Lily realized who was behind the curtain. Professor Black.

She had to get out of there before either noticed that she had overheard such a conversation, but as Lily turned to leave, Healer Holloway noticed the movement.

"Wait up there!" he shouted, and Lily stopped. Fists clenched out of sheer nervousness, Lily waited for him to begin the lecture, start docking points, and hand out a few detentions. "What the hell are you doing here?" he barked, clearly angrier about having been so careless than her actual presence. "It's after curfew!"

"I—I'm sorry, Professor, I just... I came to get s-some headache medicine. I've got an awful headache and can't sleep."

"Well," Holloway growled, "you can just..."

"Wait," said Professor Black's disembodied voice softly, "get her the potion, Holloway. It's alright." Grumbling, the healer departed to his private stores. Lily waited awkwardly for a few seconds, before Professor Black addressed her. He pushed the curtain away so that he could see the student and politely asked: "Won't you come over, Miss Evans? I'm afraid I've just taken a draught that can induce dizziness, and..." But Lily was already at his side.

_Tact_, she thought. _Pretend you haven't heard anything. Obviously he doesn't want this spread around, and maybe he won't know you've overheard..._

But Lily couldn't help herself. "Sirius doesn't know, does he?" she asked fearfully. Black, surprised, raised his eyebrows.

Finally, he responded: "No. Sirius doesn't know. And I would ask that this remains between the two of us. Don't tell him."

Twenty-four hours ago, Lily would have nodded and accepted this. It was Black's choice: he was the one dying and he was the one who got to choose who to tell about it. But the image of Sirius, sitting beside her on the stairs, making jokes and trying to look as though he didn't care about his uncle (though he so obviously did) stayed with her. "I won't tell him, but _you've _simplygot to," she said. "Professor Black, I'm so sorry that I overheard this... I'd give anything to take it back, and if you want to memory charm me, then that's fine, but... but Sirius cares about you... he relies on you and trusts you, and if you don't tell him, he'll... he'll..."

"He'll what, Miss Evans?"

"He'll lose faith," said Lily quietly. "I'm sorry. This is... this is none of my business. I shouldn't even be here." She started to leave.

"Your medicine, Miss Evans," Black reminded her evenly.

"I don't have a headache," Lily admitted. "I came because Severus Snape was missing from all of his classes, and I wanted to see if he'd come by the Hospital Wing."

Before the Professor could respond, however, Healer Holloway returned. He brought with him a small vial of transparent purple liquid. "Take this," Holloway ordered, calmer now, "no other food or drink for half an hour before and half an hour after. Understood?"

Lily nodded. She took the vial and once again started to leave. She had traveled only steps, however, before Professor Black spoke, addressing the healer. "Holloway," he said, "Has Severus Snape been through here today?"

"Mmm... had a bit of the flu... I gave him a potion and told him to stay here, but he insisted in resting in his dormitory."

"I see."

Lily stopped by the door and smiled, gratefully but weakly, at Professor Black. He surreptitiously nodded, and Lily left the Infirmary.

Gryffindor Tower was still crowded when the sixth year returned, but Sirius Black was, mercifully, absent. She could not face him now... she needed time to internalize all of this. Professor Black was dying... he might not live through Christmas, and _she knew_. By the sounds of it, she was one of the few that _did_ know.

Moving quickly through the Common Room, Lily did not even stop to chat with her friends but headed directly up to the dormitory, which she prayed was empty. She needed solitude: she needed to sit on her bed and listen to something upbeat—maybe _Help! _or _Please, Please Me_—and clear her head from all that bogged it down.

The dorm did appear empty too, when she first entered, but Lily was grabbing her nightgown from a drawer when Carlotta Meloni emerged from the bathroom. At first, the pretty brunette looked only surprised, but her expression quickly shifted to cold, superior indignation. "If it isn't St. Lily," she murmured, depositing a few personal items onto her own bed.

But it was late, and enough was enough.

"Back off, Carlotta," she snapped.

Carlotta looked at her, arching one, perfect eyebrow. "Why should I?" she challenged. Lily crossed her arms.

"You _are_ a bitch," she said. "And _everyone_ thinks so. You should know, every single person in this school sides with Alice… even the blokes, whose sole interest in the matter is 'did Frank Longbottom get lucky?' aren't impressed by you, because ultimately, you're a bitch."

Carlotta's mouth opened, either to protest or simply to gape, but Lily wasn't finished.

"You're easy and everyone knows it, and you're right—I'm not going to try to be nice to you anymore. So if you think keeping my mouth shut about the fact that you hurt one of my good friends is _'artificial_,' I won't do it. I'm not going to _force_ myself to think, 'maybe Carlotta's just misunderstood,' because the fact of it is, _you're not_. You're not complicated, Carlotta; you're just mean and selfish, and when it comes down to it, kind of a slut. And what's not as bad, but in your mind must be a thousand times worse: you are perfectly ordinary. You like Frank Longbottom because he's something that you can never _really_ have, because he never _really_ liked you. You don't mind hurting Alice because she's someone that you can't even understand. She hasn't slept with half the school, and I bet she doesn't wake up every morning looking like she's emerged from a fashion magazine, but she's sweet and people _admire _her. No one admires you, Carlotta. So in the end, the only reason you did any of this isn't some grand, higher destiny or anything like that... it's the painfully typical, supremely cliché _jealousy_. You don't get to bitch at me when I try to be honest with you, Carlotta; I've seen through that. Fact of it is, you've done something wrong and no amount of rationalizing is going to fix it in your head. You feel guilty." Carlotta stared. "Don't beat yourself up about it, Car," Lily added, venomous and sweet, "it's perfectly _ordinary_ to feel guilty. And if you're looking for your hairbrush, it's under the dresser."

For once, Lily had said the perfect thing at the perfect time. She turned on her heal and headed into the bathroom, pride and guilt simultaneously surging inside of her.

* * *

Professor Black was dying. Carlotta was a bitch. Sirius Black was an alright sort of bloke. The attempted suicides had all been accidents. Lathe was going to investigate in Hogsmeade. Professor Black was dying.

Lily had trouble falling asleep that night, and not simply because a small portion of her believe that Carlotta might be waiting for her to drift off so that she might hex her in her sleep. The events of the day played through her head like pictures on a film reel that was on repeat.

Professor Black was dying. Carlotta was a bitch. Sirius Black was an alright sort of bloke. The attempted suicides had all been accidents. Lathe was going to investigate in Hogsmeade…

Then, quite suddenly, two and two made four.

Lathe was going to investigate in Hogsmeade.

Then, it was Luke Harper's voice that Lily heard in her head. _"__Of course..." _and the image of him, sitting beside her at the Halloween feast, was as clear as if the incident had occurred only the day before_ "...the food won't be quite as good as it usually is at these feasts. They ordered from some shop in London, instead of my family's business in Hogsmeade."_

Because it was the Harpers' store that usually provided the food for the school's feasts.

Lily sat up in bed.

The Harpers were the ones storing dark magic materials.

* * *

**A/N: **It thickens! There was a lot to digest in this chapter, and if you think that the mystery has been solved (and the world has been saved, as Sirius puts it), you're wrong. There's so much more to come! For those worried about poor, grouchy Donna, she will, it seems, be getting—though not necessarily giving, because... well, she's Donna—a little love sometime soon. So, who do _you_ think she should start something with? And I will say this straight out: it's not going to be a Marauder.

_**Some people have been asking, so I thought I'd just post this here: the quote that Lily remembers Luke saying right at the end of this chapter comes from the Halloween Feast... not the one at the beginning of the year. Thus, the contaminated food WAS from the Harpers, because USUALLY the feast food comes from the Harpers... just not that Halloween, for whatever reason. Inflation? Idk.**_

_**PLEASE REVIEW**_. No joke: I'm desperate.

The next chapter, I _believe_, will be relatively short, extraordinarily girlie, and is—as of now—entitled "The Trouble With Angels." Let's see... there's some Marauder action in the next few chapters (cause I miss that), an Alice revival, and heavy usage of the term "one-night-stand."

Reviews are toothpaste. You just try living without it.

Cheers,

Jewels


	11. The Trouble With Angels

**A/N: **This—compared to my usual thing—is shockingly short. I hope it doesn't offend anyone, and it may hasten the arrival of Chapter 12.

**Disclaimer:** I am neither JKR nor any one of The Supremes. Sadly.

**Recap:** Lily agrees to de-friend James for Snape. Adam McKinnon likes Marlene Price, but Marlene's got a brat boyfriend Miles. Carlotta Meloni breaks up Frank and Alice, but Frank expresses mixed feelings about having a relationship with Carlotta. Shelley Mumps is Carlotta's best friend and the "other" Gryffindor sixth year girl.

Something a little different here today... it's kind of like a random one shot interjected into the story, and it is designed to answer all of your Who-does-Lily-Really-Love? Questions. **Please review! **

Chapter 11- The Trouble with Angels

Or

"You Can't Hurry Love"

Lily Evans was _not_ in love.

Marlene Price _was_ in love.

Donna Shacklebolt only ever said the word "love" in a derisive tone.

Mary Macdonald had experienced only a superficial kind of romantic love.

Carlotta Meloni understood the concept of love but very, very little.

Shelley Mumps was about as "in love" as the average sixteen-year-old girl is.

Alice Griffiths had spent too much time trying not to love someone.

Such was the case, and it was almost Christmas.

"I'll see you soon, then," Lily said with a smile. Severus nodded. The pair stood in the Entrance Hall, where students were gathering in preparation of the return home for the Christmas holidays.

"It would be better if you were staying," he told her. "Do you really have to go home? Who will you sit with on the train?"

"Donna and Mary are going home too," said the redhead. "Don't worry. Keep busy. Good luck on that Transfiguration homework."

"You, too."

Then Filch was calling for everyone to get into a carriage, and it was time to go. Lily rode down to the platform with Donna, Mary, and a Slytherin boy that had some sort of interest in the latter. When they reached the Hogsmeade station, Donna went to find her luggage—which had come down on a different carriage—and Lily moved along to the front for the train, depositing her luggage with Hagrid, except for the cage containing her cat.

"Lily!"

The redhead turned to see Luke hurrying towards her across the platform.

"We already said goodbye," Lily pointed out, smiling. He nodded: a more somber, less jovial nod than usual.

"I just... last time we talked... I was really..."

"It's not your fault, Luke," Lily interrupted. "It's mine. I was the one who..."

"No, Lily, wait," he interrupted. "You did what you thought was right, and even though that's had some... unexpected repercussions, I can accept it. Because I love you."

She kissed him, softly on the lips. "I'm sorry, Luke," she whispered again.

"Don't worry about it. It'll all blow over soon... my family didn't do anything wrong, and I'm sure that Lathe git will find it out as soon as he's done poking and prodding around there... there's been a mistake. I _know _it."

Lily nodded, wanting very much to believe him. "I wish you could come visit," she added in a lighter tone.

"I should stay close to the castle," her boyfriend replied. "My family might need me. It's sort of a difficult time... the Ministry hasn't found any _proof_ that anything happened in storage there, but... y'know... the investigation isn't easy on anyone."

"No, I suppose not." The first whistle sounded, and Lily sighed. "I should go."

"Right. Alright." They kissed once more. "Goodbye, Flower."

"Bye, Luke."

She boarded the train, smiling sadly.

"You told your boyfriend you were the one responsible for getting his family investigated?" asked a derisive voice. Lily rolled her eyes and turned to see James Potter, boarding behind her.

"Yes, I told him," she replied coolly. "Because we have a healthy, steady relationship based on honesty and reliability. We don't feel the need to lie or play games or manipulate each other. Novel, I know..."

"_Healthy and steady_," echoed James, grinning. "Your enthusiasm is inspiring, _Flower_."

Lily faced him completely; she would have put her hands on her hips, had the cat's cage not impeded the gesture. "Luke and I have a _very_ interesting relationship if that's what you're getting at," she informed him. "Luke is sweet and caring and funny and..."

"And," James interrupted, "I bet he's become a lot more interesting in the last few weeks, with all of this business about his family maybe dealing dark magic materials."

"Not everyone has such a twisted sense of what makes someone interesting, Potter," she replied. James simply shrugged.

"Says the girl whose best mate is Severus Snape." With that, he brushed by her in the corridor, winking as he slipped past. When he was gone, Lily entered the nearest compartment and sat down. She leaned against the window and stared out the window, her mind swimming with Luke, with Severus, and with James Potter.

Lily Evans was not in love at that moment in time. Actually, for a girl who was surprisingly wise with regards to many matters of the heart, Lily Evans failed to understand much of the whole matter as it was concerned with the men in her own life.

She was _just _practical enough to know that she didn't really understand love, but _just _naïve enough to believe that the affection she felt for one pale, black-eyed individual was responsible for her aching heart. She was _just_ naïve enough to fail to recognize that the aching in her heart was due to the fact that this individual resisted her innocent and genuine care. She was _just _naïve enough to believe that it was, instead, a symptom of love: love like Anna Karenina's, or Romeo and Juliet's.

But it wasn't.

Because Lily Evans was not in love. (Not yet.)

(I Hear a Symphony)

"I'm glad you're staying, Adam," Marlene admitted, as the pair returned to Gryffindor Tower from saying their farewells in the Entrance Hall. The castle seemed so deserted, now that most of the students had been packed aboard the Hogwarts Express.

"Well," replied the other, "Mum and Dad thought they'd be back from their little world-tour expedition, but apparently they got held up in China... something about dragons Dad was mad to visit... it's more or less the story of my life, right there. Anyway, it'll nice that the nine of us aren't all holed up in the house."

"You're lucky to have six brothers and sisters," Marlene informed him. "At home, it's just me and Mum, and she's not exactly thrilling company."

"And a twelve-year-old know-it-all sister _is_ thrilling company? I'd trade."

Marlene laughed. "So... except for three Marauders and a handful of underclassmen, we've got the castle more or less to ourselves. Whatever shall we do with all of this solitude, McKinnon?"

"Eat until we pass up, wake up, and repeat."

"And here _I_ was looking forward to finishing up that Transfiguration assignment."

Adam grinned. "You've been hanging around too many Ravenclaws: I'm cutting you off. No one but Gryffindors for you until after Christmas. Have you got any firewhiskey?"

"_I_ am underage, McKinnon."

"That didn't answer the question,_ Price_."

"Well, yes, I have got some, but it's for New Years' Eve. Sirius Black made me promise I'd bring it to the bash he's throwing. I already had to lie to Miles about having any."

They were fast approaching the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Listen, Marlene," began Adam after a few seconds of silence.

"Mhm?"

"I was—there's actually something I wanted to talk to you about... for a while now."

"Password, dears?" asked the Fat Lady.

"In a minute," said Marlene politely. "What's up, Adam?" She watched him expectantly, and he found it difficult to maintain eye contact.

"The thing is..."

"Holy shit." Sirius Black had appeared through the portrait hole. "Marlene! McKinnon! Blimey—I don't suppose either of you would know what to do if someone had, say, accidentally blown up the second year dormitories?"

"...Er..."

The two exchanged looks. "We're going to go see that, right?" said Adam. Marlene nodded eagerly, and the two hurried after Sirius into the Common Room.

Marlene Price was, quite obliviously, in love. She went to bed every night, usually thinking of one boy in particular and usually wishing for something she could not put into words. She woke up and would see him at breakfast, and she would smile the kind of smile one wears when they have a particularly happy song playing in his or her head. There was a boy whose jokes made her laugh, who never failed to lift her spirits, for whom she wanted nothing but the best, and with whom she was always comfortable. In a very, very clueless fashion, Marlene Price was stumbling through love with her eyes—not closed—but on the wrong map altogether.

Because she _was_—in some manner—in love. But she didn't know it. (Not yet.)

(Run, Run, Run)

"Happy birthday!" cried a girl of ten, wrapping her thin arms around Donna Shackelbolt's middle and causing the older girl to tense up a bit. Platform Nine and Three Quarters was a mass of students and family members, and Donna would rather not be seen like this; she had a reputation to uphold. Anyway, she didn't really approve of "hugging."

"Hi, Bridget," Donna nonetheless replied, not quite warmly (but almost). "How are you?"

"Excellent," said the young girl called Bridget, releasing her sister and stepping back. "Kinglsey's gone around to buy a muggle magazine. He says it's important to keep up with 'what they're thinking' so we'll meet him around front."

"Where are Brice and Isaiah?" Donna asked, quite businesslike, as Bridget—a small girl, with a wiry frame and hair like Donna's—endeavored to lift her sister's trunk. Donna came to her aid.

"Aunt Dolinda is staying at the house," replied Bridget, rolling her amber colored eyes. "Don't worry—she'll be out by the time you're settled. She's been watching us in the evenings, when we're finished at the primary and Kingsley has to be at the office. It's thoroughly frustrating. You and I will have to select a new housekeeper."

Donna hid a small smile at the ten-year-old's sophisticated tone. "I'm surprised you remembered my birthday... no one ever remembers, with it so close to Christmas."

The two Shacklebolt girls made their way across Platform Nine and Three Quarters. "I _always_ remember," corrected Bridget. "And don't act prosecuted."

"_Persecuted_, Bridge."

"That's what I said."

The wizard who stood by the barrier between muggle and magic Kings' Cross station nodded at the witches, and both girls walked directly through the stone wall, into muggle London.

"You know, Donna," began Bridget, as they walked along—the younger swinging her arms and watching the muggles passing by with great interest. "I think it must be very interesting to be seventeen. You can do any number of things, now, like apparate, or drink firewhiskey..."

"And what do _you_ know about firewhiskey, Bridget Shacklebolt?" Donna demanded. Bridget shrugged, continuing to swing her arms.

"Mrs. Lockhart says..." (in a high-pitched, superior tone) "'...it is the stream that trickles along the path to iniquity.'" Bridget grinned. "I imagine that means it's a lot of fun, because everything that Mrs. Lockhart said was wrong was always the most fun... levitating the dishes, playing tag in the house, Gobstones..."

"Who in the devil is Mrs. Lockhart?" Donna asked. "And how on earth did she justify banning Gobstones?"

"She was the housekeeper who just quit."

Donna rolled her eyes. "I should have known. _Kingsley_ hired her, after all. Why did she quit? Did you express a desire to become something other than a housewife?"

Not quite understanding the remark, Bridget shook her head. "No, it was Isaiah. He set her hair on fire."

"Of course," breathed the older witch. "Of course it was Isaiah." It was always Isaiah. "She's not pressing charges, is she?"

"Kingsley and I spoke with her," replied Bridget with dignity. "I'm glad you're home now, Donna." She slipped an arm around her sister's waist. "Even Isaiah's better behaved when you're around."

"Isaiah is always a holy terror," corrected Donna.

"He can't help it. Mrs. Lockhart said '_his lack of proper parenting has made it impossible for him to be a good little boy, and he ought to be_...'"

"That's quite enough of Mrs. Lockhart," Donna cut in. "We'll have a new housekeeper... hopefully a sane one, and hopefully one who can keep Isaiah in line."

Bridget smiled. "You'll have to hire a dragon, Donna dear."

Donna Shacklebolt only ever said the word "love" in a derisive tone. She vowed that she did not believe it—that the concepts of love and marriage were invented in some past era to keep women in line. Presently, these ideas were continually propagated to keep the populous at ease: to give them something for which they might strive. But she had no intention of striving for love of the romantic (or any other) nature. She rejected the idea that it even existed. She rejected it _intellectually_ anyway.

Because her Mum and Dad had been "in love," and they had died anyway. And Kingsley loved them all, but he still had to work ungodly hours in the auror department. And Severus Snape very clearly loved Lily Evans, but he was always hurting her. And Adam McKinnon very clearly loved Marlene Price, but Marlene did not seem to give a damn, because she was always on about Miles Stimpson (who, in turn, didn't give a damn either).

Truthfully, Donna Shacklebolt believed in love, but she derided it because she hated the whole idea: the vulnerability and helplessness and the reliance on someone else not to hurt you. Donna believed in love, but she didn't approve of any variety of it, and she _certainly _didn't want it. (Not yet.)

(I Want a Guy)

"More tea, Mary dear?" inquired Mrs. Macdonald, holding up the tea pot for her daughter's observation. Mary shook her head, amused by her thoroughly muggle parents' intense happiness at her arrival.

"So the classes are going well, then?" Mr. Macdonald asked, offering his daughter another scone. "I mean, the teachers are treating you alright? And your marks are still good?"

"Reasonably good," replied Mary. "Yes, everything's fine. You saw my term report, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Macdonald, "But one hardly trusts those. Your marks are always fine, of course, but I don't know how fair your teachers are. Maybe you deserve _higher_..."

"I get the marks that I deserve," Mary assured her parents. She had already eaten her way through a pile of scones, strawberries, and half a pot of tea. "I'm really full now," she insisted. "No more scones, or I'll positively _explode_."

Mrs. Macdonald began to clear the dishes from the table, stepping into the small kitchen immediately adjacent. She resembled Mary in some ways, possessing the same rich, chestnut colored hair and large hazel eyes. Unlike Mary, however, Mrs. Macdonald was a tall, lanky woman, with rough hands and strong arms: she had _worked_ in her life. "Keeping _slim_, are we?" Mrs. Macdonald asked, eyebrows raised suggestively. "Is there a _boy_, Mary?"

"Hmm," grunted Mr. Macdonald, who possessed the smaller build Mary had inherited but—much like his wife—projected a rough-around-edges persona. "He had better treat you right, this boyfriend."

"Who said anything about 'boyfriend?'" Mary interjected at once, and then she wished she hadn't. Her father arched an eyebrow.

"You mean, you aren't actually seeing this bloke? Why not? What's wrong with him?"

"Who said there was a bloke to begin with?" asked Mary, getting defensive; still, her mind was back in the train compartment that morning... with Martin, the Slytherin boy... the way he'd touched her leg, and how he'd kissed her... like kissing wasn't all that he had on his mind. It was nice... it was fantastic, for the most part, but... no, no Martin wasn't her boyfriend.

"Oh, Mary, we didn't mean to pry," said a pacifying Mrs. Macdonald. "If you don't want to date, we more than support that. We encourage it."

"We certainly _do!"_

"We simply assumed that you would have someone, dear... you write about boys from time to time, and your being so pretty..."

"Mum, please." Mary found that she only ever blushed at home. "Really, it's no big deal. I have dates on occasion, but I don't have serious boyfriends."

"And that's a wise decision," said Mr. Macdonald. "You're a young, smart woman."

"A young, smart _witch_," agreed Mrs. Macdonald.

"Yes, that..." Mr. Macdonald went on. "And you don't want to bog yourself down, do you? You're only sixteen... no sense in not keeping your options open."

"Unless you find someone you _really_ love," said Mrs. Macdonald. "Mary, dear, it's best you not worry about it at all."

Mary nodded. "Right, Mum, I know. Y'know, I—I reckon I'm getting a bit tired. It's been a long day, what with the train ride..." the spot on the outside of her thigh, where Martin's hand had been seemed to burn, and Mary felt suddenly guilty that her parents had no idea. "...I think I'll be turning in."

"I'll bring you in a cup of milk," said Mrs. Macdonald warmly. "Sleep well, Mary. It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back," agreed the daughter.

"I love you, Mare," said her father.

"'Love you, too, Dad."

Mary Macdonald had experienced only a one, superficial kind of romantic love, and it was _very_ romantic and _very_ superficial. Mary knew perfectly well that all she had to do was snap her fingers and Martin-from-Slytherin (what _was_ his last name?) would be her boyfriend... she hadn't _done the deed_ on the train, and he was... well, interested. Mary could always tell when they were interested enough to be a "boyfriend."

But Mary _wasn't_ interested.

Martin was a fabulous kisser. A lot of them were fabulous kissers (many of them weren't, and they never stood a chance), but most of them simply did not spark her interest after the first snog or so... their dialogue was all so tragically trite. They all looked at her the same way: with adoration, which Mary thought must have been something like lust plus love. However, while adoration was growing dull, it was better than rejection.

She knew rejection, too. She recognized it as the look in a boy's eye, when he was mentally undressing her and already planning how he would escape later on. The rejection hurt, but it was so much more fascinating than the adoration: more fascinating, but much more dangerous. Ultimately, adoration only ever ended up hurting the adorer: not the girl he put on the pedestal.

Mary Macdonald was only familiar with one very superficial kind of romantic love, and she knew no other brand. (Not yet).

(He's Seventeen)

"_Dear Frank_," Carlotta tried once again. She glared at the parchment, which yielded no further inspiration, and set down her quill. Carlotta's room at home was a nice, well-decorated one and she did not have to share it, which was Carlotta's primary interest. She had been sitting at the desk without interruption for the last two hours, however, and as of yet had not figured out what she should say in her letter to Frank Longbottom.

"_I reached home all right. You seemed a little hesitant to talk after the last date, and I've given you your space, even though you didn't give __me__ any verdict about your decision. I can only hope that your silence on the matter means that you haven't given up on me all together."_

Carlotta reread what she had written, then crumpled up the parchment and levitated it to the waste basket. She started again.

_"Dear Frank..._"

But that wasn't what she wanted either.

_"Frank_," she started over. No, that was too abrupt.

_"Dear Frank." _A brief pause, then: "_I've missed you since our last date. You've been quiet, and I can understand that you need space. I'm not writing to bother you about that. I simply want to keep in touch._"

Carlotta snorted and added aloud: "Because I don't trust you not to run back to your stupid ex-girlfriend... she'd be just thick enough to take you..."

_"The train ride was alright... Shelley stayed at school this year, so I sat with some fifth year Ravenclaws. When we got home, before I'd even reached the door of the house, Mike Sanderville—that home-educated prat who lives next door—accosted me and asked to take me to some dance he's attending Christmas Eve in London. I almost said 'yes,' just to put him out of his misery, but my sister Eileen has been mad about him since she started home-schooling, too, and that just wouldn't be right by her. Eileen's got no self confidence, and..."_

Carlotta stopped and picked up her wand, magically vanishing everything after "keep in touch." It never worked when she tried to make Frank jealous... not like it did with other blokes, anyway. He never seemed to _object_: it was more like a solution to some problem.

"The Carlotta Problem," she entitled it thoughtfully. She frowned, her mind drifting back towards Alice Griffiths, who was undoubtedly sitting in her dormitory thinking horrible things about Carlotta at that moment. The thought simultaneously comforted and annoyed Carlotta. She didn't like that Alice believed herself somehow _better_ than she was, but she swelled with pride knowing that she—that _she, Carlotta Meloni­—_had been worth losing Alice for. Frank had kissed her, knowing it could ruin his relationship with _perfect girl-next-door-Alice-Griffiths_ and that meant something. That mean that Carlotta wasn't simply the free-love hippie girl; she was really and truly _worth it_.

But Carlotta couldn't write all that.

_"Merry Christmas, Frank. I hope you're thinking of me, because I've been thinking about you."_

Carlotta hesitated over the signature, and then, knowing that it was exactly what Alice Griffiths would have done, she finished with flourish:

_"Love, Carlotta."_

But of course, Carlotta Meloni understood the concept of love but very, very little. Love was sex; love was victory and a warm, happy little feeling she felt from time to time. Love had something to do with no wars... it was what they wrote songs about and why wizards dueled over witches.

Love wasn't that sappy rubbish that Alice Griffiths undoubtedly believed in: not that Carlotta really had any idea _what_ Alice Griffiths believed... and she acknowledged this fact. It was just too easy to be Alice's opponent, most obviously because of Frank, but also because they were such... opposites. And Carlotta liked the idea of being Alice Griffiths' opposite. There was something thrillingly_ proper_ about being Alice's opposite and, all the while, trying to get what Alice already had (_Stealing_ _what Alice already had,_ said a voice—quickly silenced—in the back of her mind).

Carlotta understood the concept of love but very, very little, and she knew it. She didn't care. (Not yet).

(Baby Love)

The Gryffindor sixth year girls' dormitory was a lonely place just then, as Shelley Mumps observed while combing through her dishwater blond hair on the second morning of break. Marlene Price was the only other girl there, and she was always out with Adam McKinnon or with the three Marauders.

Shelley sighed. _Three_ Marauders. Only Three.

She'd only signed up to stay at the castle because she had heard all _four_ Marauders would be staying. But then James Potter had up and decided he was going home after all, and Shelley had learned it too late. He ought to have publicized the information a little more.

Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, Shelley stared into the mirror, but thought of James rather than her own reflection. The boy had spoken maybe fifty words to her in almost six years, but there was something magnetic about him. Everyone saw it (nearly everyone, anyway), and you could tell, because everyone loved him (nearly everyone, anyway).

Shelley Mumps certainly did, anyway.

"Hi, Shelley," said Marlene, the picture of holiday spirit that morning, as the witch flitted into the dormitory from the bathroom, where she had been putting on her make up.

"Hi, Marlene," replied Shelley. Marlene Price: now there was an interesting girl. She was pretty: quite cute really, if not absolutely stunning like Carlotta or Lily. She was tall and shapely (though she didn't think it), and her hair fell halfway down her back in golden sheets. Suddenly, Shelley felt envious, and Shelley rarely felt envious. Envy was simply something she could not afford while being best mates with Carlotta. "Where are you off to this morning?"

Shelley noted the fashionable jeans, jumper, and knee-high boots that her roommate had donned. "Snowball fight with some of the boys," replied Marlene airily, pulling her scarf and coat from her trunk. "You should come along. It'll be loads of fun. The Marauders always jazz it up... it's bound to be more of a snowball World War."

_If only James Potter were there._

Shelley considered it. Then, she glanced down at the skirt she had already put on for the day. "I'm not dressed for a snowball fight," she told Marlene. "I'd better not."

Marlene pinned in some earrings. "We'll wait for you if you like, Shelley. No one will mind."

_No_, thought Shelley. _No, then they'd get irritable and I'd be the girl that held them all up, and then Sirius Black would think I'm a bother, and he might tell James Potter that I'm a bother, and.._

"I think I'd better get a start on that Transfiguration essay, actually," Shelley said. "But thank-you for the invitation."

"Come on down if you change your mind," said Marlene. "I hate to think of you all alone in the dormitory doing _homework_." With a smile, the blonde departed, leaving Shelley with her reflection in the mirror.

Shelley Mumps was about as "in love" as the average sixteen-year-old girl is. Shelley was "in love" with her house Quidditch Captain: she was in love with his messy hair, and the fact that he grinned crookedly, and that he just had that fantastic way about him. But of course, Shelley Mumps was not _really_ in love with him. She was infatuated with him, and maybe that was worse, because Shelley was not vain or envious or self-conscious by nature, but when she thought of James Potter, she became all three.

It didn't matter that James barely knew her, that she clammed up when he was around, or that they had never conducted a real conversation of any important variety. Shelley was infatuated, and she had no intention of giving up on that infatuation. (Not yet).

(The Happening)

"Good morning, Alice," said Marlene cheerily, entering the seventh year girls' dormitory with a smile and four boys.

"What the bloody hell are you all doing here?" Alice demanded, setting down the book she had been reading at the window seat. "And how did you manage to get boys in here?"

"First of all," Sirius Black—one of the posse—began, "I didn't know you swore, sweet Alice. I think it's quite cute. Secondly, we managed to get in the girls' dormitory by..."

"C'mon, Sirius," interrupted Remus, "haven't you spilled enough secrets recently? This idiot..." Remus added to the others in the room: "told his date three different secret passageways around castle just so that she'd snog him."

"Did it work?" Marlene wanted to know.

Sirius shrugged. "Let's just say Shannon Prewett can do _wonderful_ things with her tongue."

Marlene and Alice cringed. "Can someone please make me forget that I ever heard that?" whined the former. Sirius started to draw his wand, but Remus glared.

"We're getting off topic," Peter pointed out, and Adam nodded his agreement.

"Yeah," he said. "Sirius's weird and wonderful exploits with Shannon Prewett's tongue have nothing to do with our mission here, today."

Alice rolled her eyes. "If this some mad scheme to get me to come downstairs and... have a snowball fight or something equally cliché with you all, I won't do it. I'm _reading_."

"Oh, no," said Sirius; "We don't want you to come downstairs."

"Quite the contrary," agreed Adam.

"We want you to stay up here," said Remus.

"For the entire Christmas holiday," Peter contributed.

"Marlene will bring you meals," added Sirius.

Alice stared at them. "That's why you came up here? To tell me to stay put?"

"Also," said Marlene, "to ask you what scarring childhood event has made you so much of a masochist as to _stay at Hogwarts_ this year?"

"It's my last year," replied the seventh year defensively; "I like Christmas at Hogwarts, and I thought I would enjoy..."

"Frank is staying, too," interrupted Marlene. Alice stared.

"_Seriously?"_

"Yes, dear."

She got up from the window seat. "B-b-but he _never_ stays. He always goes home to his Mum, because... damn. _Damn_. That can't be possible!"

"And she continues to swear," noted Sirius. "It's truly adorable."

"It's possible and true," Remus told Alice sympathetically. "Marlene wanted to warn you, and she brought us with her. I hope we haven't startled you or any..."

"It's fine, Remus," interrupted Alice softly, clearly lost in thought. "But—how could this have happened? Good lord, I thought I'd finally be able to just go around the castle without any danger of running into him! Why would he...? Oh!" Comprehension dawned on Alice's round face; "Carlotta stayed, too, didn't she? That's it, isn't it? That's why Frank's staying?"

"No, Carlotta went home," said Adam.

"She did?"

"She did."

"But then, why...?" Alice broke off. "Marlene, why are you staring at me like that?"

Indeed, Marlene was looking at the seventh year with an expression of wide-eyed awe. "Because... b-b-because... because you said the _name!"_ stammered Marlene. "You said the name!"

"She said what name?" chorused the four boys, puzzled.

"She said _Carlotta's_ name!" cried Marlene, clapping her hands together excitedly. "Alice, you haven't said Carlotta's name _once_ since this whole thing started... you haven't said her name _once_, and now you've just said it, and... and you didn't even notice that you said it! You're fine!"

Alice blinked. "I _am_ fine."

"I agree," said Sirius. Remus elbowed him.

"I didn't feel anything," Alice continued. "I said Carlotta's name and didn't feel _anything_... not worried or angry or sad or..." She looked at the five of them. "I'm over it," announced the witch, marveling at her own words.

Marlene stepped closer. "You're _over it?_"

"I'm over it."

"You're completely over it?"

"I am _completely _over it."

Marlene began to applaud, and the others followed the suit. Alice sat down, lost to her confused musings. "Listen, thank-you guys for coming up here, but... could you give me a minute? I need to digest."

With a digestion joke from Sirius and an encouraging smile from Marlene, the five sixth years departed. Alice breathed deeply. This hardly seemed possible: after all this time, she suddenly just didn't care anymore... she didn't want to be in this stupid dormitory anymore... she wanted to be out _there_.

Alice Griffiths had spent too much time trying not to love someone. Because, deep down, she had _always_ loved Frank, even when she stood there and told him they were done, and even when she'd seen him in Hogsmeade with Carlotta, and even when she'd heard he went on a date with Carlotta: Alice couldn't help but love Frank.

But now, that didn't matter. It all made sense. Loving Frank and moving on were _not_ contradicting philosophies. Alice-and-Frank would never happen again: dwelling was pointless. Dwelling made her unhappy. Dwelling was reading that _dull-as-dishwater_ book in the dormitory when a thick blanket of marvelous snow awaited her outside. Alice stood up.

She had spent too much time trying not to love someone, and now she saw that none of that was what counted, because _she_ had moved on. She hadn't quite moved on from loving him (not yet), but she had moved past caring about what had already happened. She had moved past and was ready to get the hell out of this stupid, Carole-King-soundtrack-ed mood that had plagued the dormitory for months.

She was ready to look pretty and laugh; to attend post-Quidditch parties and fancy a cute bloke. She was ready to go to Hogsmeade for the sheer fun of it, and not because her friends dragged her there. The sun was shining, the snow glistened as Alice moved on that morning, and it was almost Christmas.

--

**A/N: **And now I really want it to be Christmas damn it. Please, _please_ review—Chapter 12, entitled "Merrily, Merrily, Merrily," arrives as soon as I'm inspired to finish it. I guess you all know where you come in.

Anonymous reviewers: **anonymous** (thanks so much! Glad you enjoyed and hopefully you'll enjoy this as well), **Amarilla Grey** (I LOVE that your favorite character is Carlotta—and as for seeing more of her, you certainly will... she's got so much more trouble to cause :-)), **underbabe **(thank you, you're fabulous), and **deadandbreathing** (that's really good of you to say; I'm flattered, and I'm very happy that you're enjoying the story!).

Reviews are celery (you burn more calories than you consume eating it).

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	12. Merrily, Merrily, Merrily

**A/N: **A lot of you want more of a look into James (not in the Biblical sense... or maybe in the Biblical sense, I don't know), and he definitely has the longest subsections of this chapter: unfortunately, he's miles and miles from Lily at the moment, so I will make a dedicated effort to write some previously planned Lily-n-James scenes scheduled for chapter 13 from James's mind rather than Lily's. Behold the power of reviews!

**Disclaimer:** No grandmothers or reindeer were harmed in the writing of this chapter. I don't own Harry Potter related things either.

**Recap:** James's Dad and Mum had a disagreement over the summer, resulting in Papa taking off; Potter Sr. returns to the house while James is at school, news which Potter Jr. takes rather badly. Luke Harper's (Lily's boyfriend) family is revealed to be responsible for providing the food for the Welcoming Feast, which has now been tied to he suicide attempts. Donna Shacklebolt returns home for Christmas with her four siblings. Alice realizes she has utterly moved on from Frank's trust!betrayal.

James!angst abounds in this chapter... and you're all going to have to deal with him listening to "The Who." In my mind, James listens to "The Who." Chalk it up to Remus if you like...

Chapter 12- Merrily, Merrily, Merrily...

Or

"_Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer"_

"**DEATH EATERS TRANSPORTING ILLEGAL POTIONS INTO ENGLAND SUSPECTED IN THE ASSAULT OF THREE AURORS"**

Thus read the oh-so-cheerful subheading on the front page of _The Daily Prophet _on Christmas morning. James Potter scanned the rest of the front page: Christmas prophets were at a five year low, and two muggleborn Ministry officials had disappeared. "_Death Eater Involvement Suspected_:" that seemed to be the _Prophet's_ mantra these days.

"You're up early," noted a voice from across the dining room. James didn't look up from his newspaper but took a sip of tea.

"Yep," was his sole reply. The sound of a chair sliding across the dark mahogany floor told James that his companion was taking seat at the other end of the table.

"Not tearing into presents like you used to... have you even looked at the tree?"

"I'm not six anymore," James said simply. He forced himself to continue reading the newspaper. _"Alastor Moody, Head Auror, would not comment on the attacks, but rumors circulating from the Egyptian Press suggest that they might be tied to the artifacts stolen from the Cairo Museum last summer..."_

"Your mum is in the kitchen... she'll be out any minute, but she wanted to know what you were planning on..."

James set down his newspaper and met eyes with the much older wizard sitting at the other end of the table; "Whatever we have, I'm sure it will be fine."

Mr. Potter surveyed his sixteen-year-old son for a minute; James's hair was wet from his shower, and he wasn't dressed for the day yet. The expression in his hazel eyes could not have been colder if he were staring at Voldemort himself, and his mouth was curved into the curtest of grimaces.

"You can't hate me forever," said Mr. Potter, surprising himself.

James, in turn, looked over the sight of his father. Alexander Potter was nearly eighty years old, though—true to magic form—he didn't look it. Something like youth remained in his face, and though his hair had gone white some years before, it was combed sleekly to the side a la 1930s fashion. He had a strong jaw and a straight nose—like James's—but his eyes were darker, browner, and calmer. Mr. Potter wore no spectacles, except when reading, and had better posture than his son, but James had recognized long ago that the pair shared many mannerisms (the crooked grin and a series of hand gestures, for instance), of which the sixteen-year-old had never been able to rid himself.

"I don't hate you, Dad," said James carelessly, rising from the table and leaving the newspaper behind as he headed towards the kitchen doors; "I am completely apathetic. Merry Christmas."

The breakfast room—which was lit almost entirely by natural light—led directly into the kitchen, a stark contrast with its white, bewitched lighting and marble countertops.

"'Morning, James," said Mrs. Potter, upon seeing her son enter through the double doors. She stood over a pot, waving a wand over it as though stirring it, though the wand never actually touched the liquid within. Mother and son were not alone in the kitchen; three or four house elves bustled about, preparing various dishes of which James had no knowledge. "Have you seen your father?"

James shook his head. "What are you making?"

"Syrup," replied Mrs. Potter cheerfully. "And if it is awful, you are obliged to smile and pretend that it is the most delicious concoction you've ever tasted."

"How many breakfast dishes are you preparing?" James asked, observing the house elves with amusement.

"Two or three," said Mrs. Potter. "I have very few occasions to test out my domesticity, James; you might as well let me enjoy it."

"It's your morning to waste."

Mrs. Potter smiled, brushing a lock of her dark auburn coif from her eyes as she eyed the syrup in the pot. "You're up early, I notice," the older witch pointed out, not meeting her son's eye.

"I went running and took a shower."

"Have you seen the tree yet?"

"No." That was a lie; but he hadn't opened any presents, so they needn't know the difference. "I'll go down after breakfast."

"You wouldn't be so casual if you knew what was under the tree this year," Mrs. Potter teased, removing the syrup from the stove. "Your father went to Diagon Alley on his own, so I wasn't there to rein him in on the spending..."

"By which you mean, Dad wants to buy my forgiveness."

"James..."

"No, what I'm wondering," said James lightly, leaning against the wall, "is what on earth he could have given _you_ to buy _your_ forgiveness."

"James, that's not fair."

"It must have been _really_ expensive."

"James, not now. The elves..."

"Like they don't already know."

"_James_." This Mrs. Potter said quite firmly, but her eyes were more grieved than angry. "It's Christmas," she added softly.

"Right." He crossed his arms. "I guess I'll go have a look at the tree, then." He kissed her on the cheek. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, James."

(Evanses)

"It's Christmas," Lily announced quietly with a glowing smile. She peered into her white china cup at the soft brown coffee within and couldn't help but feel wonderful.

Petunia Evans rolled her grey eyes, but was smiling a little anyway. "Yes, Lily," said the older girl—the only other occupant of the kitchen at the moment—"I'm well aware of the date."

"It's snowed last night," Lily went on. She wore a short, pale pink nightdress, a robe of the same color and material, and bright green slippers; in contrast, Petunia wore blue. Lily had been up for nearly half an hour and sat at the kitchen counter with _The Daily Prophet_ (turned to wedding announcements, because one couldn't read the depressing front page headlines or the obituaries or anything like that on _Christmas Day_).

"I'm also aware of that," Petunia said, pouring a cup of tea. She had only just emerged from her bedroom—a guest room, technically these days, for Petunia had moved out the year before. "Why is it you always get like this on Christmas?"

"Because it's Christmas," replied Lily, astonished. "You're _supposed_ to get like this on Christmas."

Petunia raised her eyebrows at her teacup but said nothing. That was her typical reaction to Lily's opinions: that, or derision.

"What time does Vernon arrive?" the redhead asked, careful to pick a topic that would interest her older sister.

"He'll be here for supper." Petunia looked pleased as she pushed a lock of her ash blond hair (_"a la Candice Bergen"_ as Lily would describe it) away from her forehead. "He's spending the afternoon with his family."

Vernon Dursley was Petunia's fiancé. A few years older than the nineteen-almost-twenty-year-old Petunia, he was what Jane Austen would have—cynically—called "a good match." The Evanses had never been wealthy; they had managed to put Petunia through school, though she had worked through her last year at University, and they had put Lily through Hogwarts without aid. Vernon Dursley, on the other hand, came from that class which one would never call "old money" but never suited the term "middle class" either. Anyway, he had a job. They were going to be married in the summer.

There was a moment of awkward silence between the two sisters, before Lily began: "So, Mum's not up yet, then?"

Petunia shook her head.

Surprising, thought Lily. The elder sister was wearing her best civil face, and she only ever did that for the benefit of their mother.

"Should we start on breakfast, then?" offered the younger girl.

"I'll get the eggs," was all Petunia said.

(The Shacklebolts)

"Well, it's too much," snapped Donna, stirring batter in a large wooden basin. "I _told _you, Kingsley, we..."

"We're not destitute, Don," interrupted her older brother, shaking his head as he set dishes around the table with the flick of his wand. "The only time we touch the vault is for your school tuition, and I've been picking up some extra hours at work..."

Donna turned on her brother, brandishing a spatula like a wand. "_You_ said you were taking _fewer_ hours," she pointed out threateningly.

"I'm taking fewer day hours," explained Kingsley, ever calm and utterly nonplussed by the spatula, "While Aunt Dolinda was here and now that you're here I've been working the graveyard shift at..."

"You've been sneaking off at night to go to work?" demanded Donna.

"I haven't been _sneaking_ off. You were just... sleeping. I wasn't about to wake you up to tell you I was off to work. I've seen you if you don't get the prescribed eight hours of sleep, and it's not pretty for anyone."

"What if something had happened?" Her hands were on her hips. "What if something happened in the middle of the night, and I didn't know you were gone, and..."

"And you would be perfectly capable of handling anything that happened," Kingsley finished. "Donna, you need to relax. The house is safe. Brice, Bridge, and Isaiah are safe."

"Yes, and Mum and Dad were safe too, I suppose, weren't they?"

"This has nothing to do with Mum and Dad."

"This has _everything _to do with Mum and Dad."

"No one could have seen that coming. People didn't even know his _name_ then... it was years ago. We weren't expecting... no one was expecting anything like that. There are security measures, and..."

"I don't like you leaving me alone in the house with a ten-year-old, an eight-year-old, and a five-year-old, Kingsley."

"You're not unprotected, here. Trust me, alright? And I don't see how else we are supposed to get Bridget into..." he stopped. Donna looked at him suspiciously.

"What do you mean, Kingsley?"

"It's—it's nothing."

"Kingsley, what are you talking about? Is this about Bridget going to Hogwarts next year?"

"No. No, it will be fine. I've got it under control."

"_You've_ got it under control?" echoed Donna. "What the hell does that mean? Just a second ago you said the money Mum and Dad left would be fine for Hogwarts."

"It will be." Donna scowled. "_It will be_. I'm... I'm not worried about Bridget. There'll be enough for her... maybe for most of Isaiah's schooling, too. Mostly I'm saving for Brice and... maybe for Isaiah a bit. That's all. We're fine."

"We're not _fine_. We're depending on our dead parents' savings and your measly, starting auror income to support five people... three of whom are children. That's not 'fine,' Kingsley. That's bloody awful. And what if something happens to _you?_ What if you _die? _The rest of us are bloody screwed then, aren't we?"

"Well, I'm glad your concerned for my safety," said Kingsley, softly ironic.

"I'm _serious_."

"Nothing's going to happen to me. I know it. I've been to see a seer."

Donna crossed her arms. "I hope you're joking."

"I am."

"Good."

"I've protected the house in every way possible. There's security spells all along the kids' route to the primary. You're as safe here without me as you are _with_ me, I swear."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Read the newspaper, Kingsley." She turned away again. "No one is _safe_. Wake up, for God's sake."

Kingsley said nothing, and she couldn't see his face (a detail for which she was grateful). "You _read_ about what happens in the newspaper, Don," her brother said at length. "I see it." Donna bit her lip, knowing he was right. Kingsley crossed the Shacklebolt kitchen and set a plate down beside her. "You set out an extra dish, sis. Make sure you're not talking like this with the kids around, yeah?"

He left the kitchen, and she could hear him—in a booming, cheerful, Christmas voice—asking five-year-old Brice if he liked his present.

(The Blacks)

"Holy shit!" Remus Lupin half laughed, half coughed as he stumbled around a corner of the third floor corridor, followed closely by two of his fellow Marauders.

"Watch the language, Moony," Sirius laughed in mock disapproval; "What if a firstie heard you talking like that?"

"What if a firstie saw you _blow up a broom closet?"_ Remus retorted, brushing dust off his clothing.

"Not just_ any_ broom closet!" defended Sirius solemnly. "The closet directly next to Filch's office... the closet he thinks is some great secret, in which he stores all of his beloved torture equipment."

"Speaking of which," Peter threw in; "we should be putting a little more space between us and the remains of the closet..." He checked over his shoulder. "Filch'll be around any minute..."

"He's right," said Remus. "Let's go."

Still laughing, Sirius followed his friends at a jog onto the next floor. The three had just reached the landing when Argus Filch's furious howl sounded through the castle. The three crumbled into peels of laughter once again.

"You're mad, Sirius," Remus choked, wiping dirt from his brow. "C'mon, let's split up. Come with me, Pete. This hatter's likely to blow something else up."

"I'll see you at supper," said Sirius, and the boys went separate directions.

Sirius walked at a leisurely pace, hands in his pockets as though he were thoroughly unconcerned by the fact that his black robes were grey with rubble and dust. He'd have plenty of time to change before Filch caught up with them, though, and there was no other proof...

"I'll get that devil! I KNOW WHO DID THIS, AND I'LL GET HIM!"

The Marauder started: that was Filch's voice, and he sounded close.

"Shit." Sirius checked his surroundings and did a quick mental scan of a nearby place to hide. It was just past four... that meant Healer Holloway would be down having his supper; he always had supper early. The Infirmary would be empty.

As Filch's angry footfalls could be heard, thundering up the stairs, Sirius ducked through the Infirmary doors, closing and locking them behind him. He breathed deeply... Filch wouldn't risk a culprit's escape to his dormitory by checking every room along the way. Sirius had plenty of time.

His hands returned to his pockets, and he strode further into the room, which appeared empty. But it wasn't, as he noticed after a few moments.

"Professor Black," said Sirius, surprised by the sight of his uncle. Alphard Black, otherwise alone at the far end of the room, appeared no less surprised.

"Sirius! What... what are you doing here? What happened your robes?"

"I tripped," said Sirius, suspiciously eying his uncle. "What are you doing here? 'You sick or something?"

"No," replied Black at once. "No, I'm... I'm quite alright. I've had a headache and come to get a potion."

"Oh." Sirius sat down on a cot. "Where's Healer Holloway then?"

"Getting the potion from his private stores." Black didn't meet his nephew's eye and began to pace.

"You know, most of the teachers go to Slughorn when they want a potion," Sirius told his uncle. "It's much more efficient... he doesn't log it in that book like Healer Holloway, either, so the school isn't always pestering you about expenses."

"How do you know so much about the matter?" asked Black, amused.

"Well, _I_ go to Slughorn, too," Sirius replied, shrugging. He would have added that it was easy to swipe things from the Potions Master's private stores, but the fact that this was not just his uncle, but also a teacher, was not completely lost to him.

Black nodded. He checked his wristwatch and then glanced in the direction of Holloway's office.

"Trying to get rid of me, Uncle?" asked Sirius lazily. "Not very Christmas-ly of you, is it? I'm your nephew."

"As if you didn't receive a present this morning," said Black.

"Thank you for that, by the way. Lupin ate most of the chocolate, but the Quidditch book was interesting."

"You started it, did you?"

"I finished it, actually."

"_Finished _it?" asked Black, incredulous. "That's remarkable."

"I had a few hours this morning," Sirius said, shrugging once more. "Your present arrives tonight. I would've given it to you at breakfast, but I thought one of the grouchy teachers might shout 'nepotism.' That's ridiculous, of course; I get McGonagall a Christmas present every year, and no one minds."

"Well," began the elder, "That's different. You have to..."

Black was interrupted, however, by a banging on the door. "Why is this door locked?" hollered Filch's voice. Sirius's eyes grew wide; this was now the second time he had been wrong about the patterns of Hogwarts, and it was getting frustrating. "Who's in there?" Filch continued. "Open these doors! Holloway! Hey, Holloway!"

"How _did_ those doors get locked?" Black wondered, looking significantly at his nephew.

Sirius ducked behind unused bed curtains. "Please don't rat me out, Professor. It's _Filch_. He thinks I've gone and blown something up, and he'll skin me alive. Really, he will... he believes torture is adequate teaching method."

Professor Black shook his head, moving towards the door and unlocking it with a wave of his wand.

"IF SOMEONE DOESN'T OPEN THESE BLOODY DOORS... Oh, Professor Black!" Filch started upon the sight of a teacher. "Well... I'm sorry... but the doors, you see... they're not to be locked during the day, and..."

"I had an important meeting with Healer Holloway and didn't wish to be disturbed," said Black calmly.

"Yes, of course."

An awkward silence, and then: "Was there something you wanted, Mr. Filch?"

"Yes. Actually, there is, yes. I was wondering if you'd seen anybody suspicious come through here?"

"Anyone suspicious?" echoed the Defense teacher. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific. Who is it that you need?"

"Well... Potter, Lupin, Pettigrew, or... or that nephew of yours, Black."

"Mr. Potter is home for the holidays. I suppose one of the other three is ill?"

"Er... no." Filch scratched his ratty hair. "No, not ill."

"Then why would they be in the Infirmary, Mr. Filch?"

"Well... I—to tell the truth—I suspect them to be hiding."

"Hiding, Mr. Filch? Have they done something wrong?"

"I believe so, Black." Filch puffed his chest out with dignity. Mrs. Norris, who stood by his feet, purred loudly. "I believe they are responsible for... for destroying school property."

"School property? That's very serious."

"A closet to be exact."

"A closet. Very serious indeed. You saw them, did you?"

"Well, no..."

"Someone else did, then?"

"Not precisely..."

"So you're assuming."

"Well, yeah, but..."

"Mr. Filch, these are serious charges you're making without proof. What makes you think it was Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew? Perhaps there was some volatile substance _in_ the closet..."

"It was no accident," said Filch at once. "The dust on the wall... it... it said... well... that's not important. If you haven't seen any of the boys..."

Black glanced over his shoulder around the room. "I don't see any of the boys."

"Then I'll be moving along." And he did.

The elder returned to his spot by Holloway's office. Sirius emerged. "Thank-you,  
Professor Uncle, sir," he said, a little surprised.

Black arched his eyebrows. "You blew up a closet?"

"There's no _proof_ I blew anything up," said Sirius. "But... I should probably go change my robes, shouldn't I?"

"Unless you plan on 'tripping' again, I would say yes."

Sirius grinned. "Thank-you for that."

"Out of curiosity," Black began, as Sirius started to leave. "Why _would_ someone blow up a closet?"

"For Christmas, of course."

"I don't see blowing up a closet as particularly Christmas-spirited one way or the other, actually."

"Well..." said Sirius, "it isn't, by itself. But if you could get all the rubble to fall just so, and if you get to the smoke on the wall to spell out 'Happy Christmas, Argus' I would call it _very_ spirited indeed."

"Yes, Sirius, you had better change those robes at _once_."

"Happy Christmas, Uncle Professor, sir."

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Black."

(The Why)

_Talkin' about my generation..._

The Who, sounding off over James's bewitched turntable, managed to drown out most of the noise generated by the large party downstairs. Still, the occasional beaurocratic gossip drifted through, as moderately inebriated Ministry friends of his parents passed by his bedroom, usually touring the house or searching for the lavatory. James waved his wand, and the music grew louder still.

_I'm not trying to cause a big sensation; I'm just talkin' about my generation..._

"Really, Mom?" James inquired out loud though he was the only one in the bedroom, "You couldn't invite _one_ person born in this century?" He turned the page of the book he'd been trying to read for the last half hour (since supper ended and he had made his escape).

There was a knock on the door.

"This isn't part of the _tour!_" James called over the din of his music.

_Knock_, _knock_.

James groaned and rolled off of his bed. "I _said_, this _ISN'T PART OF THE..._" he opened the door. "Oh, hi, Twitch." Twitchet the house-elf beamed, eyes wide with admiration as James admitted him entrance into the room. The young wizard returned to his spot on the bed. "Did you get bored with Mum and Dad's friends too, then?"

"Oh, no, Master James. Mistress Potter sent me."

James cocked an eyebrow. "Is that right?'

"Mistress Potter has said you must come downstairs and greet, Master Potter. Mistress Potter was most adamant."

"I bet. Say, Twitch, you probably have the best vocabulary of any House Elf I've ever met, y'know. Why is that?"

"Twitchet has gone to school, sir."

"Where? Hogwarts?" asked James, amused.

"Oh, no, Master James. But, please, Mistress Potter asked me not to be distracted by you. Mistress Potter knows her son very well, Master James."

James idly inspected a Quidditch-caused callus on his hand. "Why do you hang around here, anyway, Twitch? Mum freed you ages ago, yeah? If it were me, I'd be out of here before you could say 'indentured servitude.'"

"Twitchet must have a job, Master James," said the elf. "Father and Mother lived with the Potters; Twitchet is proud to carry on the business of Twitchet's family."

"That's noble of you," remarked the other dryly. "I wouldn't be an auror like dad if it were the last job in the world."

"Master James should not have to become an auror," sighed Twitchet. "Master James should play Quidditch, as he wishes."

James smirked. "What gave me away?" But he was fully conscious that the banner for every Quidditch Cup in the last twelve years hung about the room, as well as two posters: one for the National team and one for Puddlemore United (both signed and dedicated to James by each member of the teams). Twitchet caught James's sarcasm at once and shuffled his large, discolored feet.

"Mistress Potter has asked me to stay until you come downstairs."

Vaguely, over his own music (_People tryin' to put us down, just because we get around... Talkin' about my generation...)_ and the floating chatter of the party_, _James could hear the music from the ballroom downstairs. "I'm alright with that, Twitch. I'd be grateful for the company." Twitchet stood awkwardly. "Have a seat, then."

"Perhaps," began the elf, "perhaps if Master James attends the party for a few short minutes, perhaps he may return to his room, and Twitchet will have carried out his duties."

James sighed. There was no way of getting out of this. "Alright, then." He rolled, once again, off the bed and, with a wave of his wand, silenced his turntable. The sixteen-year-old followed the house-elf downstairs. The lowest landing was crowded and noisy, as many voices chatted and laughed, and many boots clicked against the marble floor. James responded politely to everyone who noticed him, while keeping his eyes out for his mother, so that she might notice him, and he could return to his own music, bedroom, and book.

"James Potter," said one woman, a tall thin witch James recognized as Augusta Longbottom. "You've certainly grown tall."

A spark of hope lighting inside of him, James summoned his politest, most artificial tone; "Thank you, Mrs. Longbottom. You look very well this evening. Is Frank here?" He hoped he didn't rush the last question, but it was the only part that remotely interested him.

"Frank stayed at the school this year," replied Mrs. Longbottom, evidently irritable over the fact (or something else... James couldn't tell; she always seemed irritable over something). "Undoubtedly on account of that witch of his." She sniffed. "_Alice_."

James didn't bother explaining the situation to Frank's mother, partially because he wasn't convinced the Frank-and-Alice split meant as much as both seemed to think it did, and partially because the absence of Frank made further conversation with this particular adult just another obstacle on his route to his return upstairs. Making polite excuses, James departed, once again in search of his mother.

However, a quick but accurate search showed that the hostess was nowhere in the crowded main room, or in the ballroom, or in the library, or any of the larger sub-sects of the ground floor where party-goers loomed. Irritable himself now, James set off down a long, well hidden corridor towards the back of the house. He was headed to the green room—his favorite room, besides the kitchen, in the lower quarter of the large house. He'd wait the party out there for a short while; hopefully, his mother would see that his room was deserted and assume he was off being social.

James reached the door to the green room. He had opened the door a sliver when he heard a voice from his own: that of his mother.

"I am worried," she was saying softly; James decided this was a conversation he wanted to hear. "But it will be alright. I know that."

"That's easy for you to say," said another voice. Mr. Potter spoke wryly, but not bitterly. "_You_ are not the one he hates at the moment, dear."

"He doesn't hate you."

_Want to bet?_ thought James.

"That's what _he_ says," said Mr. Potter quietly. James opened the door ever so slightly to get a picture of his parents. They stood near the fireplace: his mother in her lavish, scarlet dress robes and his father in robes of sleek black. "I find it no more plausible coming from you, Grace."

Mrs. Potter smiled. "Every boy hates his father at some point, Alex. It's nature. Remember when _we_ were first married, and you had that fight with _your_ father?"

"Grace, he wanted me to marry Hildebrand Shakeworth. He almost refused to attend the wedding."

"But he did come, and you were still furious."

"He began his toast with, 'Even though you married Miss Dearborn...'"

Mrs. Potter cut him off with her laughter, and her husband smiled a little too. "Well, he learned to like me, didn't he?"

"And then I forgave him."

"Well, there you are."

"By that logic, the way to earn James's forgiveness is moving back into the house, which I _believe_ I have already done. It's possible that I am mistaken, but I'm _fairly_ certain about that."

Grace Potter sighed. "For someone so very intelligent, Alex, you can be very thick some times." She kissed him. "And," added the witch a moment later, "James loves you. He really does."

Sarcastically: "Romantic."

Mrs. Potter laughed again. "And I love you."

He murmured something in reply, which James could only assume was "I love you, too."

"And," James's mother went on, "I'm sorry I shouted at you that night."

"You know there's no need to apologize for that, Grace."

"I know."

She kissed him again.

James closed the door. Suddenly, he didn't want to be alone anymore... anger of months and months of relative silence bubbled up inside of him, and now it had nowhere to go. There was no release, no object which he might hate, because ultimately, the question that had plagued him since his mother had written him and said that _he_ was moving back in... that question was answered. How could she do this? How could she forgive him?

He knew why, but he still wanted to be angry.

James moved back into the party.

(The Real World)

A letter from Luke arrived for Lily on Christmas evening. The redhead managed to slip away from her family's conversation in the sitting room just long enough to read it.

_December 23__rd__, 1975_

_Dear Lily,_

_My owl is out at the moment, and I'm not sure when I'll get to send this, so: Happy Christmas! Since we last spoke, there have been several developments with regard to my family; most of this business has been kept out of the papers, and I know you would like to be kept up-to-date, so I thought I'd write to explain._

_First of all, Lathe is gone. This occurred just this morning. He had been popping in and out of the shop, and a score of Ministry wizards have been excavating the storage compartments for evidence of dark magic, but—last they reported—they couldn't find anything concrete. Without further information to my family (the shop's been closed, but we've been staying at the rooms upstairs), the aurors and specialists withdrew. They cleaned out the rooms, took a few samples of the things my parents stored there, and otherwise just cleared out. _

_I went up to the castle this afternoon and found out from Filch that Lathe had cleared out of his office too. I'm not sure what any of this really means. The aurors that had come for school security are gone too, though there are a few, lower echelon wizards left behind for muscle. _

_Anyway, I'll have to cut this short now. My mum is in a panic trying to get the house prepared, because my brother Logan wrote and said he might stop by on Christmas Eve. I'll write again if anything new turns up, and I hope you're having a good holiday._

_Love,_

_Luke Harper_

"What's that you've got there?" asked a voice, and Lily looked up from the letter she had just finished reading. Petunia entered the kitchen, a tea tray of used dishes in her hands and an expression of mixed curiosity and suspicion on her face pale, narrow face.

"A letter," replied Lily vaguely; she folded it up and slipped the parchment into the pocket of her corduroy skirt. "From my boyfriend, Luke." Petunia nodded. She set the kettle on the stove. "So..." began the younger sister awkwardly, "Vernon's in there with Mum and the relatives? How are they getting on, do you think?"

Lily, of course, had been in the room only minutes before and knew the answer very well: her mother had long ago accepted Vernon, while not precisely _liking_ him, and as for the extended family (Mrs. Evans's Aunt Sara, Uncle Eugene, and cousin Will), they all seemed to approve of Petunia's choice of fiancé. Still, Lily was interested to hear Petunia's take on the evening.

"Very well," said the older sister. "Vernon is approved of wherever he goes." Lily thought she understood that description: it was the same way with Luke, and yet Luke and Vernon seemed to Lily to have very little in common. Petunia waited for the water to boil. "You don't like him, do you?" she asked suddenly.

Lily blinked. "What? Who? Vernon?"

"Yes, of course."

"What do you mean? I—where did you get that idea?"

"But it's true, isn't it?"

"_No_." Lily hoped it wasn't terribly apparent that she was lying, and so turned away from her sister, moving towards the refrigerator as though searching for something to drink. "You two seem very happy together." That, at least, approximated truth. Petunia seemed nothing but thrilled about the sizeable ring on her left hand.

"But you don't like him." Petunia was being shockingly unemotional about the fact. Lily denied it again, while her sister prepared the teapot. "He doesn't like you, either." Well, that had been obvious. "And it might be my fault that he doesn't."

"Did you..." began Lily awkwardly, "I mean, did you tell him about... how I am?"

"I don't much see the point."

"Well..." Lily poured a glass of champagne from the bottle they'd started at dinner. "We're going to be sort-of related. He might be curious as to why I don't... you know... own a car."

Petunia remained quiet for some time. "Lily," she began presently; "I've been giving this a lot of thought. You're almost seventeen... you're not a little girl anymore."

"You're only three years older than me, Tuney," Lily felt inclined to remind her sister. Petunia brushed off this comment as though she hadn't heard it at all.

"When are you going to give up all this nonsense?"

Lily frowned. "It's not nonsense that I read _The Great Gatsby_ every July, Tuney. And I certainly hope you're not referring to the fact that I'd take Oscar Wilde over Shaw any day of the week_."_

Glaring, Petunia momentarily forsook her task with the tea and crossed her arms. "You know that's not what I'm talking about, Lily. I'm talking about... about that school and that... that rubbish you do."

"Magic?" clarified Lily boldly. Petunia hushed her.

"_Yes_."

"What do you mean 'give it up?' I've told you... it's not a cold. It doesn't go away if you take chicken soup and vitamins."

"I _mean_," pressed the older girl (the kettle began to whistle), "when are you going to get a real job? Live in the real world? Go to University?" She poured the water into the china teapot.

"I couldn't go to University, Tuney," said Lily. "I haven't gone to a recognized secondary school... and it _is_ the real world. There're a thousand jobs I could have... opportunities, places to live... magic isn't just Hogwarts... it's..." Lily searched for the words to explain: "It's an entire world. It doesn't end when I get my certificate, just like the world you've grown up in doesn't end once you finish at University." _If you finish at University_, Lily added in her head, because she had the sneaking suspicion that once marriage arrived for her sister, schooling would end.

"And you'd rather live in that world of yours than be with your family?" asked Petunia, a chill in her voice.

"I'll still be in England, Tuney—if anything, I'll be able to see you _more_ often. You know, witches and wizards... they can jump about all over the country in _seconds_."

For the briefest of moments, something like interest sparked in Petunia's steely eyes. She looked like the much younger girl who had been Lily's best friend... before Hogwarts, before Severus, before everything happened. The look vanished as quickly as it sparked, however. "Rubbish," she said, placing the teapot on the tray once again.

"It's not rubbish."

"It_ is!_" retorted Petunia, much louder than she intended. Both girls were quiet, hoping no one in the other room had heard. The laughter, chatter, and sounds of their mother's Ella Fitzgerald record continued on undisturbed, however, and Petunia composed herself, flattening her lime green skirt and blond hair. "It _is_," she said, calmly. "So are you going to give it up or not?"

"_Not_," replied Lily, astounded.

Petunia scowled. "What's _happened_ to you, Lily? You were my _best friend_. We did _everything _together."

"That didn't have to change, Tuney."

"Of course it did. _You_ changed it."

"Oh, really?" snapped Lily sarcastically. "So, _I_ was the one who started calling you a 'freak?' _I_ derided everything you did and believed in? _I_ mocked _your_ friends? And every time you accomplished anything, I suppose _I_ was the one who trivialized it and made you feel rotten about it?"

Petunia picked up the tea tray. "You were the one that left, Lily," she said coldly. She moved towards the door, pausing before re-entering the sitting room. "Fix your hair before you go back in there... Mum wants you to be a bridesmaid, and Vernon won't want some raggedy little freak in the wedding." The older sister made to open the swing-door, but the younger would not be conquered.

"I'm so glad I'm not the one who's too afraid to tell her fiancé that her sister's a witch," said Lily lightly, and she exited the kitchen through the other door.

(Are Not, Are Too)

"I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier," said Kingsley Shacklebolt, taking a seat across from his sister in the parlor. Bridget, Isaiah, and Brice had been put to bed, and Donna sat by the fire, reviewing letters of recommendation for a new housekeeper.

"Don't apologize," said the witch, sighing. "It was my fault. You were right. I was being an idiot."

Kingsley was quiet for a time. "If you don't want me to, I won't take anymore graveyard hours, yeah?"

"I don't know..." Donna set down the letters. "If I can find someone good to look after the other three, it should be alright. Just... y'know... make sure you're here when Brice wakes up."

"I know, Don." After a brief silence, he went on: "So what is it your doing with those? I thought you had already read all the recommendations."

"I did read them. Now I'm organizing them. This stack is for the candidates who have healer training but no specific defensive skills; these are the ones who have defense training, but no healing experience. These two have both, but this one is Antoinette Rosier, and I don't like Rosiers."

"How progressive of you."

"I never said it was fair."

"Maybe you should take a break," suggested Kingsley. "You've been here six days and all you've done is keep house, interview, read recommendations, and check the newspaper for ads."

"If it's any comfort," replied the other, "I don't have any intention of keeping house anymore. My domesticity ends tonight—Bridge is taking over tomorrow. I hate housework spells."

"You need to take a break."

"I can't. I've got to find a housekeeper."

"And you need to do well in school so that you can get a job that pays you... so you need to take a break."

"I don't take breaks. It's not my style. It's a sign of weakness."

"It's a sign of humanity."

"Don't insult me."

Kingsley looked at her through serious black eyes. A wizard of imposing figure and an almost frighteningly calm voice, he intimidated very well; Donna, however, had grown up with him and was rarely affected. "Donna."

Rarely.

"Fine, I'll take a break. Tomorrow. I'll sleep till eleven and have Isaiah bring breakfast up to me. Sound alright?"

"Why don't you go to a party?"

Donna arched her eyebrows. "Go to a party?" she echoed. "What party would I go to? I haven't been invited to any parties."

"The Plex brothers invited you to a party..." said Kingsley. "I saw the letter."

"You _read my mail_?" snapped his sister.

"You left it open!"

"In my _rubbish bin!_"

"_I_ am an auror, Donna. I notice things. You should know that."

"Why were you in my room?"

"Why are you lying about being invited to a party?"

Donna scowled. "I have no interest in attending the Plex brothers' drunken, pathetic excuse for party, where a lot of idiot adolescents slobber all over each other and try to dance to rhythmically simplistic so-called music."

Kingsley's expression was quite solemn as he got to his feet. "It must be difficult being so superior, Donna." He started to leave the room. "You're going to that party."

"There will be underage drinking!"

"I trust you."

"Boys will try to take advantage of me!"

"You won't let that happen."

"You're a terrible brother!"

"You're going to that party!" With that, Kingsley slipped through the door and into the other room.

"I am _not!"_ Donna protested after him. She smirked when she heard no response, glad to have had the last word.

"You are, too!"

_Git._

Frowning, the witch picked up the stack of letters once again and began shuffling through them. Ha—this witch had defensive training, healing training, _and_ experience with dragons. That should be perfect for Isaiah's temper...

_But what will I wear?_

(Two Presents)

"You haven't opened your presents yet?" Shelley Mumps inquired of Marlene Price, noting the stack of gifts at the end of Marlene's bed on Christmas night.

Marlene was just returning from the feast, while Shelley had returned to the dorm twenty minutes before and was well on her way to being ready for bed.

"I suppose not," the blonde replied, peeling off her white go-go boots and stepping over to her bed. "Everything's been so mad today—I slept in and completely forgot after breakfast."

Shelley began to plait her shoulder length hair. "How do you forget about presents?"

"Good point," allowed Marlene. She sat down on her bed, pulling off he scarf, coat, hat, and gloves and picking up the first parcel. "What about you? Good haul this year?"

"Fairly good. I've got eight brothers and sisters, and everyone in my family always gives presents to everyone else, so I'm lucky like that. My brother sent loads of Belgian Chocolate, if you're interested."

Marlene unwrapped a bottle of (expensive) perfume from her mother. "Don't even say the _word_ 'chocolate,' Shelley. I'm never eating again." She patted her stomach in indication of the fact. "Seriously—if you see me so much as approach desert tomorrow, you have permission to hex me."

"I'm not going to hex you," said Shelley.

"I know." Marlene frowned as she untied the string around her present from Lily. "Too bad Donna's not here... _she'd_ hex me if I asked her to. Hell, she'd probably hex me if I _didn't_ ask her. Oh, Lily's so sweet... she _knew_ I liked this blouse..." Shelley smiled as Marlene opened present after present from her friends. At last, she reached the last, from her boyfriend, Miles.

"That's sweet of him," noted Marlene, observing the prettily packaged heart-shape box of chocolates. She checked the end of her bed to be absolutely certain there was nothing else, then rose and began to collect her night things.

Shelley frowned. "No more presents?"

"No. Not that I see."

Both girls were quiet; Marlene tried very hard not to wonder why Adam hadn't given her a present. They were just mates, after all, and blokes never cared about that sort of things like girls did. Anyway, when she'd given Adam her present to him (a t-shirt for the band _Dark Dragons_), she hadn't been thinking about getting in return. She just liked giving presents, that's all. There was no reason to feel disappointed. Boys will be boys...

Shelley was stretched out on her bed with the latest _Teen Witch_ when Marlene returned to the dormitory, ready for bed. "Do you mind if I listen to some music before I turn in, Shell?" Marlene asked.

"No, not at all."

The blonde moved towards the bewitched turntable and began flicking through a crate of LPs—a collaboration of the six girls' respective record collections—in search of something she felt like hearing. Nothing sparked her interest; she checked the turntable to see what had been left on. It wasn't one of hers.

"Did you listen to something today, Shelley?" inquired Marlene. Shelley said that she hadn't. "That's strange... I thought I left the Cockatrice album on here this morn..." She broke off and removed the unfamiliar record. "Hey, this is the new Hate Potion album... this only came out yesterday, how... Shell, is this yours?"

"Hate Potion? I don't listen to Hate Potion."

"No, most girls don't..." Marlene trailed off, as the album jacket—propped up against the wall behind the table—caught her eye. In addition to the vaguely psychedelic album art, a scrap of parchment was stuck to the front.

"_Happy Christmas, from Adam."_

Glowing, Marlene placed the album back on the player.

(What's Left)

She was in love with him.

It was so horribly apparent, that James could not concentrate on the crossword the morning of the twenty-sixth. His foot tapped furiously against the wood floor of the breakfast room, as he tried in vain to recollect the names of Norwegian dragon species. His focus was shot.

She was in love with him. All was forgiven, his father was allowed to re-enter their lives like nothing had happened, and he—James—was being asked to forgive-and-forget all because of that supremely irritating, utterly indefensible, and appallingly incontrovertible fact that his mother was still in love with his father. After what he had put her through, after what he had put them both through, Grace Potter still loved her husband.

Damn it.

James scribbled in "RIDGEBACK" in the appropriate squares and continued to tap his foot. It was just a few minutes past seven: his parents had been up late with the guests, and James did not expect them to emerge until well past nine. He was, therefore, surprised, when Mr. Potter entered the breakfast room a few minutes before seven-thirty. Mr. Potter appeared no less surprised.

"You're up early," he observed. James bit back a scathing: _"Déjà vu,"_ and said nothing; he didn't know _what_ to say. Mr. Potter nodded, setting down a cup of tea on the table and taking a seat. "I should expect that," he murmured.

James's foot continued to tap.

She was in love with him. How on earth could she still be in love with him? Or did that matter?

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap..._

"Is something wrong, James?" asked Mr. Potter, imitating patience fairly well.

James looked up from the crossword and stopped tapping. "No. I just... I mean... I..." he glanced down that the newspaper. "Do you know what a species of dragon from Norway could be? Nine letters?"

"Oh..." (Surprised). "Ridgeback, isn't it?"

James nodded. He pretended to write the word, though it was already occupying the proper boxes. "Yeah, I think that's right." He met his father's eye. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Both Potters returned to their respective editions of _The Daily Prophet_. James sighed, but he didnt' feel terrible. Family matters: those could take time. And what was it people were always saying about baby steps?

* * *

**A/N:** hiya :-) Sorry, Carlotta-fans... she didn't make it into this chapter. Neither did Alice, which frustrates me, but it just wasn't working. I had to choose between Alice and Marlene, and Alice's scenes could be delayed into 13, while Marlene's could not. I hope you enjoyed this. _**THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED!**_  
The ultra-soap-opera-y, but surprisingly light-hearted (oxymoron, much?) Chapter 13, named for a Janis Joplin song, arrives as soon as I stop getting distracted by future chapters and... y'know... my life. In the mean time, please give me your feedback!

Merry September!

Reviews are Christmas-time!

Love and Cookies,

Jewels


	13. Something Realized

**A/N: **This chapter is so soap-opera! Ha, ironically, there was a lot of drama surrounding its writing, too. This is my "first edition" chapter 13, but there is another version entirely, which takes place of the holidays and includes: Donna's party experience expanded, Lily-and-Petunia-drama (which will occur later), some fantastic dialogue between James and his mother (of which I am very sorry to let go), and a scene between James and Reginald Cattermole, which I will endeavor to incorporate later because I love it so.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Warning:** There's some heavy language and adult situations, yo. You have been forewarned. And MS word just told me that 'yo' is not a real word. Fools.

**Recap: **Lily learns that Professor Black is dying, and though she promises not to tell Sirius, she advises Professor Black to do so. Donna promises her brother, Kingsley, to attend a party so as to socialize. Lily goes home for Christmas and encounters Petunia!drama! James goes home for Christmas to encounter parental!angst. Frank and Carlotta are caught in a weird stage, as she wants to move forward from their disreputable start, but he remains uncertain. Alice moves on from Frank.

**THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO READ AND REVIEWED! I WILL REPLY INDIVIDUALLY AT SOONEST POSSIBLE DATE. Much love!**

Chapter 13- "Something Realized"

Or

_"One Night Stand"_

In 1976, Marlene Price broke up with the same boy twice.

In 1976, Adam McKinnon said "I love you." Twice.

In 1976, Alice Griffiths got engaged, Carlotta Meloni got a boyfriend, Sirius Black made a big mistake, and Severus Snape made at least two. In 1976, Donna Shacklebolt fell in love. Kind of.

In 1976, Petunia Evans was married, Remus Lupin nearly killed someone, Alphard Black left Hogwarts, Frank Longbottom had a realization, Mary Macdonald did _not_, and Peter Pettigrew gave some very, very good advice.

In 1976, James Potter quit smoking.

In 1976, Lily Evans fell in love.

But more on that later.

(A Woman Left Lonely)

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Thus repeated Donna Shacklebolt—out loud _and_ in her head— for her first waking minutes on January 12th. Climbing out of bed, she tripped over the shoes she'd somehow managed to get off the night before ("Damn-it-fuck! My toe!") checked the alarm clock ("Fuck—I'm late! I have to go back to school today! Have I packed? _Fuck!")_, grabbed a robe from the floor ("Where the _fuck_ is my _fucking shirt_?"), and stumbled into the connecting bathroom ("Holy _fuck,_ it's bright in here!")

Every part of her body ached as she staggered to the sink and turned on the tap. She ran her hands under the cold water, hunched over the ledge in an attempt to collect herself.

"I'm never drinking again," croaked the witch to her half-dead reflection. "I'm never _looking_ at vodka again, and I'm never even _thinking_ about... about... about..." But she decided not to finish that sentence, in favor of rushing to the toilet, flipping over the lid, and emptying the contents of her stomach into the bowl.

"Oh-God-I'm-going-to-kill-Kingsley," she moaned a few minutes later, managing to push herself up. She'd left the tap running and once again ran her hands under the water. "Why the hell did I agree to go to that stupid party? Why the hell did I agree to take six straight shots of vodka?" She splashed her face with water. "Why the hell did I...?"

Donna met eyes with her dripping wet reflection in the looking glass. Slowly, the blur of colors that constituted her memory of the night before began to take shape. Slowly, she began to remember. And then she realized something.

"Oh, _fuck_."

(Return and Regret)

The Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogsmeade station around seven o'clock, as per usual. Lily had come the entire way with Mary Macdonald and a handful of Mary's admirers, for Donna had been mysteriously absent the entire day.

"Maybe she missed the train," Mary suggested, as the two girls stepped onto the platform, shivering in the January air.

"I hope not," said Lily. "Although I guess she could always floo into Hogsmeade. But still..."

"There's Marlene," Mary observed, noting their friend across the platform. "Hey, Mar! _Marlene!"_

The blonde rushed over and hugged each of her two friends. "I missed you!" she declared through chattering teeth. "Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year," said Mary. "Did you come to meet us? That's sweet."

"I came to meet _Miles_."

"Hmm, some friend you are."

"C-c-can we please get out of this cold?" stammered Lily, rubbing her mitten-clad hands together.

"I agree," agreed Mary. "C'mon, Mar..."

"Waiting for Miles," Marlene reminded her in a sing-song voice. "Where's Donna?"

"Good question," said Lily. "We didn't see her on the platform, and she didn't come to the usual compartment. We checked most of the car, but we couldn't find her."

"We were speculating she missed the train," Mary informed their friend.

"Well, if she did," said Marlene, "she hasn't flooed in."

"Strange," murmured Lily. "I wonder if..." But then she caught sight of something that made her breathe freely again. "Oh, there she is! Donna! Hey, Donna!"

Donna was, indeed, stepping off the train, a glum expression on her face. She nodded at Lily and started towards the group.

"Where _were _you today?" Mary asked. "We looked for you."

"I wasn't feeling well," replied Donna. "I slept in an empty compartment at the back of the train."

"Are you alright?" Lily asked, worried. "You don't look well. You should get up to bed..."

"I'm fine," said Donna shortly. Mary began to laugh.

"_I_ know what's wrong with you—you went to Charlie Plex's end-of-hols bash last night, didn't you? Those things are always liquor soaked! You've had a hangover."

"Oh, Don, you didn't go to Charlie Plex's party, did you?" inquired Lily, half-laughing. "Those are so… fifth year."

"Really?" said Marlene. "I think we were too cool for those in fifth year. We were probably too cool for those in third year."

"Sod off," snapped Donna, crossing her arms—mostly because of the cold—and not meeting anyone's eye. "Kingsley made me go. And there were plenty of sixth years there... Charlie Plex included..."

"It's alright," consoled Mary. "I went to one of the Plex boys' parties once. That's where I first tasted firewhiskey. Oi—look, there's Martin. He sent me a lovely Christmas present... I really should go say thank-you. See you lot in the dorm. And Don, I'll want _details_.." Mary departed, and as she did, Miles Stimpson approached the group.

"Hi, Marlene," he said, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

"Hi, Miles. Happy New Year!" They kissed—longer than usual, it seemed, and Lily shifted uncomfortably waiting for them to finish. When the couple broke apart, Marlene looked vaguely surprised but smiled nonetheless. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," said Miles. "I'm just happy to see my girlfriend."

"Well, I'm happy to see you, too," said Marlene, cozying up to him. "Oi, guess what: Donna went to Charlie Plex's end-of-holiday party."

Miles looked at Donna, eyebrows raised. "Did she? _That's_ interesting... 'hope you didn't do anything you might regret... those parties have a reputation." He winked. "C'mon, Marly, it's freezing—let's head up to the castle."

The couple left; when they were gone, Lily patted her friend affectionately on the shoulder. "Never mind it, Donna. We should get your things so you can get up to bed, yeah?" As Lily started towards the stacks of luggage, however, Donna remained stock still. "Don, what's wrong? Are you all right?"

Donna looked at her friend, as though waking from a trance. "Lily, I—I can't be positive, but... I think I slept with Miles."

(Twenty Three Hours Earlier)

Donna went to her party. She arrived late, like she knew she was supposed to, and the girl who opened the door at the Plex's house seemed sufficiently surprised to see her. So far, all expectations for the evening were met.

The main room was large and crowded, noisy with chattering students and heavy with a variety of non-complementary aromas. An hour: she would stay for _one_ hour and then floo home before you could say "Waste of time."

"Donna Shacklebolt?" marveled a voice, as the witch made for a table in the corner. The table had sparked her interest, mostly due to the large punch bowl, which—if the stories about the Plex boys' parties could be trusted—carried with it a promise of alcoholic flavoring. Donna turned to see who had addressed her, and found that it was the host himself—a Ravenclaw of her own year with auburn hair and freckles who went by the name of Charlie Plex.

"Yes," she agreed, irritated and yet strangely gratified by his dumb-founded expression.

"I didn't expect to see _you_ here," replied the host, but he didn't seem displeased.

"You invited me, and I owled that I would be coming," she said, puzzled.

"I thought that was a joke."

"Why would I joke about that?" Not waiting for an answer, she curtly added: "Do you want me to _leave_? I'm more than happy to, believe me." She didn't want to confess that she was there because her older brother believed her to have no social life, but if it came down to it, she would.

"No," said Charlie. "No, by all means, stay. Help yourself to some..." he glanced at the table behind her: "..._punch_."

"I intend to."

Donna did help herself. She helped herself three times in immediate succession, which caused the Ravenclaw to gape a little bit. "Do you have any intention of slowing down with that?" he asked. Glaring, Donna shook her head. "In that case, I will find you in about an hour."

He started to leave.

"Good luck with that," murmured Donna, rolling her eyes and shooting back another "punch."

Only one hour... she only had to stay for one hour...

(Present: Family Matters)

"The traitor returns," noted Sirius, as James collapsed onto his bed.

"You're not _really_ pissed I decided to go home for Christmas, are you?" asked James, rolling his eyes. "I know we said we were all going to stay, but..."

"Nah, we had a better time without you," Sirius assured him. "You always put Peter in an awful mood. He told me he was glad you didn't stay."

"Don't lie, Padfoot," said Peter defensively. "I didn't say that."

"_He did_," mouthed Sirius.

"In other news," said Remus, who was seated at the desk, flicking through the newspaper; "Sirius blew up three different rooms and at least two chairs."

"It's a fantastic spell I just found, Prongs," Sirius elaborated enthusiastically. "And technically, Moony, it was only _two_ rooms. Two rooms and a closet."

"Filch's closet," Peter told James, who looked duly impressed.

"The ceiling is still singed," said Sirius proudly. "I'll take you by later... I'm thinking of having a go at his desk."

"Well, you lot had a more interesting time than I did," James stated. "Once _you've_ lived at a person's house, Padfoot, they get sort of used to having things explode or disappear from time to time... I'd forgotten how boring my parents are."

"Yeah," said Sirius. "But I bet it was a good haul this year."

"Excellent. Dad was trying to make amends. Guess who has the new Nimbus model broomstick..."

"No shit," marveled Sirius, straightening up. "Seriously?"

James nodded. "You can have a ride on it if you promise not to try at the Whomping Willow... _I_ want to be the first to do that with the new broom."

"Agreed," agreed Sirius. He withdrew a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his robes. "Fag?"

James shook his head, to which Sirius shrugged, lighting a cigarette for himself.

"I wish you wouldn't smoke that inside," grumbled Remus, and as Sirius set off trying to defend the act, James rolled off his bed and took the now neglected newspaper.

"Did you hear about those smugglers?" inquired James, though no one was paying attention to him. "'Looks like another auror's been attacked, too. You know, I think it's strange they haven't been killed..."

"_Well maybe, Moony, if you weren't such a psychotic neat freak..."_

_"Not wanting ashes all over the floor doesn't make me a neat freak."_

_"But it makes you psychotic. Besides, there are house elves."_

_"Padfoot, that is _just_ like you... we have an obligation to keep this room neat."_

_"Well we've done a bloody rotten job at that..."_

_"Maybe _you_ three have, but I... and I am not psychotic!"_

"Oh, I missed you idiots," said James sarcastically. Peter grinned, crossing the room to sit next to James. "The new list of known death eaters is out," observed the lead Marauder, scanning the page. "'Sardocius Rosier has officially announced his support of Voldemort...' no surprise there... 'Vlad Ivonovna connected with the Meadowes murder...' You know, Pete, if _I_ were in the Ministry..." He stopped.

"What?" asked Peter, looking over James's shoulder at the newspaper article. "What's the matter, Prongs?"

"Logan Harper," said James slowly. "We know a Logan Harper, don't we?"

"Yeah... he was a few years older than us. He's Luke Harper's..."

"Older brother, right. Light hair, played Quidditch, dated Narcissa Black for a bit?"

"Who dated Narcissa?" asked Sirius, taking interest in the conversation.

"Logan Harper?"

"Oh." Sirius nodded. "Yeah, that's right. It's been over for a while, though. Wait—why is this being discussed?"

James handed him the newspaper. "Guess who just made the 'suspected death eater' list."

(A Long Supper)

"What the hell do you _mean_ you slept with Miles?" snapped Lily to Donna, nearly two hours later, when the girls were finally alone again. Supper had never seemed to take so long to Lily. Now, the two sixth years occupied a deserted corridor off the route to the dormitory; Lily had pulled Donna aside to get an explanation away from the others.

"I'm not sure," said Donna, panicky. "I was _very, very_ intoxicated last night... I can't remember anything, except bits and pieces, and... I'm pretty sure there was a goat at that party. Why on earth would there be a goat at...?"

"Donna, this is _not_ the time to be cute," interrupted Lily. "Tell me everything you remember. _Now_."

Collecting herself, Donna strained her memory for _something_ concrete. She remembered being in a room—a large, crowded, noisy room... and alcohol had definitely been involved. "Miles was at the party," she began slowly. "He was there... I talked to him a little bit... we were sitting in this corner... there was a Canadian, and then there wasn't... and I was... I was saying something about... Ancient Runes."

"You were talking about Ancient Runes when you were piss drunk?"

"Apparently. Yes, I was... I was _definitely_ talking about Ancient Runes."

Lily crossed her arms. "And _that_ led to shagging your friend's boyfriend, _how?_"

"Hell if I know," murmured Donna. "I just... I know I had sex. Sex was definitely had. I know that. I don't _remember_ who it was... I'm ninety-nine and half percent sure it was a male..."

"Well it can't have been very good."

"Once again: hell if I know. But... did you see the way Miles was acting at the platform? Like... like he _knew_ something... being really affectionate with Marlene, and..."

"He was acting like an ass," agreed Lily. "But he's _always_ acting like an ass. _Shit_, I can't believe you slept with him... and not just because he's your friend's boyfriend; he's just a tool."

"First of all," said Donna, "Marlene is my roommate... she's not my _friend_. We don't _braid each other's hair_ and gab about _the cute boys we like_ and..."

"Donna," interjected Lily impatiently. "Acting like you don't care about Marlene won't make this going away, alright? You have to fix this." She turned on her heel and started for the dormitory.

Fix this.

How the hell was she supposed to do that?

(Twenty Six Hours Earlier)

"_Shacklebolt?"_ questioned a voice, but there were many voices at that point, and she was not quite certain from whence this particular one originated. Donna looked about, ignoring the wizard with a Canadian accent at her elbow; he'd been there for what seemed an eternity and was becoming dull.

"Miles Stimpson," Donna recognized her roommate's boyfriend. "What are you doing here?"

The Ravenclaw pushed through several boys surrounding Donna at that moment. "What're _you_ doin' here?" he shot back, amused by her red eyes (his own were anything but clear) and relaxed position on a sofa at the center of attention. This was most un-Donna-like.

"Drinking," she responded simply. She swallowed a demonstrative gulp from a questionable cup. Several of her companions found this funny—but _their _eyes leaned towards the red end, too. "A lot."

"I can _see_ that," said Miles. He stumbled into a seat on the sofa as well.

"You're an ass, you know," Donna informed him.

"You're a scary bitch," replied Miles. "Although..." and he scooted closer, "you're not so scary righ' now... and your friends seem to 'ave noticed."

"I'm drunk," Donna informed him, staring into her nearly empty cup. "My lips are numb. I could still kill anyone of them." With an icy smile to her Canadian: "Couldn't I?" But before he could respond, she closed her eyes and exhaled: she was drunk... she was surrounded by idiot boys hoping to take advantage of the fact... now was a good time to get out. "Alright. Everyone leave. Now." It took another minute for them to believe her, but when she drew her wand and burned a section of the carpet in front of her, they were much more easily convinced.

Alone again, Donna closed her eyes. She finished her drink. _I have to leave before I do something stupid._

On opening her eyes, however, Donna realized that she was not, in fact, alone. Miles, whose head lolled about on his neck in the vague rhythm of the song playing in the background, still remained on the sofa.

"I said _leave," _she repeated. He looked at her, but didn't move—and possibly because he was too far gone to really understand her. "You're _such_ an ass," she repeated, returning to her empty cup.

"_Why?"_ he demanded, pouting.

"You're everything I hate in a bloke... puffed up, a _jerk_ to your girlfriend..."

"I'm not a jerk to Marlene."

"You are, too."

"I'm _not—_an' what d'_you_ care?"

That struck Donna in an odd, indescribable way. "I don't," she insisted uncomfortably. "I just hate blokes that think they're _so_ great, they have the right to walk all over their girlfriends. It's not Marlene in particular, just... just the way that you are is sickening."

Miles frowned. "What-d-ya-mean?" he slurred. "It's not 'bout Marlene? She's your friend, in't she?" He chuckled. "That rhymed..."

"Marlene's not my friend," snapped Donna, suddenly feeling terrifyingly sober. She grabbed the nearest cup and emptied it of its contents. "Marlene's my _roommate."_

"Marlene's not your _friend_?" repeated the Ravenclaw, a bit disbelieving. "Then who's your _friend?"_

Donna did have an answer for that. "Lily."

"Jus' Lily?"

"Just Lily."

"Stupid."

"It's not _stupid_. I don't want friends."

"Oh." After a long, liquor soaked silence, Miles continued: "So Marly's n-not your friend?"

"No," said Donna crisply. She grabbed and emptied another cup from the table.

(Present: One Small Step)

"You can do this."

Alice Griffiths wrestled with the worst of feelings in the pit of her stomach: like she was about to make a terrible fool of herself. She was about to completely humiliate herself and would very shortly be spending another two months in the dormitory, trying to live down the shame. That was, unquestionably she thought, where this was headed.

"You can do this," she whispered to herself once again. But the seventeen-year-old did not believe it, and that just disappointed her even more. "You want to be an auror for God's sake. You can do this, Alice Geraldine Griffiths."

And with that, she did it.

She took a step—a step of insignificant distance, just the space between the bottom step of the marble staircase and the stone floor of the Entrance Hall. But she descended the last step and did not stop. She moved straight across the room and into the Great Hall with her head held high.

It felt nice.

"Bloody hell," marveled Donna Shacklebolt, as Alice took a seat across from her. "Alice, you look... completely different."

Alice knew it, too. Her hair, usually a dirty blonde color, reaching her shoulders in tight ringlets, was now pin-straight, falling well past her shoulder blades in smooth, flaxen sheets. The witch wore make up for the first time in what seemed an eternity, and she wore it well, too: mascara, eye shadow, lip gloss, and blush. A pale complexion and untamed hair were mere memory now.

"You look wonderful," corrected the also present Lily Evans, shooting a glare towards Donna. "What happened? Er... not that you haven't always been beautiful, because you have, it's just..."

"I know," interjected Alice. "I understand." When she smiled, she looked—very briefly—like _old_ Alice... pre-break-up Alice. "I'm starting a new phase," she announced proudly.

Donna frowned. "Is this phase going to transpire _outside_ of your dormitory, then?" Lily shot her a glare. Alice had a new feeling—as though she had interrupted something.

(Two Minutes Earlier: Marlene's Friendship Bracelet)

"You haven't told her yet?" demanded Lily, sitting down across from Donna at the breakfast table.

Donna's eyes grew very wide. "Told Marlene?" she asked in a whisper. "Of course I haven't told Marlene. Are you out of your mind? Why the bloody hell would I tell _Marlene_?"

"I thought you were going to fix this!"

"How would that fix anything? How would that do _anything_ except result in my dismemberment?"

"Well, maybe you deserve to be dismembered." Lily poured herself some pumpkin juice. "I _can't believe_..."

"Good morning," said a voice. A witch stood over Lily's left shoulder, and as the girl took a seat at Gryffindor table, Lily was momentarily convinced this was someone she had never met. Actually, it was Alice Griffiths, but it was Alice Griffiths as Lily had never seen her before.

"Bloody hell," marveled Donna. "Alice, you look... completely different."

"You look wonderful," said Lily. "What happened?" Realizing how that sounded: "Er... not that you haven't always been beautiful, because you have, it's just..."

"I know. I understand. I'm starting a new phase," the seventh year informed him, helping herself to kippers.

Donna frowned. "Is this phase going to transpire _outside_ of your dormitory, then?" Lily shot her a glare.

"You're not allowed to be a bitch today, Donna. In fact, I'm not sure you're allowed to talk until you've fessed up."

"Fessed up to what?" asked Alice. Lily shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Fessed up to... stealing... my… my... friendship bracelet."

"Your friendship bracelet?"

"My friendship bracelet."

"Donna stole your friendship bracelet?"

"And slept with it."

"_What?"_

"She fell asleep wearing it over the holidays and... lost it. My friendship bracelet."

"Oh." Alice frowned. "Who was it from? The bracelet..."

"You know the details aren't important," said Lily to her scrambled eggs. "The important thing is that Donna has done something wrong and that she needs to fess up. She needs to come forward and admit to everyone involved that she has done something wrong and will spend the _rest of her Hogwarts career being a better friend_."

"You know, Lily," began Donna through gritted teeth, "I came to you about... the _friendship bracelet_, because I thought you would be understanding. I thought you wouldn't place judgment upon my mistakes and would try to comfort me in this difficult time."

"Bullshit. Of course I'm judging you."

Alice looked surprised. "That's a little harsh, Lily. She _seems _sorry..."

"Thank-you, Alice."

"It was _someone else's friendship bracelet,"_ snapped Lily.

Puzzled, the seventh year stared between the two girls. "I'm confused. Is 'friendship bracelet' a euphemism for something?"

Before either could respond, however, Mary and Marlene appeared, sitting down across from Alice. "Good morning," said Marlene cheerfully. Lily and Donna simultaneously got up.

"I have homework," said Donna.

"Me too," said Lily.

They left hastily as Mary was complimenting Alice's appearance.

"_Friendship bracelet, _Lily? _Really?"_

"_Miles Stimpson, _Donna. _Really?"_

(The New Alice)

Frank Longbottom had a date in the library: a date with seventy-two pages of reading he had to complete by the next Herbology class. The librarian begrudgingly directed him to the correct section, and while he searched the shelves for the necessary book, the Head Boy was joined by someone else.

"Blimey... Alice?"

Alice had not seemed to notice Frank when she stepped into the aisle, standing on her toes to read the titles along a high shelf, and yet, when he addressed her, she did not seem surprised.

"Hi, Frank," she replied, cheerful enough.

She seemed... taller.

If that was the right word.

Frank couldn't be sure. In fact, he couldn't be entirely sure this wasn't a dream; Alice stood beside him—not normal, ex-girlfriend Alice, with dark blond ringlets, pale skin, and a habit of ducking behind bookcases whenever she saw him, but someone entirely different: Alice with long, silky straight flaxen colored hair, roses in her cheeks, and an air that said she was about as concerned by Frank's presence in the same library aisle as she might have been by a fly.

Idly tapping the spine of a few different books, Alice finally located the one she sought; Frank was too busy being confused.

"Rotten luck about all the reading, yeah?" she said conversationally. "Well, bye."

And as unexpectedly as Miss Griffiths had appeared, she vanished once more. Frank stared at where she had been. Then he realized something. "Wait. She just took my book!"

(Forty-Six Hours Earlier)

"Not even if I were _dead_," snapped Donna; her wand was out again, this time pointed at the space between Miles Stimpson's eyes.

"Calm down, Shack," he mumbled, withdrawing his hand.

"I will _not_..." Mumbling about "sodding gits" and "unendurable idiocy," Donna got to her feet. Oh, just wait until Marlene heard about this...

She moved unsteadily across the crowded room, probably bumping into people, but she could not be sure. Her head spun, so that by the time Donna reached the door, she was conscious of only two thoughts: _Get home, and get to bed_.

"You're leaving already?"

The voice reached Donna just as _she_ reached the door, and it belonged—she discovered a moment later—to her host, Charlie Plex. "Yes," she stated with certainty, wondering why he seemed to be spinning so.

"How?"

"Through the door."

"How are you getting _home_?" he clarified, slightly annoyed.

"Apparate."

"Is it legal?"

Donna's eyes narrowed. "_I_ am seventeen," she informed him.

"So am I, but I can't apparate. We haven't even had lessons at school yet."

"I know how to apparate." She tried to leave.

"You'll get splinched," Charlie told her. "C'mon—you can floo through the library."

And the sober, practical side of Donna—whose control was uncharacteristically slipping—told her that this was a much better idea. "Fine." She started to follow her host back across the room, staggering but staying afloat. Her eyes briefly flitted to a still-drinking Miles Stimpson.

"_Marlene's not your friend? Then who's your friend?"_ his disbelieving voice repeated in her head. A strange, discomforting feeling overwhelmed even the alcohol in Donna's system. If Marlene wasn't her friend, why feel this compelling guilt for having been hit on by her boyfriend? If Marlene wasn't her friend, why did it matter? Why did it matter if Miles _did_ hit on her?

...Or was that the liquor talking?

(Present: Secrets, Secrets)

There were two main reasons that Lily had for taking a walk that evening, and they were as follows: Donna Shacklebolt and Marlene Price. In an effort to avoid all potential awkwardness, Lily steered clear of the dormitory all together, and when she had finished her homework, she slipped out of the Common Room and started off in the direction of the Head student offices. They would be deserted tonight, she supposed, and if she were caught by Filch or anyone (it wasn't quite past curfew yet, but it would be soon, and those mulish Ministry stragglers were still patrolling), she could make the excuse that she was performing official prefect business. This would fly with the Ministry types, at least.

What Lily did not expect was that, when she reached the Head offices, they would already be occupied. Quite fortunately, she _did_ realize this before actually pushing the door open, when she heard voices from within. One belonged to Carlotta Meloni.

"Listen, Frank," she said; "I'm not going to be strung along anymore, alright?"

"Carlotta, I haven't strung you along," replied the other voice—Frank's—sounding weary. "I've been completely honest about what _I_ wanted, and..."

"Please," derided the witch. "How could you possibly be anything approaching honest about what you want with _me_? _You_ don't even know what you want."

"Well, I won't deny that."

"So all this time, you're still just... thinking?" scoffed Carlotta.

"Car, I told you before, I..."

"C'mon, Frank," she interrupted wearily. "I don't want to do this now. I'm tired and I've got to meditate... though how I'll calm myself down is beyond _me_. I'll speak with you tomorrow."

Those were parting words, as it occurred to Lily a second later. She frantically turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. This was precisely the kind of conversation on which she did_ not_ want to be caught eavesdropping... especially by Carlotta Meloni.

Lily ducked behind the nearest corner, and as she did so, the prefect checked over her shoulder and—in doing so—did not see Sirius Black, who was in the process of rounding the corner from the other direction. "Shit," he swore, as the two collided, smacking foreheads.

"Holy..." Lily rubbed her forehead, wincing. "Sorry. I didn't see you." She noticed who it was that she hit. "Oh... Sirius. How are you?" Professor Black was not far from her mind, and she was intensely curious as to whether their Defense teacher had told his nephew the truth about his deteriorating health.

"I'm fine." He, too, winced. "Where's the fire, anyway?"

Lily took a few steps back and checked the corridor. "I guess it went the other direction," she mused, frowning. "I'm sorry—I should've been more careful."

"No big deal," muttered the Marauder.

"Where are you off to?" Lily asked, realizing that the hour was a little suspicious for Sirius to be out and about: too late for anything orthodox and too early for anything mischievous.

"Would you believe me if I told you I was headed to the library?" he asked, grinning a little.

"No," said Lily pointedly.

"Well, it's true." He withdrew a small, paperback book from the pocket of his robes. "Before you start getting mad ideas about me, you should know that this is James's book... I lost three consecutive rounds of tossing-parchment-in-the-rubbish-bin, and his prize was having me trek all the way down to the unholy lair that is the library."

"Tossing parchment in the rubbish bin?"

"It's exactly what it sounds like."

"Ah."

"If you don't believe me... about the library," Sirius went on, replacing the book in his pocket; "you can come along. Mrs. Sevoy might actually believe that I'm not there to vandalize if you're there."

Lily had nothing better to do, and it certainly beat the prospect of supreme awkwardness with Donna and Marlene. Plus, it offered her an opportunity to discover if Sirius knew the truth about his uncle yet. She agreed, and the two set off.

"So the hols went well?" asked Sirius. "You had a good Christmas?"

"Yeah, I did," said Lily. "A little weird around the edges, but... altogether not... terrible."

"That's enthusiasm," remarked Sirius wryly.

"Well... it's my sister," the redhead attempted to explain. "She's a muggle. She doesn't approve of me being... the way that I am."

"Oh. Yeah, I get that."

"I guess you do, don't you? And then some."

"And then some," agreed Sirius.

"What about you?" Lily asked. "A good holiday?"

"Mm, yeah, it went well. It certainly beat Christmas-with-the-Blacks back home."

"Not a fan of family gatherings, I trust?"

"Look at it this way: Christmas supper is kind of like one imagines the wake of serial killer might look like."

"Dark."

"With excellent cooking."

Lily smiled. "So did you... uh... get to spend any time with your uncle, then?"

"Yeah, a bit." He didn't seem bothered in the least by the question.

"And—and he's doing well?"

"Yeah. He even helped me out in the Hospital Wing..."

Lily coughed and asked in what she hoped was a subtle manner: "Oh? You were in the Hospital Wing, then? The two of you?"

"He was getting something for a headache or something," Sirius replied with a shrug. "I was hiding from Filch. The blighter gets testy when you blow up his closet, apparently."

"I heard about that," said Lily. "Why am I not surprised that you're responsible?"

Sirius simply grinned as they reached the library. He returned the book to Mrs. Sevoy, the librarian, and Lily decided that he _couldn't_ know. She was very uncomfortable when he returned.

"Headed back to the Common Room?" he inquired, as they came to the staircase.

"No," said Lily. "No—there's half an hour until curfew. I think I'll just take a turn about the fourth floor."

Sirius frowned. "I'll come with you—it's not safe to be wandering around here at this time of night."

"No," responded Lily quickly. "Don't worry about me. I have my wand and... you probably have to get back to your tossing parchment in the rubbish bin competition."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Be careful."

"You concern is touching but unnecessary."

"Believe me, Lily," said the Marauder, crossing his arms, "Safety in these castle walls isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's not a lot of fun to run into a group of punchy Slytherins at this hour."

"I'm a big girl," Lily told him. "But thank you."

Sirius nodded and started back towards the Common Room. Lily sighed. She sat down on the top stair and leaned against the banister. It had been a long day, and she officially hated keeping secrets. Why couldn't people just be honest with each other? And if they were going to lie, why did _she_ have to be the one who always seemed to _know_? With another long, weary sigh, Lily closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, the torches in the corridor and along the stair had gone out.

"Snaps?"

James realized that she had been sleeping after the nickname escaped his lips. Her green eyes, barely visible in the dim lighting from a single torch at the other end of the corridor, flew open, and she looked scared.

"Agrippa's sake... where am I?" the redhead asked, frightened at her unexpected surroundings; James wasn't sure if she'd even seen him or recognized his voice.

"The fourth floor," he told her.

"Oh." Lily gave him a quick once-over. "Potter. What are you doing here?"

"Kitchens," James half lied, surreptitiously slipping the Marauders' Map into his pocket. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I must have... I must have dozed off." Lily rubbed her eyes, still disoriented. "What time is it?"

"Almost midnight."

"Almost midnight?" She got to her feet, unsteadily at first so that James took a step forward, just in case. It was unnecessary; she steadied herself with the banister and didn't notice his movement. "I have to go. It's past curfew. _You_ have to go, too..." She seemed to realize something. "Hey, you're _way_ past curfew. I'm a prefect; I should..."

"Be in bed," James finished for her. Lily frowned.

"Fair enough. Plus, I don't much care for filing an official report and what-not. I guess you get off this one time." Her expression was a mixture of attempted disapproval and genuine amusement. "Anyway, I'm going to the dorm."

James, who stood beside her on the landing, moved, half to block her progression upstairs. "You can't just go wandering around there right now... it's the middle of the night."

"Yes, I've heard the suits of armor can be quite vicious at this hour," she said dryly; her voice, he noticed, was a little scratchy from sleep. "Thank-you for the concern; I have my wand; I'll be fine."

She moved up the staircase. James weighed his options, and decided he wasn't nearly hungry enough to warrant _not_ following Lily Evans.

"I thought you were going to the kitchens."

"Call me Prince Charming," he said coolly.

"More like Count Dracula," replied Lily, not missing a beat. James grinned and was glad that his companion's eyes were not on him.

They were quiet for a few seconds, while James wondered how much damage it would do to say what was on his mind. "So Lathe's gone," he began cautiously.

Lily nodded. "Yeah... Luke wrote me about that. Weird, yeah?"

"Yeah. Weird. Listen, Snaps..." Why was it that everyone always said he had such a way with words? That's what James wanted to know. Of course, he _did_, and he knew it too, but right now, articulation seemed to utterly fail him... "You should be careful."

"Careful? With big strong _you_ here to protect me?" She sent him a slightly sarcastic smile.

"I'm not talking about _right now_." They reached the next floor, and the stairway was all the way at the other end of the corridor. "I mean... it's just... did you read yesterday's paper?"

Lily's expression grew stony in the dim light (now provided by what little light seeped through the windows; it cast her in a blue tint). "I know what you're talking about," she said quietly. "And I wish you wouldn't."

"Luke Harper's _brother_ is a death eater," pressed James. "And a lot of that family has a history of..."

"That has nothing to do with me."

"Really?" he asked sardonically. "So Luke Harper _isn't_ your boyfriend?"

"There's nothing wrong with Luke."

"Oh, c'mon, Snaps, you can't just assume that he's..."

"I'm not assuming anything." She stopped walking and so did he. "I _know_ Luke. I know what he's like. _You're _the one assuming that because his family has some history, _he's_ a death eater."

"I'm not saying he's a death eater."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that..." Well, alright, that had more or less been what he was saying. "I'm saying that you should be careful."

Lily sighed. "Your best friend comes from a family that's much worse than the Harpers," she said. "You more than anyone should understand his situation."

She'd gone soft in the eyes, like she didn't want to fight with him just now. Something about that made him honest. "I don't trust him," he admitted.

Lily raised her eyebrows. "I guess it's a good thing you're not dating him, then." She thought about it. "For other reasons, too." With that, Lily turned and continued down the corridor. James followed. They rounded a corner in the corridor, only to find that they were not alone.

A group of students were seated along the floor about fifty feet away, laughing and joking loudly. Their wands were drawn as they performed various showy but unexceptional bits of magic—sparks, silent fireworks... James recognized one voice as it chortled: "Did Avery tell you what happened with him and that Hufflepuff tart?"

Mulciber.

The rest of the cast was pretty easy to fill in from there: Avery sat beside him, and the fair-haired boy James could only just make out must have been that Zabini chap. The girl was Colista Black—James could see her chewing gum and twisting a lock of dark hair around her wand, like she was completely bored with this scene—and the boy who currently entertained himself with green sparks was a bloke called Hester. Snape was noticeably absent.

James's eyes narrowed, and he unconsciously moved forward. Lily's cold hand gripped his wrist, reminding him of her presence. "No," she whispered. "You're not fighting." And James realized that though he had not specifically _planned_ on fighting, he'd had every intention of doing so.

"Why not?"

"We're outnumbered."

"I could take them."

"They haven't done anything wrong."

"They're out of bed after hours."

"So are _we_."

James sighed. "Fine." He allowed her to steer him back, but as they started to turn, Mulciber could be heard hushing his companions.

"Is that Filch?" Colista Black's voice whispered ineffectually.

Lily tugged at James's wrist once again, and he consented to be guided. Then, suddenly, a white light filled the corridor.

"It's not Filch," said Mulciber. "It's Evans and Potter."

Half blinded by the light from Mulciber's wand, James's hand subtly moved towards his pocket where his own wand was stored. Then, the white light vanished, and the torches in the corridor were lit.

"Evans and Potter," repeated Mulciber, stepping towards them. The other Slytherins followed. "Beauty and the beast, if you will."

"Now, now," said James; "I wouldn't call Evans a _beast_."

Lily glared at her companion. "I'm only the ally you've got here, Potter," she reminded him dryly, and she had a point.

"C'mon, boys," said Colista Black irritably. "This is stupid. Let's go, before Filch comes and has us all in a month of detention."

"She's right," agreed Lily. Then, quietly to James, the redhead added: "the number seventy-five is coming to mind, Potter."

"It'll take two seconds," he pleaded. "C'mon."

"_James_."

Mulciber drew closer, his wand flirting with preparation. "You're outnumbered, Gryffindor," he said.

"I don't see that," said James lightly.

"Nick, let's get out of here," Colista tried once again, but she was, again, ignored.

"C'mon, Black," snapped Hester. "This is why we don't bring girls along. They're only good for one thing..."

"Oh, sod off," snapped Colista. "_Nick_."

But Mulciber was enjoying the situation. Avery and Hester stood to his left and right, and even Zabini looked ready for a fight. James's fingers drummed against his wand.

"You know," began Hester, a pale, thin-faced sixth year, "I'm inclined to agree with comrade James, here. About the mudblood I mean..."

_BANG!_

Now, James Potter knew for a fact that he was a significantly quicker draw then Nicolai Mulciber. He knew that he was two or three times quicker than thick-headed Avery, and he knew that when it came down to it, Hester's skill was in cunning and trickery more than spell work. Colista Black would not attack, he was certain, and neither would Zabini—at least, not at first. Therefore, the Gryffindor was thoroughly surprised when he was only three quarters of the way through drawing his wand when an almighty bang shook the corridor.

A blinding yellow light temporarily threw him off too, and when it faded, a heavy smoke remained. Then, it lifted. His heart beating very quickly, James looked about for Lily; _he_ hadn't been hurt, which meant that she must have been.

But she wasn't. The smoke cleared, and the relatively petite prefect stood a few steps in front of him, wand drawn and an expression of fixed determination on her face. The five Slytherins all lay on the floor of the corridor, unconscious. James stared, aware that his face must have honestly expressed unmitigated awe.

"Lily?" he managed to say.

Lily sighed, putting her wand away. "They'll be awake in a minute," she said, businesslike. "I still haven't mastered the spell..." and she sounded a bit disappointed in herself. "We should go before Filch gets here."

As she stepped over Mulciber, James pursued her. "Wait, Snaps. Here." And from the inner pocket of his robes, James withdrew his most treasured possession.

"What's that?" asked the redhead, as he unfolded a silvery cut of material.

"An invisibility cloak," he told her.

"You have an invisibility cloak?"

"Yes."

Lily's green eyes grew wide. "I don't think I'm going to sleep well at night knowing that," she said.

"C'mon."

He threw it over the both of them, and they did not speak again until they gave the Fat Lady the password and entered the Common Room. James couldn't help but feel relieved.

"Thank-you for the cloak," said Lily, starting up the stair towards her dormitory.

James looked at her, bewildered. "Listen, Snaps, how did you...?"

"The problem with Slytherins," she interrupted, "Is that they spend too much time taunting people and spelling out what they're about to do when they think they have the upper hand. All you have to do is interrupt that."

"But that magic..."

"I'm nice," she said calmly. "I'm _nice_, and I'm optimistic. I'm not weak, James."

Like vapor his name hung on the air as she ascended the staircase.

"_Lily_." She paused on the landing, and he thought, mixed in with her expectant expression, she looked a little surprised—probably at the use of her first name. Somewhat desperately—with the dim light of the fireplace casting a funny shadow against her, and her hair in such a wreck—he wanted to just _say it_.

But he didn't.

"I know you're not weak."

Caught of guard, Lily almost smiled at him.

But she didn't.

"Good night, Potter."

"'Night, Snaps."

(So Sorry)

Donna was distressed, and she was not often distressed.

She sat in Arithmancy, mulling over this fact with no very great progress towards a solution. For once, she was glad that Lily had opted not to take this class: right now, alone time was just what Donna Shacklebolt needed.

She'd had a one night stand. A one night stand. It sounded so... trashy. Common.

Sure, she talked big, and she was no innocent lamb prior to this incident, but there was something inherently _different_ about getting together with a boy, buzzed on a single glass of firewhiskey combined with the adrenaline from a victorious Quidditch match, and getting together with your—ahem—roommate's boyfriend when you're so trashed you can't remember your own middle name. The former could be rationalized: she was a healthy, normal adolescent girl; it was only natural that she use some kind of release. For the latter, there was no excuse that quelled her conscience.

_Fuck._

Donna was torn between disbelief with herself and sick, masochistic satisfaction that she had at last fucked up so badly that even Lily could put a forgiving spin on it. And that was depressing.

Professor Kelley dismissed the class ten minutes early, and Donna gratefully darted from the classroom. She headed downstairs alone, determined to clear her head before supper—supper meant potentially facing Marlene and Miles, a situation she had been avoiding for the last two days.

Sunday night was slowly coming into focus. There were bits of it—not important bits, but bits nonetheless—that she almost completely remembered. Chatting with a girl named Lynda, agreeing to another glass of firewhiskey-thank-you-very-much, Rowan Lewis telling her she was much less scary drunk, and her hugging him, informing him that she didn't want to be scary. That Canadian bloke...

Donna cringed. This sucked.

Miles Stimpson and the act itself remained very dim: they were in a room talking, just like she told Lily. They chatted—he mentioned Marlene. She talked of Ancient Runes... babbled really. And this she remembered very clearly:

_"Don't tell Marlene, alright?"_

_Fuck_.

She'd slept with _Miles Stimpson._

And as a new wave of self-loathing overcame her, Donna stepped into a girls' lavatory. Most of the other students were still in class, so she was mercifully alone. At least, she was at first.

"What are you doing?" came a voice—irritating, high-pitched, and unfortunately familiar.

"Go away, Myrtle," ordered Donna coldly. A moment later, Moaning Myrtle—a dark haired, bespectacled girl of about fourteen, who also happened to be quite dead—emerged from—or rather, through—a stall.

"Why should I?" snapped the ghost; she had never gotten along with Donna very well. "It's _my_ toilet. I only have one room in the _entire_ school, and _you_ would have me out of it."

Donna scowled at the reflection of Myrtle in the mirror. "If you had any sense, you'd haunt a _boys'_ lavatory."

"I'll have you know I _do_," retorted the other. She rethought this statement a second later and frowned. Donna gained some grim satisfaction from this.

"Freak."

"I am _not_ a freak!" shrieked Myrtle. "What were you doing here, anyway? Just staring in the mirror like that. It's odd, you know."

"Says the ghost haunting a toilet."

Myrtle's lip trembled, but more out of anger than grief. "You're _mean_," she accused hatefully.

Donna crossed her arms, knowing it was true but wishing to deny it. "You're the one who started it."

"I _did_ not. I asked what you were doing, and then _you_ called me a 'freak.' For no reason—f-f-for no reason whatsoever!" Now she seemed on the verge of tears, and Donna did not think she could handle that.

"Please don't," she pleaded. "I'm sorry. I take it back. You're not a freak. I'm _sorry_. Just... don't cry. Please."

"You're only taking it back so I won't cry," sobbed Moaning Myrtle. "You're _mean_."

Donna groaned. "I'm _sorry_. God. I just... I'm having a bad day, alright? I... I messed up."

Myrtle stopped crying. "You messed up what?"

"Well," began the other, facing her ghostly companion with a serious expression, "I sort of... slept with someone I wasn't supposed to."

Myrtle's eyes grew very, very wide. "You _what?"_

"Your 1940s sensibilities are endearing," said Donna, not sounding endeared in the slightest. "But it's 1976. Things have changed." Myrtle sputtered something indistinct, and Donna went on. "Anyway, that's the gist of it."

"That's—that's... that's... _tart_."

"I am _not a tart_," snapped Donna. "God, I should have known better than to confide in a sodding _ghost_."

Myrtle began to wail. She dove back into her favorite stall, causing an almighty splash that made Donna roll her eyes. She hastily exited the bathroom, no more relaxed or less self hating than she had entered.

"Donna!"

And there he was—the very last person Donna wanted to see at that moment. She turned and hurried in the opposite direction.

"Donna! Hey, Shacklebolt!" (As though he thought she simply had not seen him). Miles Stimpson caught up with her. "I've been looking for you."

"Don't you have class?" snapped the witch, determined not to meet his eye.

"We got out early," replied the Ravenclaw. "Hey, I've been meaning to talk to you. About Charlie Plex's party..."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine. Fine, but... listen, I don't know if I told you that night... I mean, I was pretty drunk and I can't really remember large parts of it, but..."

"Shut up, Miles." (She couldn't bear to hear it).

"Please, just don't tell Marlene that I was there."

Donna stopped dead in her tracks. "Don't tell Marlene that you were there? Are you out of your bloody mind?"

"I... well... listen," began Miles, "I know you and she aren't really mates..."

"What makes you say that?" interrupted Donna, pulling herself to her full—quite tall—height.

"You... you... Shack, that's what you were telling _me_."

"What?"

"...And you're always kind of a bitch to her, so..."

"_Excuse me_?"

"I just mean—listen, that's not the point. The point is," Miles pressed forward uncomfortably, "please just don't tell her about me and Carlotta."

Donna blinked.

"You and Carlotta?"

"That—that we snogged."

Donna blinked again—several times in succession. "You and Carlotta? You and Carlotta snogged?"

"Right... y'know... after the thing."

"The thing?"

"The thing."

"Which thing?"

"_You_ know. The thing."

"Stimpson..." warned Donna.

"You _know_," he continued in an undertone. "I'm not proud of it—I was wasted and I—y'know... felt up your leg a bit. And then you threatened to hex me and said 'not even if you were dead,' and then there was... don't you remember?"

Donna chewed her lip. "You snogged Carlotta."

"Yes."

"And I didn't let you feel me up?"

"You don't remember. _Fuck_."

"I do _too_ remember," said the Gryffindor coldly, regaining herself. "I also remember that you were at the party and have been telling Marlene that you weren't, so if you don't march up to Marlene and tell her what you did, _I_ will."

Donna had never been so proud of herself, but she didn't know why.

"You _are_ a bitch," muttered Miles, slouching away.

For a moment—only a short moment—Donna allowed herself to feel relieved. But then she realized something else—she wasn't wrong. She'd _had _sex. Sex had definitely been had. And now she had no clue who the bloke was... it could be anyone. She might never _know_, and while that might be a good thing, it was slightly... disgusting, too. She might _never_ know...

"Shacklebolt."

Donna turned around at the sound of her surname. A tall Ravenclaw wizard with reddish brown hair, brown eyes, and a light dusting of freckles stood there, wearing a knowing smile.

"Charlie Plex," she said.

"You remember me." He sounded pleased.

"We got to the same school," Donna reminded him coldly. Chit-chat did not interest her right now.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" he asked. Donna shifted her book bag higher up on her shoulder, confusion on her face. "What?" Charlie Plex leaned in close and whispered: "Don't you remember me, Shacklebolt?"

And then she did.

(Seventy-Four Hours Earlier)

_"Don't tell Marlene," said Miles, leaning closer._

_"Don't tell Marlene what?"_

_And then Donna noticed the hand on her leg. "Not even if I were dead, you prick!"_

_"Calm down, Shack..."_

_"I will not... sodding git... unendurable idiocy... prat... that he would... bloody sod!" _

_She reached the door._

_"You're leaving already?" _

_"Yes..."_

_"I'll apparate."_

_"You'll get splinched," Charlie told her. "C'mon—you can floo through the library."_

"_Fine_."

"Alright, here it is..." The pair reached what was, apparently, the library. "Will you need help?" asked the irritatingly sober Charlie.

"_No_." Pause. "_Possibly_."

"C'mon." They moved in the general direction of the fireplace. "You are so pissed," Charlie observed, evidently amused by this detail. Donna, meanwhile, was surveying the floo powder as though she had never seen anything like it.

"Fuck off," she snapped. She looked up at him. "Do you know what I hate?"

"Hufflepuffs?" offered Charlie.

"No. Yes. But also other things."

"Like what?"

"Like..." But they were standing very close, and everything grew fuzzier and fuzzier as the seconds heatedly, loudly slipped passed. "Like..." Donna tried once more, but with no more success.

"Like what?"

"Like..." She grabbed the front of his robes and kissed him, hard on the mouth. It was...

Hazy.

When they broke apart, there was a tingling just below Donna's shoulderblades, which might have been pain if she weren't entirely numb. Her back was pressed roughly against the mantle; they both breathed heavily.

"I have a girlfriend," Charlie muttered, and in future months, Donna would never be quite clear as to whether or not those words meant anything to her intoxicated mind.

She rolled her amber eyes: "Fuck that." And she grabbed his shirt.

(Present Day)

"It was _you_," Donna marveled. "You were the bloke!"

"Don't... don't you remember?" And Charlie Plex's confidence faltered for just a moment. Donna began to laugh.

"Yes, I remember," she said. "Oh my God, you have no idea how happy I am that it was _you_, Plex."

"...O—kay?"

"I mean _you_," Donna went on. "If it's _you_, it was just a one-night-stand. It was... it was nothing. I can literally forget this ever happened. Thank _God_."

Charlie's face twisted into a sardonic sort of scowl. "That's classy, Shacklebolt."

Donna glared: "Says the bloke who has a girlfriend and still slept with a completely piss drunk bird."

The Ravenclaw took a step closer, and for the shortest of seconds, Donna felt as though she were back in that heated, spinning, blurry, ringing silent library. A shot or two in her and she might have kissed him again. "You aren't exactly innocent in this," Charlie whispered. He winked, stepped back, and retreated. Donna caught her breath.

(Want)

Buried beneath a pile of books roughly comparable to the Great Wall of China and the knowledge that there was no end to this homework pandemic in sight, Frank Longbottom heaved a heavy, world-weary sigh. The woes of a seventh year were great indeed. Topping off that list at the moment, Frank realized as he tried and failed once again to concentrate on the blank scroll before him, was the fact that even the library did not seem free from distraction for an unfortunate, homework laden student.

It was that stupid first year.

She wasn't _trying_ to be a bother, Frank knew, but the pitiful eleven-year-old had spent the last half hour stumbling through the aisles of books, knocking over other students' belongings, and just making noise in general. Mrs. Sevoy had already given her two warnings, but while the librarian had slipped away to the back, the first year witch had loudly spilled the contents of her book bag in the main area, before clueless-ly inquiring to everyone studying therein about the location of the Potions section.

"Would it make me a bad person if I hexed her?" mumbled Adam McKinnon, who shared a table with Frank.

"Not if I do it first," replied Frank, as the first year—having received directions from an irritable Hufflepuff—scampered off to the Potions section. "You are so lucky that you aren't a seventh year, McKinnon."

"Not really," lamented Adam. "I mean, I've got all of this work, _plus_ the work I'll have to do next year ahead of me."

"Good point." The first year was now making a noisy business of fetching a book on a high shelf. "Good _Merlin_, you have got to be kidding me."

"Just—just try to ignore it," Adam advised unhelpfully. The sixth year opened his own textbook and began, with great effort, to read the assigned pages. Frank picked up his quill once more and started out writing the opening to his essay. As the ink dripped down upon the blank, taunting parchment, he had never felt so uninspired.

An almighty crash that caused everyone in the library to jump did not aid his muse.

"For the love of _Merlin!" _someone shrieked, as the troublesome first year in question emerged, noisily apologetic.

"I'm sorry!" the young witch insisted, and a splash of books across the floor told them that she had apparently pulled down an entire shelf. "Really—I just reached, and..."

"No one cares!" cried a seventh year Ravenclaw girl, Marissa, who happened to be the Head Girl. Marissa had risen from her own table and was red with fury. "For Agrippa's sake, you've done nothing but make noise and _annoy_ everyone in here since you came in! This is the one place anyone can actually study at this school, and _you_ have sodding ruined it, you stupid, useless, _noisy_ brat!"

Gathering her things, Marissa stormed out of the library, followed by several of her friends, and then by several, embarrassed looking others. Adam looked at Frank. "To be fair," said the latter, "Marissa's had a _really_ bad week."

"She's right," someone at a table nearby muttered. "Sodding firstie."

"Can you just get the books and leave?" a fourth year girl asked of the first year, who was still pale from the Head Girl's shouts. "People are trying to work here."

"But I didn't find..."

"Do you have any idea how much Transfiguration McGonagall assigned this week?" another boy demanded. "And my common room is so loud, I can't get any work done there..."

"Yeah, me too."

"Me, too!"

Suddenly, everyone seemed to be watching the first year expectantly. She blushed and chewed her lip, averting her eyes to the books which lay strewn across the floor. "I—I guess," she began to mumble, "I'll c-c-c-come back later, and..."

"Everyone, get back to work," said a new voice. "I'll deal with this, alright? I'm serious." Alice Griffiths emerged from a stack of books in the corner—she had as much homework as Frank did; he knew that for a fact, as they took nearly all the same classes. "What's your name, anyway?" Alice continued in an undertone to the first year.

But the young witch was on the verge of hysterics. "I-I-I'm s-so sorry... I didn't—didn't... I don't usually c-c-come to the l-library, and..."

A few people groaned.

"Get back to work!" Alice repeated. Her hands were shaking (they always did when she was furious), but her tone was steady as she whispered (Frank was straining and could only just hear): "Dear, what's your name?"

"Caydence."

"Caydence, what books do you need?"

"I—I have a list," murmured Caydence, with tears in her eyes. She handed a slip of parchment to Alice, who read it, chewed her lip, and then—raising her wand, murmured a few words. At once, four or five books flew from various shelves throughout the library, landing in a neat, levitating stack before Alice. The seventh year took hold of them and handed them to Caydence, before once more flicking her wand. The books on the floor flew up to their proper shelf.

Alice replaced her wand in the pocket of her robes, pushing a strand of blond hair behind her ears. "Thank you," whispered Caydence. "I'll just... go."

"Wait," said Alice. She hesitated, then said: "You don't know how to use those books, do you?"

"Well, I'll f-f-figure..."

"There's room at my table," Alice interrupted, sighing. "C'mon—I'll help you. But you have to whisper, and... maybe you shouldn't walk around too much, yeah?"

The first year smiled a watery smile. "Yeah, alright," she croaked, following Alice to her table.

"Frank?" asked Adam, nearly a minute later, as the sixth year looked up from his reading to see that his friend looked as though he had seen a werewolf.

"W-what?" Frank seemed to snap out of something. "I—um—what did you say?"

"I didn't say anything," said Adam, bewildered. "You alright, mate?"

No, Frank was not alright. He had never been so confused in his life—so torn between the calmness and horror that self knowledge can bring. Damn it.

"No," said Frank, looking at Adam, wide-eyed. He shook his head. "I'm not alright."

"W-w-what happened?" asked Adam. "Is it the homework?"

It wasn't the homework. It wasn't a week of stressful Head Boy duties, or the fact that his mother wrote that her brother was in St. Mungo's again. It wasn't the twist in his gut he felt every time someone said Carlotta Meloni's name, or that she had so coyly informed him that she had "met up with" someone at Charlie Plex's Christmas party. It wasn't the homework.

It was that Alice Geraldine Griffiths was completely perfect.

It was that Alice Geraldine Griffiths was completely perfect, and for the first time in months, he had clarity. If Carlotta were there just now, Frank would've been able to answer all of her questions—he would have been able to tell her everything she had wanted to know since this whole business started. For the first time in a very, very long time, Frank Longbottom knew exactly what he wanted.

Alice Geraldine Griffiths was completely perfect.

And he didn't stand a chance.

(Lessons)

"Lily!" Donna practically shrieked, bursting into the dormitory with nothing short of glee on her face. Lily, who had only just arrived herself to deposit her books before heading down to supper, turned about in confusion.

"Donna! Is everything okay?" asked the redhead, worried at the manic nature of her friend's greeting.

"I didn't sleep with him," said Donna, very quickly.

"_What_?"

"I didn't sleep with Miles—I only thought I did. He felt me up—I'm fairly certain I told him no. He made out with..." Donna suddenly realized the irony; "He made out with Carlotta Meloni, apparently, but... I don't know anything about that. Don't tell Marlene. The point is, I was wrong. I didn't shag Miles. It was Charlie Plex. I..."

Donna's story of post-Christmas affairs contained many lessons. In years to come, she could very knowledgably have warned against drinking to excess. She could have warned about the dangers of attending disreputable parties, _especially _alone, and she could have warned about the many potential disasters arriving from promiscuity with a nameless, faceless someone. She might have warned about stereotypes such behavior encourages, or the risk it puts to one's very life. There were a great many lessons to be learned from Donna's disasters, and at that moment—two days after her reasonably trashy encounter with one Charlie Plex, Donna Shacklebolt learned one more lesson.

Always check the bathroom.

"_Don't tell Marlene_?" quoted a quiet, somewhat raspy and utterly disbelieving voice, coming from that very room. Marlene appeared on the threshold between the lavatory and the dorm, and the look on her face—like she had just been punched in the stomach—told both Lily and Donna that she had heard every word uttered.

"Marlene..." began the latter, with no idea what she was supposed to say. Without looking at her, Marlene pushed past, exiting the dormitory and slamming the door behind her. Donna looked helplessly to Lily.

_Fuck_.

(Happy New Year)

In 1976, Marlene would forgive and forget. Almost.

In 1976, Adam would give up. Almost.

In 1976, Alice would do something impulsive, Carlotta would lose her best friend, Sirius would learn to fly all over again, and Severus would lose the one thing he ever wanted to win. In 1976, Donna would make a bad decision. Repeatedly.

In 1976, Remus Lupin would wake up alone, Frank Longbottom would buy a book, Mary Macdonald would make an impression, and Peter Pettigrew would lose faith.

In 1976, Lily Evans would kiss James Potter. Or was it the other way around?

But more on that (much, much) later.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you liked the random teases at the beginning and the end—I thought they might help you get through, because there simply isn't enough Lily-and-James action! This is a gynormous chapter, I realize, and I hope you were able to sift through all the drama and realize that some majorly important _plot_ transpired... el gasp! More Donna drama on the horizon... I hope you don't like Charlie... not because he meets with any unfortunate fate or anything; I just think he's a tool. But it's up to you. Tell me what you think, won't ya? And don't throw things at me for all the suds (soap opera, get it? I'm so humorous), because that just makes me cry.

Reviews are Frank realizing he wants Alice.

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	14. Two Steps Forward

**A/N: **Originally entitled "A Very James Chapter" this is all about James Potter. I love James, and something occurs in this chapter that every dutiful citizen of the twenty-first century will (dutifully) advocate.

**Disclaimer: **Universe, song, and Lucky cigarettes, consider yourselves disclaimed.

**Recap: **James learns from the newspaper that Luke Harper's (Lily's boyfriend) _brother_ is probably a death eater. The Harpers' Hogsmeade shop, meanwhile, is implicated in the investigation of the attempted suicides at the beginning of the year. Alice moves on from Frank. Frank realizes that he's still in love with Alice. Donna believes she hooked up with Marlene's boyfriend, Miles, and even though she didn't, she accidentally spills Miles' misbehavior to Marlene.

Chapter 14- Two Steps Forward

Or

"Faith in Something Bigger"

This was it.

"This is it, Prongs," murmured Remus gravely, clapping his mate on the shoulder.

Tense, James nodded. "I know that, Moony," he snapped in an undertone. "I know that, alright? Just... just give me a minute, yeah?"

"A minute," said Sirius breathily. "Yeah. You got it. Whatever you need. Take your time, Prongs. Leave 'em alone, Moony."

"I was just..."

"Shhhh!" hushed Peter. "They'll hear." The Marauders—sans James—cast wary looks over their shoulders at the gathering of Gryffindors watching and waiting across the Common Room.

James stood a few paces from the other three, his back to them as well, one hand extended to his temples. He squinted his closed eyes, chewing his lip and concentrating hard. He could hear Sirius, Remus, and Peter bickering in attempted muted tones, but then forced his mind back onto the matter at hand. This was it.

And then it struck him.

James's body visibly relaxed; his shoulders fell to a more natural level and his back grew straight. He exhaled deeply, and a slight, self-satisfied smirk began to spread across his lips. The other three Marauders, craning to get a clear view, noticed.

"Oh, thank _Merlin_," said Sirius, inaudible to anyone but the four of them. James paid him no heed. He spun theatrically around to face not only the Marauders but the two or three dozen other Gryffindors, some of whom watched James with skepticism, some with excitement, but all with a certain anticipation.

The Quidditch Captain ran a hand through his already terribly disorderly hair. Noting the expectant faces of his housemates, James stepped forward, moving through the Marauders and up to the front of the small crowd gathered across the room. He stopped the advance when he was a few steps from the foremost member of the group, and he began to pace along the front line, flexing his fingers pensively.

This was it.

James halted quite suddenly, about halfway down the line. He spun around again, and walked directly towards a fifth year girl—a cute blonde with round eyes and a button nose.

"Elaine Pleasance," said James seriously, and several people—including the blonde, Elaine—gasped. "Elaine Pleasance, it was you."

"I—I..."

James held up his hand, calling for silence among the crowd. "It was you," he repeated. "And..." He touched his hand to his temple once again, as though a sudden headache had seized him. He winced, chewed his lip, cocked his head, and went through a series of similar gestures that no one around him really seemed to understand, until at last, James's face became solemn once again. "Twelve."

Elaine stared, blinking as though in awe. "H-h-how did you...?" She stopped and began to smile. Shaking her curly haired head, Elaine began to clap. Suddenly, she wasn't alone, as the rest of the common room broke into applause as well. James grinned, bowing slightly to them all. He started to turn back towards the other Marauders, but a voice stopped him.

"That doesn't prove anything," protested Bertram Aubrey, a fifth year prefect, indignantly. "None if it does. Maybe it was Occlumency... if she was thinking of..." Bertram had held his head quite high, until James crossed towards him. The younger (shorter) wizard broke off, seeming to shrink as James approached. James, meanwhile, sent him a very, very piercing look, saying nothing for nearly a minute. Then—

"Daisy Hookum."

Bertram attempted to maintain some composure as he faintly inquired: "W-what?"

"Daisy Hookum," repeated James, quite naturally. "You asked her to the next Hogsmeade weekend, didn't you?"

"I—I… but... how could you know...?" spluttered Bertram. "Y-y-y-you couldn't possibly... no one was... alone, and…"

James clapped a hand on the fifth year's shoulders. "Cheer up, Aubrey. I mean, the way I'm seeing it..." He paused to touch his index and forefingers to his forehead, allowing a few seconds for the words to resonate, "...she said 'yes.' And, to tell you the truth, mate, you should feel honored. True, she probably only accepted out of pity, but, let's face it..." James leaned in confidentially; "Daisy Hookum is _way_ out of your league. Actually... I'm not quite sure she's playing the same game..."

This earned approving laughter—and then applause—from the group; Bertram Aubrey flushed red, but made no more remonstrations. James, meanwhile, winked at Elaine, and turned to face the other three Marauders. Peter enthusiastically applauded with the others; Remus tried to look disapproving, but smirked—partially amused, partially disbelieving, partially relieved—and shook his head. Sirius, on the other hand, positively beamed, starting towards his best mate. When the two were parallel to one another, Sirius pretended to shake his hand, while leaning close and muttering: "You are one lucky bastard, James Potter."

James grinned. "Not lucky, Padfoot. Not _lucky_."

Sirius merely shook his head, moving past James towards the group of chattering students. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you. Thank-you for your time, thank-you for your refusal to believe in my mate's extraordinary talents, and most of all, thank-you for your money and valuables." He turned gleefully towards a table off to the side, atop of which was stacked a fair amount of money—knuts, sickles, galleons, and even a wristwatch.

Peter joined Sirius in examination of their newly acquired wealth, while Remus joined James in sitting on the nearest sofa. The chattering crowd dispersed, and Remus chuckled, almost in spite of himself.

"What?" inquired James, amused. "You didn't think I could do it?"

"I can't believe you just convinced the entire Gryffindor house that you could read minds, no," said Remus quietly so that the housemates would not overhear. "I never thought I'd say this, but, blimey, I'm glad Padfoot insisted we sneak down to the kitchens last night... if we hadn't overheard Bertram under the cloak..."

"You were really invested in this," James remarked, amused. "'Didn't want to see your best mate look bad, did you?"

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Sirius took five galleons from me and put it into the betting pool," he pointed out dryly. "Speaking of which... _hey, Black!_" Remus rose from the couch and made his way towards the spoils in order to claim what his undoubtedly his. James was left alone, but only for a moment.

Lily Evans appeared. Flustered and preoccupied, she did not seem to notice James at all. She dropped to her knees and began to look below the sofa, around the end table, under cushions. James arched an eyebrow, but allowed her to continue the search without commentary. At length, Lily got to her feet and looked to James.

"Have you seen a book?" she inquired.

"Many in my lifetime, actually."

"Clever," deadpanned Lily, crossing her arms. "It's an Herbology book... I've searched everywhere, and I can't find it."

"Have you tried '_Accio_?'"

"I did," said the prefect. "But I can't remember the title... it's something really long... _Thirteen Styles of Vegetation and Other…_ I don't know, something like that. It's got a green cover, and the picture of the author is on the back... a twitchy wizard with a mustache...?" She trailed off hopefully.

"Sounds boring," remarked James.

"It _is_ bor..." Lily began to say, but she paused. "It's educational."

"Like I said... _sounds_ _boring_. Why do you need it, anyway? Our Herbology homework was to draw a picture of a tree. Have I mentioned recently how much I love that class?"

"I... I borrowed it," muttered Lily, pushing what she imagined to be flyaway tendril behind her ear. "That is, it was lent to me, and I told Luke I'd return it today, and I'm late, and for Merlin's sake, have _you_ _seen it_?"

James nodded solemnly, and Lily visibly brightened.

"When? Where?"

"Just now," said James. He tapped the side of his head mysteriously. "Up here."

Lily rolled her eyes. "You may be able to convince everyone else that you're a seer or a mind reader or a psychic or whatever, but, James, _I_ took two years of Divination with you: I was there when Professor Seastone said you were the least spiritually perceptive person he had ever encountered. _Where's the book?"_

"I am _sensing_," James persisted stubbornly, "that it is somewhere in that part of the Common Room." He pointed to another quarter of the room, and Lily hastened over. James got to his feet and followed. "Professor Seastone is as dodgy as they come; if he can see the future, why didn't he see that not-so-rogue stink pellet coming at him in third year?"

Lily briefly paused in her search for the book. "You threw a stink pellet at Professor Seastone? He's about eight-six years old!"

"He said I was the least spiritually perceptive person he had ever encountered!" James protested defensively. "'Total bunk, too. I'm _quite_ spiritually perceptive."

Lily arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?"

"Didn't you see me winning all that money a minute ago?"

"You mean," said the witch, resuming an examination of a stack of books on the corner table, "did I see you taking the mickey out of Bertram Aubrey?"

"Is that all you got out of the demonstration?"

"Please," scoffed Lily. "I've seen the cloak—it's not all unreasonable to suppose you overheard Aubrey asking out Daisy Hookum during your... nighttime tomfoolery... and _yes_," she cut him off, "I _did_ say 'tomfoolery.'"

James grinned. "And what about all of the other 'spiritually perceptive' things I've done today."

"You're a sneak," said Lily lightly. "I don't find it ridiculous that you and your friends know secrets about half the school."

"Alright," allowed the Quidditch Captain, folding his arms, "But how would I know Elaine Pleasance was the one they picked to choose a number?"

"Well..." Lily finished searching one stack and moved to another table; "it would be simple enough for Sirius or Remus or Peter to cast a quick '_Protego'_ so they wouldn't be affected by Adam McKinnon's '_muffliato_;' then they might overhear Elaine being picked and... well, given the strange things I've seen you lot get up to, I wouldn't be surprised if they found a way to signal you." Lily paused. "In fact, the only thing I don't have quite figured out is how you would know Daisy Hookum picked the number twelve." She sent him a slightly curious look.

"Do you want to know?" asked James conspiratorially, and in response, she half shrugged, half nodded. He leaned close and murmured: "I can read minds."

Lily cocked her head. "What am I thinking right now?"

James pretended to concentrate, and then he looked at Lily as though scandalized. "Too dirty to say out loud!"

She repressed a laugh. "Twat. I was thinking: _tell me where my bloody book is."_

"Don't you mean Prince Charming's bloody book?"

"_Potter_."

"Over there somewhere." He pointed to another table in the area, and Lily headed over. He once again pursued.

"What's the rush anyway, Snaps? Afraid Prince Charming will find someone else to lend boring books?"

"I'm late, that's all," Lily replied airily. "I told Luke I would meet him at six."

James glanced at the grandfather clock across the room. "You've got a minute and half till you're dishonest."

"And it takes five minutes to get to the library," Lily finished, checking the bindings of another pile of books. "I don't want to keep Luke waiting. Agrippa knows he's got enough to bother him without that... and he's always extremely punctual."

"What a turn on," muttered James sardonically. Lily warned him with a look. "I guess," he resumed after a few seconds, "I guess the real question is: _why_ are you running late this evening? Did _something_ distract you?" He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets and a slightly suggestive smile on his lips.

"Yes." She started looking through the stray books. "But not you and your little 'seer' demonstration. Donna and Marlene were bickering... guess who got to play referee."

James nodded. "I thought I noticed an increase in cold-traffic stare lately."

"It's ridiculous," Lily sighed. "Everyone in my dorm is feuding right now. Marlene's angry with Donna because Donna lied to her about Miles about snogging Miles... or not snogging miles, and Marlene's angry with Carlotta for _actually_ snogging Miles, and Mary's angry with Carlotta for being a tart, and Carlotta's angry with Mary for thinking she's a tart, and Donna... well, Donna's always angry." The redhead stopped suddenly, as though uncertain as to why she was telling all of this to James.

"That would never happen in a boys' dormitory," he noted. "We have so much healthier ways of dealing with our problems."

"Physical violence?"

"Absolutely."

"Potter."

"Yes?"

"Where is my book?"

James grinned. "How would _I_ know? It's not like I'm a _seer_." He turned and started towards the other three Marauders.

"James Potter, you're a _twat_."

(Ill)

One Friday afternoon in the middle of January, Peter drew the metaphoric short straw and was thus designated to carry his three friends' Herbology books and supplies up to the dormitory, while James and Sirius escorted a very pale Remus to the Infirmary.

"If anyone asks," began Remus, who slumped along as though barely able to hold himself up, "I'm going home for the weekend, because..."

"Your Mum is ill," supplied James. "Yes, we know. She's ill again, and the Healers think it's more serious this time. We know the story."

"Don't elaborate too much," Remus instructed crossly (he was always in a foul mood before his "disappearances"), "it makes it obvious.'

"Moony," chided a weary Sirius, "it's not as though James and I are solely responsible for spreading your alibi. The _teachers_ say the same thing if anyone asks. You don't have to worry so much."

"Easy for you to say," grumbled Remus. They reached the doors to the Hospital Wing, and he checked to make sure they were, indeed, alone. He had nothing to worry about. At a few minutes till five, most students were still in class. Indeed, so would the four Marauders be, if they had decided to go. "Be careful, tonight, alright? January's rough."

"Every month is rough," James reminded him. "We'll be there just after dark, yeah?"

Remus nodded. "And since I won't be up to going tomorrow, good luck on the match against Ravenclaw."

"The game isn't till one o'clock," said James.

"We'll stop by before then, if you're up," finished Sirius.

"But you'll want to sleep," Remus protested in a cautious whisper. "I feel rotten enough as it is having you out all night with the match the next day... you ought to get a few hours of sleep at _least_."

"Rubbish," said James. "We've been sleeping through Transfiguration all week in preparation. Don't worry about it, and stop being a girl."

"Holloway's waiting," agreed Sirius. "Go on, Lupin."

"You're both rubbish mates," Remus informed them grouchily. "And so is Peter, even though he's not here."

"Yes, we know," said Sirius. "Go on."

Their friend begrudgingly complied, slouching into the Hospital Wing like an injured dog. When he was gone, Padfoot turned to Prongs.

"What now then? Supper won't be out for at least twenty minutes..."

"I don't know," admitted James. "We could flood the Slytherin Common Room. I've wanted to do that for weeks."

Sirius smirked. "You see, _this_ is why we're friends."

The boys moved away from the infirmary, and James withdrew from his pocket the folded up parchment that was The Marauders' Map. "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," announced the wizard, tapping the map's surface with his wand, and at once, ink sprawled across the page. "Fourth floor, fourth floor," murmured James, finding their location easily. When beginning something as elaborate as flooding Slytherin Common Room, one ought to know who was around and where he might have a believable alibi. "Strange," remarked James, glancing about their surroundings as represented on the map.

"What is?" asked Sirius.

"We're not the only ones to skip out on Herbology," James told him. "Have a look, then." Sirius did.

"What's _Snivellus_ doing only one floor below us?" he demanded suspiciously. "You don't think he heard...?"

"He wasn't on our floor," James interrupted confidently, shaking his head. "He couldn't have overheard. But I wouldn't put it past the creep to be following us."

Sirius hesitated. "You know, it seems like it would be rude, us knowing that he's so close by and then not paying him a visit."

"Where _are_ our manners?" agreed James seriously.

"Do you have the cloak?" asked Padfoot, causing the other to scoff.

"What a question."

A few minutes later, James was tucking his silvery Invisibility Cloak back into the inside pocket of his robes, while Sirius peered around the corner at Snape, who seemed to be deep in thought on a loan bench on the side of the third floor corridor.

"What's he _doing_?" wondered the Marauder, baffled.

"No idea," said James, matching his friend's tone as he surveyed the scene. "Plotting our deaths, maybe?"

"'Wonder why he skived off Herbology," Sirius mumbled.

"It's _Herbology_," James pointed out. "Does there have to be a reason?"

"Fair enough." Sirius drew his wand. "What do you reckon, then? Read about any new hexes lately?"

"No," said James, and Sirius scowled.

"Prongs," he said, "what the bloody hell is the point of you _reading_ all the sodding time, if you're not going to have anything to show for it when it matters?"

"I've been prepping for the Quidditch match," James defended himself. "I haven't had much time for reading. Just use one of your favorites."

Sirius made a face. He readied his wand and looked about to act, but hesitated.

"What are you waiting for?" asked James, and Sirius looked at his friend anxiously.

"Something's wrong," he said. "It's not working."

"Your wand?"

"No... _this_. This isn't working."

James arched his eyebrows. "What are you talking about, Padfoot?"

"I'm not feeling it," said Sirius. "I don't _want _to hex Snape. Here... you do it."

Sadly, James shook his head. "I don't want to do it either," he confessed. "This is weird. What's the matter with us?"

"Are we getting old?"

"We're only sixteen."

"Going on seventeen."

"The difference is negligible."

"Is it? _Is it_, Prongs? Then why in Dumbledore's name don't we have any energy to do what we do best?"

"And when did we start using 'Dumbledore' to swear by?"

"_Exactly! _By God, Prongs, what's happened to us?"

James crossed his arms. "Well, I know what's happened to _you_," he said, earning him a curious look from Sirius. "Parental supervision."

Sirius frowned. "It would have to be _very_ super vision, as my parents live in London, Prongs."

"Well, it's not strictly 'parental,'" James admitted. "_Adult_ supervision, I suppose. It's Professor Black that's got to you. You don't go looking for trouble like you used to."

"Bullshit," argued Sirius petulantly. "If anything, it's _you_... you and your seventy four detentions. You don't want to get in trouble, and I'm abstaining out of courtesy."

"Bullshit," echoed James. The two boys stood in temporary stalemate for several seconds, just staring at each other with suspicion.

"Maybe we're maturing," suggested Sirius at length. "Maybe this is that thing they're always calling 'self-restraint.'"

"Don't be thick. It's only 'self-restraint' if you _want_ to do something and don't. We don't want to. We're not mature... we're just old."

Sirius's handsome face contorted into a somewhat childlike frown. "That's sad," he observed. James nodded.

"Kitchens?"

"Yes, please."

They were about to start in that direction, when it became apparent that neither had been paying very close attention to Snape on his bench. He had deserted his seat and was upon the two Marauders before either noticed.

"What are _you_ doing here?" demanded the Slytherin venomously.

Smothering his surprise, Sirius held his head high and replied: "Same question, Snivellus."

"I have a note from Healer Holloway," said Snape coldly. Then, something like mirth spread over his thin lips and eyes. "I'm a prefect. I could dock points."

"Will that make you feel important?" asked James. His hazel eyes burrowed into Snape's black, daring him to do as he threatened. Snape broke away first.

"You're not worth my time," he spat.

James grinned. "Right. Of course." The Quidditch Captain could tell, instinctively, that his friend's hand was getting twitchy with regards to his wand, and James nudged Sirius's arm. "Let's go, yeah?"

"Your call, old man," replied Sirius carelessly. With something between a grin and glare, he moved quickly past Snape, followed closely by James. "Is _that_ what they call 'self-restraint?'" Padfoot inquired casually, as they walked away.

"I dunno. It depends. How much did you want it?"

Sirius never did answer that question. The sound like a flame igniting came from somewhere behind them, but as James spun around to see what had happened, Sirius went flying forward, hitting the floor some distance away and skidding. Before James could so much as draw his wand, he felt his body seize up, pulled by some invisible force which swept him into the air. He was too familiar with the levicorpus curse to be confused by the time he was hanging upside down, strung up by his ankle.

Snape's wand was pointed directly at him, orchestrating this, but—as quick as the Slytherin was—he did not react quickly enough when James drew his own wand. Still upside down, he fired a curse at Snape, who was hit in the arm by the jet of blue light. James fell to the found in a heap, and he heard something crack as a pain shot through his leg. Still, Snape was recovering quickly, leaving the Gryffindor no time to tend to his wounds. Before Snape was on his feet again, James wordlessly shot a disarming spell at his opponent, flattening Snape again and sending his wand rolling away.

James gasped in pain, trying to straighten his limp leg. He grabbed his shin, locating the source of pain, and jabbed it with his wand. Another crack and the throbbing subsided without vanishing. James breathed again; he was starting to get to his feet again, when an invisible force pushed him onto his back and pulled the wand from his grasp.

Snape had recovered quicker than he thought.

The Slytherin stood with wand readied, and he advanced upon James. The Gryffindor awaited his fate with a determined face and set jaw. Snape came very close, and though his eyes were fixed on James, he said nothing. That alone was unusual—no taunt, joke, or declaration of victory. Not even an insult?

Snape continued to advance towards James (who was still, but propped up on his elbows now), and the closer he came, the clearer James's view became. Snape's expression was unreadable. His eyes were not spiteful or pleased or anything that they ought to have been... he stared at James but did not seem to see him at all. And when he was very close, wand still aimed at James's heart, Severus hesitated.

James did not waste time wondering why. He aimed a kick at Snape's knee cap, causing the Slytherin to stumble backwards. James had just enough time to get to his feet (his weak leg throbbed) and make a grab for Snape's wand arm. He took the Slytherin's wrist, wrenching his weapon free a moment later. It fell to the ground, clattering and rolling towards the wall, but James didn't notice. Suddenly, the world was very quiet, and James didn't notice much of anything.

He was vaguely conscious that his leg hurt, that Snape had attacked _him_, and that Sirius lay unconscious somewhere not far off. Then he was conscious of a new pain, in his knuckles, and then the rest of his right hand. He realized why, as the image before him came into focus. Snape's body contorted, reacting to the contact of James's fist and his cheek. He fell backwards, sliding along the stone floor.

James grabbed his opponent's wand and his own, and had them both pointed at Snape before the Slytherin could recover from the punch.

"What the _hell_ is your problem?" shouted James. Surging through his veins was anger and adrenaline and _why wasn't Sirius awake?_

Snape said nothing. He winced a little from the pain in his face, but otherwise remained expressionless. His eyes were vacant, almost apathetic, which just made James angrier. He wanted nothing more than to rain every hex he could contrive down on Snape, throw him across the corridor so that he flapped to the floor like a doll—like Sirius.

And yet...

James's arm buckled back and, with all the energy inside him, he threw Snape's wand as far as he possibly could. It hit the wall and ricocheted back, rolling along the ground till it hit another wall. Without a look at Snape, James turned on his heel and jogged at first, then sprinted, to Sirius's side. The other Marauder was just coming to.

"I'm fine," mumbled Padfoot before James could ask. He rubbed the back of his head.

"Hospital Wing?"

Sirius shook his head. "I've had worse. I've _fixed_ worse. Let me just set my legs, and I can do the rest in the dorm. Where's Snape?"

"Never mind it," said James quickly. Sirius fixed his bruised leg in about ten seconds, and then James helped his friend to his feet. They started towards Gryffindor tower, and James glanced over his shoulder at where Snape had fallen, but he was gone.

"But why would Snivellus hesitate?" Sirius was wondering aloud, nearly half an hour later, when James had related the details of the fight to Peter and him in the boys' dormitory. They sat on Remus's bed, the Marauders' Map flattened between the three.

"No idea," James admitted.

"Maybe he was trying to come up with something _really_ painful," Peter suggested.

"Maybe all of that grease has finally started to affect his brain," Sirius suggested. James shook his head.

"No, it was... bizarre," he said pensively. "He was definitely hesitating... like he wasn't certain if he really wanted to do what he was about to do. He got all... blank-faced... I don't think he was paying attention to me at all."

"Snivellus is _always_ paying attention to you," Sirius pointed out. "Creepily, so. It's something of an obsession, if you ask me. The only person he's more rabid about is..."

"I know what I saw," James interrupted. "I can't explain it, but I _know_ what I saw." A moment of silence settled between the three boys, and then James spoke up again. "Anyway, we'd better get to the map. This wing is acting up, is it?" He pointed to segment of the map.

"Yes, Peter spilled pumpkin juice, and now people start disappearing if they move to that side of the castle."

"Sorry."

"No worries, Wormtail," said James. He drew his wand. "We needed to add the new passage anyway. So... shall we?"

(The Hangover)

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

He didn't open his eyes at once, but chose instead to stay still, eyes closed tight as he breathed and listened to the beat of his own heart. Slowly, things began to slide into focus in his mind—he was conscious of clean, cool sheets and a soft bed enveloping him. He was in the Hospital Wing.

He was alive.

Nothing had gone wrong.

It was going to be alright.

The first waking moments were always the worst—the first seconds after a night like that, when he couldn't quite remember much at all... when he wasn't quite sure about anything... when he didn't know what he would see when he opened his eyes. Brief terror gripped his stomach as he tried to recollect...

He opened his eyes.

"Aaaaand he's awake," announced Sirius Black's voice. Remus found just enough energy to look around and spot the speaker, Sirius himself, sitting on a stool at his bedside. James sat across from Sirius—to Remus's right—and Peter was near his feet. Curtains enclosed the lot of them, no doubt at the discretion of Healer Holloway. Sirius's exclamation caused the other two Marauders turned to verify the third's claim.

"Good morning, Moony," said James cheerfully. "Sleep well?"

Remus cleared his throat. "Funny," he croaked sarcastically. "What time is it?"

"Oh, quarter past ten or so," Sirius estimated. "We were expecting you to sleep for another half hour at least..."

"Well," began Remus, "I—I—I..." But he stopped. A lump grew in his throat, and he automatically grabbed for the bucket that Healer Holloway had left on the nightstand, vomiting into it.

A minute later, he was finished, and—coughing and wiping cold sweat from his pale brow—Remus lay back in bed. Sirius vanished the contents of the bucket with his wand.

"That's got to be the last of the rat," he mused casually, causing Remus's grey eyes to grow wide.

"You let me eat a rat?" he demanded.

"To be fair," James interjected, "we thought it was Wormtail."

"Well, thanks," said Peter sarcastically.

"Well, you got it all up, Moony," Sirius cheerily went on. "That's the important part. I'm sure you won't get any diseases from it now. So..." he looked about the group expectantly; "who's up for breakfast?"

"Don't even say the word," groaned Remus. James handed the patient a green tinted bottle from the nearest table.

"Holloway left this for you. It should help the nausea."

Remus took the indicated potion, and when he was finished wincing at the sour taste left in his mouth, he added: "Does Holloway know you're here?"

"'Course," said Peter. "He's in his office, now." Remus did not seem pleased. "I don't see how it matters if he knows that we know about you... as long as he doesn't know what we've done about it."

"I agree," Sirius agreed. "Now... breakfast."

"Be patient," James ordered. "Moony needs a minute for the potion to take action." Loath as he was to admit it, Remus had noticed that Holloway's medicine was taking effect quickly. He sat up a little straighter in the cot.

"So... last night," he began.

"It was good for me," said James. "Was it good for you?"

"Ha, ha," deadpanned Remus. "But... everything went fine, didn't it? Some of it's a little hazy, still."

"Besides the rat," said Sirius. "Don't worry about it, Moony. Everything went... more than fine, actually."

"We'll talk about that later," James continued quickly. "Holloway could come at any minute."

"Yes, Mum," Sirius teased, but he complied nonetheless. "So—you're stomach alright there, Moony? Good." He smiled and pulled a brown paper bag from the floor, setting it on the edge of Remus's bed. "Breakfast time."

"I really don't think that's a good idea..." mumbled Remus, clutching his stomach

"The potion," James reminded him, also pulling a paper bag on the other side of the bed. "And anyway, you don't want the last thing you ate to be a rat, do you?"

Sirius was searching through his bag. "Alright, I've got... eggs, bacon, bangers, and drop scones..."

"Mine," declared Peter, and Sirius handed his friend what appeared to be a plate tied up in a cloth napkin.

"This," James interjected, withdrawing a similarly packaged dish and peering through an opening near the knot of the napkin, "has crepes, sausage, kippers, white pudding, eggs, bacon... way, way, way too much food. This must be yours, Black."

"They didn't forget the _pain au chocolat_, did they?" asked Sirius anxiously.

James handed him the dish. "No, it's there, you prat." The Quidditch Captain took another plate from his bag, and checked its contents. "Toast, one egg, fruit, sausage... Moony's, I believe." He set it on the nightstand. "Do you have mine, Sirius?"

"Right here, Prongs," replied Sirius, handing over a fourth covered dish. "And you have the extra potatoes."

"And you have the salt, pepper, and butter?"

"That's right."

"Who's got the marmalade?" Peter wanted to know.

"It's here."

Sirius drew his wand and flicked it a few times. The salt and pepper shakers, as well as a tray of yellow butter and a marmalade jar flew out of the paper bag and levitated in midair somewhere between the four boys over the bed. They remained there even after Sirius had returned his wand to the pocket of his robes.

"Oi," said James, pulling out two long, cylindrical containers from the bag. "Last item. Coffee or tea, Moony?"

Remus surveyed his friends. "You lot are idiots, you know," he informed them. "Bringing all this food down here—Holloway _has_ breakfast for me. Healthy, substantial… the sort of thing I ought to be…"

"You're welcome, Moony," James interrupted. "Now, coffee or tea?"

"And I've got butterbeer for a little later," Peter added.

"Oi," said Sirius, "and I almost forgot—chocolate." He set a bar on the bed-side table. Remus considered them all and then sighed.

"You're not rubbish, as far as mates go, you know."

"We know," said Sirius.

Remus nodded. "Tea, Prongs."

"Right away, Moony."

The waking moments after a full moon were, for Remus J. Lupin, the worst. The truth of it was that he was a werewolf… for more than ten years now, he had been such, and for more than ten years, he had feared, more than anything else, those first moments after the whole thing. The uncertainty, the ache…

And for _just under_ ten years, Remus J. Lupin had done all of that alone.

Now, he had breakfast.

(Lucky)

While Remus napped, Sirius prepared for the Quidditch match, and Peter idolized the latter, James set out for the Quidditch pitch. More than an hour early, he arrived before even the Ravenclaw Captain, and he found himself reveling in the solitude of the quiet pitch. If they won the game that afternoon, he would be surrounded by people long into the night—a pleasant prospect, but one which James sought now to balance with a little healthy isolation. If they lost... well, to tell the truth, he never thought about the "if they lost" possibility before a game. It was bad luck, and it depressed him.

The pitch had been cleared of snow, but the cold wind remained, and James wouldn't have changed it if he could. Quidditch in January was its own particular brand of perfection—its own particular kind of high. He sat down in the wet grass. Withdrawing the standard Luckies from his pocket and his wand from his belt, he lit a cigarette and leaned back. His hair got damp in the grass, but as he took the first real drag, he barely noticed anything else.

With the wind ripping between the wooden spectator stands, the silver sky up above, and the unmistakable scent of _Quidditch_, it was like his first cigarette all over again. When he exhaled, he felt lightheaded. The intricate swirling white smoke he breathed was assimilated into the cloudy sky, and James felt calm. As the cigarette returned to his lips, it seemed like the only color—besides grey—in the whole world was the orange ember at the end of the light; it became black as he inhaled again. Then—

"Potter?" a far-off voice shouted, echoing throughout the pitch and causing James to sit up suddenly. He looked around for his companion, finally locating a minute form sitting in the Gryffindor stands so far away. James squinted to catch a better look—eyesight had never been one of his gifts.

"Marlene?" he shouted back, recognizing the blond haired figure.

"What are you doing here?" Marlene Price cried, and even at this distance James could see her shivering in the cold.

"Smoking! What are _you _doing?"

She did not answer at once, and James thought she might not have heard him, until she replied with somewhat less confidence: "I really don't know!"

James thought for a moment. Lily came briefly to mind. "Well c'mon down then... you'll freeze up there! It's much warmer down here!"

It was, too, as Marlene noted when she arrived, sitting on the grass beside him. "My jeans will be wet," she added, slightly concerned.

"You're a witch," James reminded her. "I'm sure you'll find a solution."

Marlene laughed. "Right." An awkward pause, then... "So... did you hear about Alexa Kyle? It's sad, isn't it?"

"Yeah," agreed James, nodding in conjunction with another drag. "Her parents weren't the first, though... won't be the last, I reckon...."

"On that positive note..."

"You brought it up."

"Fair point." Marlene's eyes wandered towards the cigarette.

"Oi, sorry." James withdrew the pack and offered it to her. "Do you want...?"

"Oh, no," said Marlene quickly. "No, I don't smoke. I was just... I mean, I didn't know that you did. I thought all smokers had yellow teeth and bad skin."

"Another advantage to magic," shrugged James. The pack of cigarettes returned to his pocket. "So why are you out here so early? You must be freezing."

"Donna was dominating the dormitory with her pre-match preparation," Marlene explained, tugging her scarf a little closer. "I'm just a little sick of her at the moment."

James nodded, turning his head to exhale again. "Yeah, I heard something about that." Uncertain if he really wanted to get involved in a conversation like this, he nonetheless added: "How are you holding up, then?"

"Really?" asked Marlene, surprised. "You don't really want to hear my adolescent boy problems, do you?"

"No," agreed the other. "But, y'know... 'thought I'd be polite."

"Well, I won't bore you with _that_ conversation," Marlene assured him.

Five minutes later, James's cigarette was gone, but Marlene was not. "...And the worst part is," she was sobbing onto his rigid shoulder, "I _miss_ him. I miss that cheating, slagging _git_, and I can't _help it!_"

"Er..."

"I know the rules!" the blonde tearfully continued. "It's so _stupid!_ He _cheated!_ He came onto my... roommate, and then made out with... my other roommate! A girl is _supposed_ to break up with blokes that do that! But... I can't help it. Miles and I were together for three years, and even though sometimes he was a complete prat, a lot of the time, he was really sweet. I honestly did love him. He made me laugh, and he was always there... well, not _always_, but... when it counted. He knew things about me that no one else knows. We went through a lot together, and now it's just... _done_. And I've got nobody." She finished with a sniff, and James awkwardly patted her shoulder.

"C'mon, Marlene," he attempted to console, "You've got people. What about Evans? And Mary Macdonald?"

"Yes, they're lovely," muttered Marlene dryly. "But they never cared for Miles. Maybe they were right, but it's not exactly helpful when I want someone to see it from my point of view. Anyway, all my girl mates are about self-empowerment, dropping the bloke, and moving on... I don't _want_ to move on yet. I want to wallow."

James sniggered a little at that, and Marlene joined him. "I'm pathetic, aren't I?"

"Yes, but... whatever. Everyone's pathetic."

With something between a laugh and a cough, Marlene said: "That's not exactly encouraging, is it?"

"S'pose not. What about McKinnon? You've got him, don't you?"

Marlene shrugged. "I can't... I can't talk to him about this."

"Why not? Aren't you mates?"

"He's a bloke." James sent her a look. "It's _different _with Adam," the distraught witch endeavored to explain. "I dunno; he's _Adam_. I've always brought this sort of thing to him before, and he's always been wonderful about it."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know. It's... he's just _Adam_, that's all."

"Marlene," began James sternly. "You're avoiding the answer."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"I _am_, aren't I?"

"_Yes_."

Staring across the empty pitch, Marlene exhaled. She cold see her breath. "If I talked to Adam about this," she unsteadily began, "I would feel as though he were thinking 'I told you so.' I don't want him to see that I... that I completely failed as a girlfriend... that Miles found someone better." She turned her earnest blue eyes to James again. "Why _is_ that?"

James shrugged. "How the hell should I know?"

"Fair point." Marlene frowned. "I'm sorry for talking like this. I know you don't want to hear any of this rubbish."

"I didn't, but... There you go." He sort of smiled at her.

Marlene got to her feet. "I'll let you get ready for the match, then. Good luck." She started to leave, but James stopped her.

"You didn't completely fail as a girlfriend."

The blonde crossed her arms. "I didn't exactly succeed, did I?"

"I dunno, but... you should know: I spoke with the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain a few days ago... I guess they're using their second string Keeper for the match today. Stimpson usually plays, and he... er... he's been a bit distracted in practice. The Captain reckoned he didn't have enough focus to play."

Marlene looked at James quite oddly. "Really?"

"Really."

She smiled. "Thank-you."

"You're welcome."

Marlene returned to the castle, and James lay back, pulling out his Luckies and lighting another cigarette, and though he would have denied it in court, James felt better before he had even inhaled.

(Donna Drama)

"It's freezing today," Hufflepuff Liam Lyle unnecessarily pointed out from the announcer's booth on the Quidditch Pitch, some time later. The stands were packed, nonetheless. "We'll be seeing the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams in a few minutes, though, and hopefully they can make this quick. If Ravenclaw loses, they are out of the running for the Cup—they lost to Slytherin back in November, if you recall. Gryffindor is undefeated, since Seeker Ricki Nivens caught the snitch against Hufflepuff in an unprecedented five minutes, which, as anyone can tell, was a matter of _luck_ more than... anyway, Ravenclaw Captain and chaser Malcolm Davies has made a few changes to the line up..."

The Gryffindor Locker Room was characteristically tense. James stood near the gate, looking out at the crowded stadium and embracing the nervous feeling in his stomach. It was strange to think that had once bothered him... it was thrilling now, the anticipation, the anxiety, the sense that very soon, he would be flying...

Sirius lay on one of the benches, tossing a quaffle up in the air and catching it repeatedly, either to relieve stress or out of boredom. Adam McKinnon led the two beaters, Michael Mitchum and Damacus Weasley, in stretches, and Ricki Nivens sat near Sirius, anxiously watching the quaffle rise and fall. Donna, meanwhile, stood in a corner, murmuring plays to herself and frowning.

"Son of a bitch!" she quite suddenly swore, causing Damacus to topple over, mid-stretch.

"Shit, Shacklebolt," said Sirius.

"Merlin, Shack!" said Ricki.

"Ow," said Damacus.

"Sorry," muttered Donna tersely. "I can't remember the newest play."

"Well it doesn't end with you killing Weasley," Sirius snapped. "Honestly, Shack, if you're having _women's troubles_, maybe you should just sit this one out..."

"Oh, sod off, you great prick, I..."

"Shack," interrupted James, and she backed down. The Captain sent Sirius a warning look. His friend shrugged and resumed the quaffle tossing. "Shack, can I have a word?"

Donna rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Potter, it's..."

"Shack." Begrudgingly, she followed him out of the locker room. "For the love of Merlin, you're making a big deal out of nothing."

"This isn't about the swearing," said James, when they were alone. "I want to make sure your game isn't off." He was surprised to see that Donna actually looked a little hurt.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he pressed, "I know that you are in the midst of some complicated, weird, vaguely irrelevant dormitory drama at the moment, and I've noticed that you've been a little off in practice... you're usually the first one to have a play memorized, and you've been forgetting the new ones for weeks."

"Why didn't you say anything before?" Donna demanded, the distress in her amber eyes now mixing with more standard irritation.

"Because you usually do better if I don't criticize," said James. "You usually notice if your work isn't perfect and work harder to fix it. Is this any different?"

Donna frowned. "You're only doing this because I'm a _girl_."

"Please," scoffed the other. "I've seen every bloke in there..." He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the locker room, "behave more like a girl than _you_ do. This has nothing to do with that. This has to do with the fact that I've already had to sit through two emotion-wrought conversations on account of the Gryffindor sixth year girls' spat, and I am _not_ going to lose a Quidditch match on account of it."

"I'm not having a heart-to-heart with you," Donna coolly informed him.

"Bloody hell, I should say not." James folded his arms. "What I'm _trying_ to say is that you need to find a release for all of this crazy melodrama... normally I would suggest Quidditch, but clearly that isn't working. Now, I realize that you're—at least theoretically—a person and you probably—well, maybe—have..." he practically cringed: "_feelings_..." Donna scowled... "but on the pitch, your feelings don't matter. Do you know what matters? Winning. That is the most important thing."

"Aren't you supposed to say that's _not_ the most important thing?"

This didn't even translate for James. "Why the hell would I say that? It's a game. The whole point is to win..." _Honestly_, _he was beginning to worry about her health_...

"Well _I_ know that," Donna insisted. "I'm fine, Potter."

"Good. And, Shack... just... just find a way to release all of the rubbish that's weighing you down. It's not healthy to carry it around, yeah? Find a release. Just... don't _eat_ your feelings, 'cause I need you in shape."

"Well, obviously." She looked at him curiously. "Wait a minute... you're not yelling at me. You're giving me advice."

"Well, obviously."

She frowned. James sighed.

"Do you need me to yell at you?"

"It might help."

"Shack, if you don't get your fucking head in the game, I will drop you from the team faster than you can say 'personal foul!' Is that clear? Because I have two second string chasers who could probably do your job better, and I wouldn't have to deal with _their_ stupid cat fights! Alright?"

"_Alright, Potter_."

At that moment, Adam McKinnon's head appeared through the opening door. "They're calling Ravenclaw, and they're about to call us," he said. James and Donna followed him inside, collecting their broomsticks as they took their usual places in the line up. Donna looked determined, and James fought a grin.

"_And Chaudry!" _Liam Lyle finished announcing. "And, now, for the Gryffindor team: _"McKinnon!" _Adam jetted off out of the gate. "_Mitchum! Weasley!" _The two beaters disappeared. "_Shacklebolt!"_ Donna was gone. "_Black!"_ then Sirius.

James turned to Ricki. "Catch me a snitch, yeah, Nivens?"

_ "Potter!"_

He took off, amidst cheers from the audience.

"_And Nivens!"_

Finishing his initial fly-around, James landed in the center of the pitch, while the rest of his team assembled in the air. The Ravenclaw Captain, Malcolm Davies, had already done the same, and Madam Hooch was approaching the pair.

Hooch went through the usual instructions—a clean, honest game, no fouls, good sportsmanship... Then, the two Captains were instructed to shake hands.

"Ready to lose, Potter?" asked Malcolm, grinning.

James arched his eyebrows, and as he gripped Malcolm's hand, he replied as though somewhat baffled by the question: "I'm never ready to lose, Davies."

_"Alright!"_ came Liam Lyle's magically magnified voice, "this should be an interesting match!"

(The Inner Eye)

"For those of you still here," Liam Lyle droned, clearly wishing that he were not among that number, "the score is three-hundred twenty to two-hundred ninety in favor of Gryffindor... it is now 5:37, and I officially hate these Seekers."

James wearily called a time out, and the two teams flew to separate ends of the pitch. When they were on the ground, nearly the whole team was glaring at Ricki Nivens.

"Mate," said Sirius to James, though he was looking directly at Ricki, "Did we pick a _blind_ seeker, per chance?"

"Focus on your part of the game," said James. "I've scored twice as many points as you have. You as well, Shack. McKinnon, the fact that they've scored twenty nine shots should be embarrassing for you."

"What does it matter?" grumbled Adam. "It's all about the snitch at this point. We're not going to get a hundred and fifty points up, and for the love of Merlin, it's been more than five hours."

"McKinnon, you're running lines at practice if they score again," James snapped. "Damacus, nice beating... Mitchum, watch the fouls. You've got three more before they call you out."

"Yes, Potter."

"Ten seconds," Madam Hooch reminded them.

James turned to Ricki. "Find the damn snitch."

"I'll try."

The entire team groaned, knowing what was coming. "Excuse me?" asked James, his voice dangerously low.

"I mean..." Ricki croaked, paling, "I mean... yes, Potter."

"Better." James addressed the entire team. "It's _never_ just about the snitch. Understand?"

"Yes, Potter," they chorused.

The team started to mount again. "You know, Prongs," said Sirius, "that was sort of hot."

"Not in the mood, Sirius."

And they were off again.

A Ravenclaw Chaser had possession of the quaffle, but a swift bludger from Damacus Weasley freed it up for James's uptake a moment later. A Ravenclaw beater, however, gained control of the bludger very quickly and had it spinning towards James. He dodged, and the other beater hurled the bludger back at him. The bludgers danced between the two beaters, with James in the middle, so he quickly ridded himself of the Quaffle by passing to Donna.

Donna jetted off towards the Ravenclaw goals, passed to Sirius, who passed back and sped forward, freeing himself for a pass. Donna tossed him the quaffle, and he aimed a shot into the left hoop; the Ravenclaw keeper intercepted, however, and passed the quaffle to one of his own. James swore and retreated to defense.

It was growing fairly dark now. As the minutes slipped by, Professor McGonagall could be seen levitating golden orbs high into the air, casting the entire pitch in a warm, orange light. So it was that James had just finished scoring his eighteenth goal of the night when, in the light of the orbs, something shiny caught his eye. It caught the eye of one of the seekers, too—the Ravenclaw seeker.

Anna Cho sped off towards the snitch, which flitted near the Hufflepuff stands, and James cast his eyes frantically about for his own seeker. Ricki had just spotted it too, and was in pursuit seconds later, but he was on the other end of the pitch. Anna Cho had quite a head start.

Ravenclaw carried the quaffle.

Ricki was gaining on Anna, but not quickly enough. She was still several broom-lengths ahead of him, and even she was several broom-lengths from the snitch. Michael Mitchum aimed a bludger at the Ravenclaw seeker, but it nearly hit Ricki instead, and James at once called his beaters off.

He cast his eyes about the stadium for something that would save him... something that would help Ricki catch up... something that would help him get to the snitch in time...

Malcolm Davies of Ravenclaw held the quaffle at Ravenclaw's end of the pitch; he wasn't making much progress towards the Gryffindor side, as Sirius and Donna played a tight defense. The other two Ravenclaw chasers had all but deserted the game, paying close attention to Anna's and Ricki's pursuit of the snitch.

James glanced back at his own keeper; Adam looked ready for just about anything. The Quidditch Captain frowned, frantically trying to put the pieces together in his head...

And then it struck him.

James sped towards Damacus Weasley, his nearest beater.

"I can't hit her," Damacus said, the moment James arrived. "They're too close!"

"I know," said James quickly, hovering in the air next to the third year. "I know, just listen. I want you and Mitchum to aim every bludger you can get your hands on at Malcolm Davies."

"The... chaser?" asked Damacus incredulously.

"Yeah."

"Shack and Sirius are defending pretty tight."

"They'll move off. Don't... y'know... hurt Davies, but don't let him score, and... make it look good. Got it?"

Bewildered, Damacus nodded.

"Good. Go tell Mitchum."

The beater complied hastily. James sped back to the Ravenclaw side. Ricki was now even with the tail of Anna's broom, as they circled the stadium for a second time. She came ever closer to the snitch. The entire audience, including the commentator Liam Lyle, was fixated on the two seekers.

Within shouting distance of Sirius and Donna—who were successfully diverting Malcolm Davies' unaided attempts to make progress downfield—James brought his broomstick to a halt, cupping his mouth with his hand and bellowing: "Vipertooth Seven!"

Both chasers heard him, and both sent him confused glances.

"Run it!" James shouted meaningfully. Sirius broke off first, and Donna followed, jetting resentfully back towards the Gryffindor goal posts. However, Donna, dissatisfied to do as she was told, flew directly up to James.

"Why are we running Vipertooth Seven?" she demanded, while Malcolm swooped around the Slytherin stands and started downfield towards Gryffindor's goal posts. "Sirius and I were containing him perfectly and..."

"Just do it, Shack," snapped James. Before she could reply, he kicked off to face Malcolm Davies himself. Donna followed her instructions and returned downfield with Sirius, assuming her position for the play in question.

James flew full speed towards Davies, but before the two were in any real danger of collision, the latter swerved to avoid a bludger. Michael Mitchum had aimed one at—or near—him, and Davies quickly changed directions to avoid the ball and the Gryffindor Captain. James pursued, as Damacus retrieved the bludger after a second and returned it towards Davies, before stopping the other bludger from smashing into Donna and redirecting it, too, towards the Ravenclaw.

"The Gryffindor beaters," Liam Lyle announced to the now alert spectators, "are hitting pretty hard at Chaser Davies... 'not really sure why... Cho and Nivens still in pursuit of the snitch, Cho has a reasonable lead, there... Good _Merlin_, that was a close one for Davies! Davies nearly drops the quaffle..."

James and Malcolm flew parallel towards Gryffindor goal posts, bludgers still flying from Gryffindor's beaters at them.

"Stopping me from scoring won't stop Annie from catching the snitch!" Malcolm shouted, smirking.

"Oh, Davies!" James called back; "as a chaser, you should know better than anyone that Quidditch is never just about the snitch!"

Davies looked a little confused, but continued forward, quaffle tucked under his arm with little opposition from James. The bludgers were a different story: he weaved ably about, but his expression showed that it required a great deal of concentration to avoid the bombardment that his own beaters were doing very little to obstruct.

Then, something happened. Flying neck and neck with Davies, the Gryffindor was physically quite close to the Ravenclaw—perhaps dangerously so. As Malcolm checked over his shoulder in his rival's direction, James looked up and saw another bludger headed towards Malcolm. In less than a second, James noted both the trajectory and Malcolm's own ignorance of the oncoming ball, and—as usual—James acted without thinking. He dipped his Nimbus, rolling underneath Davies and resurfacing—upright—parallel to the Ravenclaw, but beside his opposite shoulder.

Then—

"Bloody hell!" swore Liam, and there was a collective gasp as everyone saw the reason. "Potter's been hit by a bludger—from his own teammate, if I'm not mistaken, and—blimey, it looks like his arm was hit... hell, that's got to be broken... and... good lord, what is it with the Gryffindor beaters? Another bludger! It's hit Davies... no... no just his broom... Davies spinning out of control there, and... another bludger! Anymore of this, and Davies is in serious trouble... I'm not sure what the Gryffindor beaters are playing at, but... but... wait... what... what just happened? I think..."

James gripped at his searing arm, gasping for air and only barely managing to stay on his broom, which had now ricocheted off course considerably; still, he managed to locate the two Seekers, and he felt himself grinning in spite of himself.

"I really don't know what just happened," Liam continued; "Anna Cho has... lost her lead and... Nivens, he... _what_?"

What had just happened was this: Ravenclaw seeker Anna Cho, whose fingertips had been mere inches from the snitch, had defied the fundamental rule of all snitch-spotting seekers—she'd listened to the announcer. For the briefest of seconds, as she was so close to the snitch she could almost feel its feathery wings, Anna allowed herself a brief self-indulgent moment, in which she unblocked her ears and listened to Liam Lyle's commentary... to hear his voice as he proclaimed that she, Anna Cho, had caught the snitch. What she heard instead was: "_Davies is in trouble!"_

Then, her single self-indulgent moment turned into several frantic seconds, as her eyes moved away from the snitch, her focus shifted from the game, and both landed on the unfortunate Malcolm Davies, who was just steadying his broom after its contact with a bludger.

Ricki Nivens, meanwhile, noticed his counterpart's inattentiveness and leaned forward with all his strength on the broom, pushing it just a little faster and stretching out his hand, till the tiny, feathery wings brushed his fingers, then his palm, and he closed his hand around the gold snitch.

"_Anna Cho has... lost her lead, and... Nivens, he... what? Nivens has caught the snitch!_" Liam Lyle shouted, confused beyond belief. "Ricki Nivens has caught the snitch! Gryffindor has won the match!"

(After)

"And lastly," a rather drunk Sirius Black announced to a large group of spectators in the Common Room, some hours later, "I think we should just bow down and worship the Quidditch Captain, my best mate, and resident mad man, James Potter..."

The crowd—in varying states of intoxication and sobriety—laughed and clapped appreciatively.

"So let me get this straight," slurred Peter to his friend, "you figured that because Anna Cho and Malcolm Davies are dating, _she_ would get distracted from the snitch if she heard Davies was in trouble?"

"I was right, wasn't I? Anyway, Davies _had_ the quaffle," said a slightly drunk James, swallowing a suspicious amber liquid from a goblet he had been too smart to question when Sirius handed it to him ten minutes before, "it was _perfectly_ legitimate."

Peter laughed, not because it was funny, but because the firewhiskey he'd consumed seemed to _think_ it was funny. James pulled away, disappearing into the crowd that constituted the party in search of another drink. A song by a wizard band—The Fletchers—filled Gryffindor Tower with guitar riffs and raw vocals, which were then subjugated in the face of the chanting, chattering, and general noisiness of the celebrating Gryffindors themselves.

James's head spun as he reached a table, lined with butterbeer bottles and an assortment of other, unlabeled drinks.

"Technically, I shouldn't let you have anything besides butterbeer," said Frank Longbottom, who seemed to be the perfunctory bartender. "But seeing as you just defied all logic to win that game, I'll turn a blind eye for a few minutes."

James grinned, filling his goblet with a clear substance he suspected to be vodka. "'You n'joy the match, Frank?" he asked after a large gulp. His lips were almost numb.

"Very much so," replied the Head Boy. "How's your arm?"

"Holl'way fixed it in 'bout a minute," replied the Captain with a shrug.

Frank grinned, clearly amused by his companion's uncertain state. James noticed. "You're _sober_," he accused. "Perfectly so, that is."

"That's right."

"Why?"

"I dunno. 'Haven't felt much like drinking since..." The Head Boy broke off. "'Just not in the mood." James followed Frank's wandering gaze across the Common Room; the journey ended with Alice Griffiths, who, butterbeer in hand, was laughing and joking with Sirius. James turned back to Frank.

"Sirius likes her," he said bluntly.

"How much?" asked Frank.

James shrugged. "'More 'en he liked the last girl he dated."

"How much does she like him?" Frank asked faintly. James shrugged again.

"'Dunno. She was _your_ girlfriend. Can't _you_ tell?" He took another drink.

"Hey, James," said a new voice, Remus Lupin's, as the boy himself appeared, looking weary but relatively recuperated.

"Lupin!" James cheered, enveloping his friend in a one-armed hug. "You're back! How... how was your _Mum_?"

"Mum's fine," said Remus. "Watch the liquor there, Potter, yeah?"

"'Course."

Remus eyed the merriment around him. "I take it we won?"

"I broke my arm," James said proudly. Remus looked at Frank, who nodded.

"Congratulations."

"In four places."

"What?"

"I broke it in for places, my arm," elaborated James, beaming. "Stung like death, it did."

"Congratulations," Remus repeated. "Listen, I'm going up to bed. It was... pretty hectic at home. 'Didn't get much sleep."

"'Course."

"Make sure Sirius doesn't bring anyone up, yeah?"

Frank shifted uncomfortably. James patted his fellow Marauder on the shoulder. "You shouldn't have said that, mate. You made the situation very uncomfortable for Frank. Didn't he, Frank?"

"Oh, well..."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, James," sighed Remus, removing James's hand from his arm. "But goodnight."

"'Night."

Remus disappeared up the staircase to the boys' dormitory, and James returned his attention to the glum Head Boy. The sobriety of the moment caused James to frown. "_You_ need to be drinking, Frank Longbottom."

Frank snorted. "I don't know if that's such a good..."

"You _need_ to be drinking!" James reiterated loudly. He grabbed one nearly full bottle of firewhiskey and then reached over the table to grab Frank's arm. "C'mon."

The Head Boy reluctantly obliged, following James through a group of giggling fifth years. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere with _air_."

And so it was that, some forty five minutes later, the two boys sat in the Astronomy Tower, seated with their backs against the ledge and the now half-empty bottle of firewhiskey between them.

James had only enjoyed a gulp or two more, and Frank was feeling the effects of a third or so bottle of firewhiskey considerably. The two sat, laughing and talking, or else staring aimlessly at the night sky, both of them impervious to the cold, January air.

"The thing that I love about you, Frank Longbottom," James drawled after some time, "is you're so _honest_. I just... I just _trust you_. Something about you..." James thought about it. "Maybe 'cause you're name is 'Frank.'" He began to laugh, and through hiccups he reiterated: "I just _trust_ you!"

Frank frowned. "Carlotta Meloni kissed me and I kissed her back," he said at length, his head lolling in James's direction to gauge his reaction.

James frowned thoughtfully and then shook his head. "Nope. I still trust you."

The Head Boy stared miserably out across the grounds. "Alice doesn't."

James rolled his eyes. "Are you going to sit here and talk about Alice? I don't want to hear about Alice. I like Alice. I really do. But I have listened to too many people's problems today, and I am drunk, and I am _not_ going to waste this firewhiskey giving more people advice." James took a long swig from his flask. "We are _not_ talking about Alice."

"Why the bloody hell did I kiss Carlotta Meloni?"

"Bloody fuck, we're talking about Alice."

"I was sodding _in love_ with Alice."

"Have another drink."

"No."

"_Yes_."

"No. Well... alright." Frank had another drink. "The thing is..." he continued, once the firewhiskey had burned his throat sufficiently. "I _loved_ Alice."

"'Said it already."

"...And I didn't _love_ Carlotta!" He reflected before continuing: "I didn't even _fancy_ Carlotta all that much. Carlotta's..."

"Fit."

"Exactly! She's fit, right? She is really, really, really, really, really..."

"Frank."

"..._Really_ good-looking! And I'd just made Head Boy, and... I dunno... we were just there, drinking, and I... she liked _me_. Carlotta Meloni fancied _me_... it was..."

"Impossible?"

"Flattering. And confusing. And I was a little drunk." He took another swig. "I wish that night never happened."

"Me too," grumbled James. "_Then, _I wouldn't be wasting a perfectly good buzz on _your_ ex-girlfriend."

"I'm still in love with her," Frank said flatly, ignoring James, who scowled.

"Then why the bloody hell are you up here with _me_ while my best mate chats her up in the Common Room?"

"S'Obvious, innit? I lost my chance."

James pried the bottle from Frank's figures, taking a drink himself. "I think you'll find," he said, "that given time and an insane number of demonstrations of devotion, birds can be forgiving."

"I don' deserve to be forgiven."

"No," agreed James. "But who the fuck _does_?" Frank chuckled and leaned his head back. The two Gryffindors sat in silence for a while, until James began again: "Do you know what _I_ think?" He was, however, met with more silence, and an examination of the Head Boy told him that Frank had fallen asleep. James rolled his eyes, muttering, "Rookie."

The Quidditch Captain was just withdrawing a cigarette from his pocket and wondering how he might get Frank conscious again, when a sound that suspiciously resembled a squeak called his attention across the tower in the direction of the shadow obscured door. "Who goes there?" James demanded dramatically. A mousy looking Hufflepuff whose name he could not quite recall appeared, wide-eyed and slightly nervous.

"'Sorry," began the Hufflepuff (even that James only knew because of his robes), "I'll just go..."

As the boy—a fifth or sixth year by the looks of it—turned to go, James called him back. "You don't have to go," he said dryly. "It's not like I'm going to hex you." The other wizard looked doubtful, so to reassure him, James got to his feet, approached the wizard, and held out his hand: "I'm James... James Potter. I don't think we've met."

"Reginald Cattermole," replied the other, taking his offered hand. "And we_ have_ met. You used to hex me."

"Oh." James bit his lip awkwardly. "Ironic. Sorry." Reginald looked ready to depart again. "Listen, I'm sorry," James added sincerely. "I was sort of going through this phase in fourth year..."

"It was fifth year."

"It was a long phase." Reginald remained quiet. "Listen," James once again started over. "Really—I don't have an excuse. I'm just kind of a git. It's my thing. Here... I'll make it up to you. Fag?"

Reginald eyed the offered cigarette and shook his head.

"What are you doing up here anyway, Reginald Cattermole?"

"Common Room was noisy. I wanted to practice the Charms homework."

James nodded disinterestedly. "Sure you don't want a cigarette?" Reginald was sure. "A drink then?" James held out the bottle, and Reginald distrustfully eyed the item. "No, it's fine," James guaranteed. "Look, see, I'll even take the drink." He did so.

"What is it?" Reginald asked, as James felt the liquid burn his throat.

"Firewhiskey."

The Hufflepuff's eyes grew wide. "And what happened to him?" He pointed at the remains of Frank Longbottom.

"Oh, never mind him; he's dead," said James lightly. "Have a drink then? You know you want to, Cat."

"It's Reginald."

"Yeah, I'm not calling you that." James once again held out the bottle.

"But you won't have enough to drink if _I_ take some..."

"There's half a bottle, and I've already had more than enough."

Reginald frowned, anxious to say what truly troubled him about the offer. "I'm not seventeen," he confessed.

James only grinned more broadly. "Neither am I," he replied confidentially. He lifted the flask a little closer to his companion. "So what do you say? Let me atone for past wrongdoings? Toe the line of discretion? Take a turn around the slightly-less-sedate side?"

* * *

"You are _awesome_," James enthusiastically stated, leaning over the stone wall that overlooked the grounds and shaking his head in disbelief. "You don't suck at _all,_ Reg Cattermole, especially considering that you're a Hufflepuff!"

Reginald, who was smaller and less experienced in the ways of alcohol than his patron, found this extraordinarily funny. He doubled over in laughter. "I—_am_—awesome!" he snickered. "It's true! And I'm—I'm—I'm..."

"What are you, Cat?" interrupted a slurring James.

"A _Hufflepuff!"_

And they both laughed at that.

"I cannot believe," James carried on presently, "That I've never spoken to you until today. It is truly... truly... truly unbelievable. Because you are _awesome_."

Reginald snorted. "Y-y-y-y-you and I don't even exist on the... on the same..." (Trying to recall the word): "_planet_."

James slung an arm over his new friend's shoulders. "Now, that's not true, Cat. _Obviously_ we exist on the same... the same what's-it. Have another drink." Taking the bottle from the Gryffindor, Reginald did so. James fiddled with the unlit cigarette between his fingers.

"'You gonna smoke that or not?" the Hufflepuff demanded, once he'd recovered from the last drink. "You've just had it for a-a-ages." He sent James a pointed look. James merely shrugged.

"'Haven't decided."

"Fact is," the Hufflepuff went on, "when you're s-sober—I won't be awesome anymore. You'll g-g-g-go back to... y'know... ign—ign—ignoring me." He chuckled at the thought. James shook his head, still considering the cigarette.

"Rubbish, Cat, I'm not like that."

"No?"

"No. I prefer having other issues. 'Just don't really give a damn what people think o' me."

"No one?" Reginald took another swig from the flask. "You don't care what _anyone_ thinks of you?"

James started to shake his head but stopped. He would never have said it sober, but: "Maybe one person. One or two people..."

"Well there you are. Or there I am. Or are we both there?"

"You haven't arrived yet."

"Oh. Even still." Another drink followed. James frowned.

"It's not like that, you know. Two people in the whole world... they're the only ones it matters for. And y'know... it doesn't—it doesn't make a difference to them who I think is awesome."

"Why's that?" slurred Reginald, staring out at the night sky with bloodshot eyes. James felt a sobering chill run through him with the realization of the answer.

"'Cause one of them is going to like me no matter what, and the other one's going to dislike me no matter what." Reg wore a very somber expression crossed with an intoxicated pout. James continued to observe the cigarette in hand. "Do you believe in honesty, Cat?"

"Yes."

"Really? Why?"

Reginald frowned, his brow furrowing. "What was the question again? It's fuzzy."

James shook his head. "Never mind. Drink up, Cat. Tomorrow we die."

Reginald readily complied, taking a long, deep drink from the bottle. It was nearly empty now, as the Hufflepuff lamented out loud a moment later.

"S'kay," said James. "You're fairly pissed as it is." Reginald nodded, knowing this was true. "So... Cat... you don't... y'know, loathe me, 'cause I was a bit of a prick to you?"

Reginald shrugged. "Not really. I never r-r-r-really thought 'bout it. Do _you_ loathe me? I mean—you? I mean... do you loathe _you_?" He frowned. "That doesn't make sense, does it?"

"I dunno," James admitted, staring out over the grounds; he was beginning to feel the cold wind biting at his face and wondered if that was a sign that the buzz was fading. "I'm not saying I'm proud of everything I've done, but if I hadn't done it, I wouldn't be who I am, and I don't dislike who I am... most of the time, I'm fairly awesome. And, y'know, yeah, a lot of rubbish happened, but a lot of good stuff happened, too, and I don't know if I'd have the good stuff without the rubbish... but at the same time, I'm never going to be able to get passed the rubbish... like you. You could be scarred for life, Reginald Whatever-It-Is, and I would never know... I mean, I might know now, but otherwise I wouldn't. And what about Peter? Am I a bad influence on Peter? Peter's fairly innocent... but without Sirius and me, I reckon he'd be some Slytherin's punching bag. So maybe it's a good thing Pete hangs around with us... but maybe it's a mistake. Maybe we're not helping Moony at all... maybe it's selfish. Maybe we did all this for _us_, not for Moony... and how do we even know? I mean, the reason we thought of it was for him, but we were thirteen, and Merlin only knows what we really meant at the time, right? I don't reckon _we_ even knew for certain. I dunno—sometimes I think Evans is right... it's all a mistake, and I should take it all back... you and Snape and all those stupid fourth years, but... I dunno, Snape I reckon deserves it. He's a git. I don't trust him. I don't trust him at all and someone's got to say something, or someone's going to get in trouble. And it will all be my fault." James turned to Reginald. "Do you know what I'm saying, Cat?"

Reg blinked. "What's a Moony?"

James sighed. "Never mind."

Scowling, Reginald continued: "This is about a girl, isn't it?"

"What?"

"A girl. It's about a girl, isn't it? It's always about a girl."

"What's always about a girl?"

"D-d-dramatic speeches that don't make s-s-sense." He looked at the bottle. "D'ya mind if I finish this?"

James was very quiet. "You're right," he said at last. "It is about a girl."

"I knew it. D'ya mind if I finish this?"

"But what does that _mean_?"

"It means," Reginald grumbled, "that you go and tell her what's on your mind and d'ya care if I finish this?"

"No," said James, distracted and feeling quite sober now. "No, go on; it's yours. Make sure you drink some water before you go to bed. I think you're right. I think I... I think I have to go."

_"But I don' wanna go hoooome_," mumbled Frank Longbottom in his sleep, as he was still slumped against the wall.

James looked piteously down at the Head Boy. "But first I'm taking him to his dormitory..."

Reginald just laughed.

The Gryffindor gave one last glance at the unlit cigarette in his hand. Then, he opened his fingers and watched it drift downward, disappearing in snow-cloaked darkness below.

(Waking Moments)

With Frank deposited in his bed, James returned to the party, a goblet of water in hand as he drifted through the crowd. Sirius and Alice sat near the fire, still talking, and Peter chatted with a fifth year girl named Pennie. The one person in particular that he wanted to speak with, however, was nowhere to be seen.

James realized that she must have gone up to bed, and had almost decided to return to his own dormitory as the night was most surely a failure now. However, instead, he—rather inexplicably—decided to take a stroll around the halls... perhaps grab something a tad less sweet to eat from the kitchens. He slipped unnoticed through the portrait hole.

And there she was.

James would swear he didn't believe in fate, but there she was, and fate seemed kind of difficult to deny just now. Lily Evans stood outside the Common Room, a short distance from the portrait of the Fat Lady, drink in hand and far off look on her dream-cast face. She had wrapped around her shoulders a scarlet blanket—protection from the drafty corridors—and she tugged at it every few seconds, like a habitual twitch. The torches gave her pale skin a golden glow, sparked her eyes, and illuminated every strand of red hair. As she unconsciously chewed her lip, James forgot and remembered why he was there. He didn't believe in fate, but what a coincidence.

"Hi." His voice sounded strange to him, but when Lily looked calmly over, she noticed nothing.

"Hello," she replied, as James approached, hands in his pockets. "What brings you away from the revelry?"

"Just—taking a break," he replied, imitating her posture. He was moments from echoing her inquiry, when her voice cut him off.

"That was quite a stunt," she said. "During the match... using the fact that Malcolm Davies and Anna Cho are together to distract her from catching the snitch... getting Liam Lyle to talk about Malcolm by aiming all those bludgers at him..."

"He had the quaffle," James reminded her, somewhat defensively. "And they didn't actually _hit_ him."

"No," agreed Lily, glancing at his healed arm. "They didn't, did they?"

After a brief moment of silence, James asked: "So did you ever find Prince Charming's book?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "_Yes_. No thanks to you."

"The inner eye was clouded."

"Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Well, then..." She smiled, somewhat devilishly. "You might be interested in knowing that I've figured you out, you great big fraud." James raised his eyebrows. "I know how you figured out Elaine Pleasance's number... and you're not a seer. It was the Quidditch Match that inspired me," Lily went on, evidently quite pleased with herself. "You knew that Malcolm Davies and Anna Cho are dating, so you manipulated the game so that Liam Lyle would bring attention to Malcolm, and _our_ seeker could catch the snitch, right? Well, you'll never guess what _I_ heard this morning... Elaine Pleasance has been _secretly _seeing Kellen Burgess, the Slytherin Seeker, for weeks."

James, beginning to grin, tried to look innocent. "So?"

"So," Lily pressed, "Kellen Burgess's jersey number is twelve." She crossed her arms and leaned one shoulder against the wall, so that her chin was just about parallel to James's shoulder. "I bet you spotted them snogging in a broom closet or something with that map of yours, and that's how you guessed she'd pick that number..." Lily smirked. "Am I wrong?"

"Of course you're wrong," replied James, mirroring her posture. "I'm a seer." Lily laughed, and he joined her. "What are you doing out here, anyway?" he asked, when they had calmed down.

"Waiting for Luke," she replied casually. "He's running late, actually... it's odd. He's _never_ late."

"So I hear," the Quidditch Captain mumbled.

"He's got a lot on his mind, just now," Lily defended her boyfriend softly and seriously. "His family... his brother... it's all so mad. I feel terrible for him... I wish I knew what to say... it's just uncomfortable, and I... I don't know how to _relate_ to that, y'know?" She sighed. "I dunno... I feel like... like I'm being a bad girlfriend somehow... and it's all so complicated. I don't know how I can _fix_ things, and it's... frustrating. Frustrating and complicated, and to tell the truth, I'm sort of afraid of complicated." She stopped suddenly and looked up at James. "Why did you say you were out here?"

And nothing had changed. She was still too good for words, and he was still helpless. He had always known there was no chance for him, and that hadn't changed either. He had always known there was a Luke, and he had always known she would only be confused by what he wanted to say. Nothing had changed, except maybe one factor.

"James?"

"Sorry," said James quickly. "I was… dozing off there."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, not—not you, I just... I got lost in my own head for a second."

Lily laughed. "Is something wrong?"

It shouldn't be Luke. It should be _James, _not Luke. It was so wrong, and she couldn't see it, and it completely, completely _sucked_. But she was afraid of complicated, and maybe that took precedence over what James wanted, no matter how desperately he wanted it. So, once again, James had an opportunity—an opportunity to lie, and he took it.

"No," he said. "Everything... everything's fine." And because she didn't look convinced: "Huzzah, lions for the cup."

"That's enthusiasm," she observed sarcastically. "You're sure?"

"_So_ sure."

"Alright." She raised skeptical eyebrows but no more questions. "I don't suppose you have the time?" He did. "Luke really _is_ late... perhaps I'll swing by the Ravenclaw Common Room..." the redhead paused. "Unless, of course, you have that map of yours around?"

James could feel the Marauders' Map burning in the pocket of his Quidditch robes. "Oh, sorry, no..."

Because, after all, he wasn't a saint.

"'Course, it's fine." She started to leave, but paused a short distance away and turned to face James. "What you did today," she began unsteadily, "was a bit stupid... I'm not sure it's entirely fair, either..."

"For the love of Merlin, he _had the quaff_..."

"But," Lily spoke loudly over him, "I think the other thing you did was really... classy."

"Er... what other thing?"

"That bludger you took," she explained. "It was going to hit Malcolm pretty hard, and if it had, Liam Lyle would probably have been screaming about it, and Anna Cho would have been very distracted, and Ricki Nivens could have caught the snitch. But _you_ were the one who told your beaters to aim around Malcolm, and you felt guilty, so you took the bludger for him." Her eyes were now fixed on him. "Am I wrong?"

James took a long time to answer; at last, he broke eye contact and muttered lightly; "'Course, you're wrong. I didn't even see the bludger. Honestly. It was just Malcolm Davies's good luck, that's all." When he looked up again, Lily was smiling slightly.

"I knew I was right," she said, before turning and retreating down the corridor once again. "Goodnight, Potter."

_'Night, Snaps._

"'Bye, Evans."

(Awake)

It was dark when Remus Lupin was summoned from slumber. Someone was fumbling about in the dormitory, and a glance at the alarm by his bed told the Marauder that it was just a few minutes past midnight. Pushing the bed curtains further apart, Remus peered around the dark dormitory in search of whoever had woken him. He spotted James standing near the desk.

"Prongs?" Remus croaked. "What's going on? Are you looking for something?"

"Er—no," said James. "I mean... I found it. Go back to sleep."

Quite mysteriously, James dropped something into the half filled rubbish bin and turned, starting for the door. "'Sorry to wake you. 'Night, Moony."

"'Night, Prongs," Remus, bewildered, replied. The door clicked closed behind his friend, but Remus was too curious to let it drop at once. He climbed out of bed and crossed the dormitory. The glow of the waning moon through the window sufficed to illuminate the contents of the rubbish bin.

In spite at having been so harshly woken, in spite of a hellish week, and in spite of a nauseous morning, Remus smiled. In the bin, on top of the parchment and apple cores and empty inkwells, was a half-full pack of cigarettes.

* * *

This chapter is lovingly dedicated to everyone who has requested that James kick smoking ASAP.

**A/N: **This chapter is too gynormous for words...

Love and cookies to the fantastic anonymous reviewers: **kittehluver96** (why thank you! Love and cookies :-D),**ToLazyToLogIn** (ha, story of my life: thank you so much for the review!), Lily-wanna-be (glad you enjoyed; thanks for reviewing),**untitled1494** (oh, you don't have to worry about Donna—Donna will _always_ scorn love. Also, I hope you enjoyed James's very symbolic quit! And the Snape-Sirius storyline is coming up... soon-ish. Ish. Thanks for reading and reviewing!) and **helene** (oi, pretty name. First, I'm glad you liked "Shaken, Not Stirred;" second, sorry you don't like this as much—I think the story of ITISNS is superior in a lot of ways, but there are parts that literally make me cringe re-reading... especially dialogue-wise. Still, some of the better chapters in ITISNS—I'm thinking "Red" and the scenes at the end with Lily and James in the forest—are unsurpassed by anything I've written in "Life and Times" so far... Hopefully that doesn't sound egotistical... Anyway, there's a lot more serious mystery stuff coming up in this... actually, a fair amount in the next chapter, so I hope you enjoy that, and thank you so much for taking the time to read and review! It is always appreciated!).

Reviews are a cure for the common cold.

Love and Cookies,

Jewels


	15. What Snape Did

**A/N: **The Snape Chapter! I've been wanting to do this for a while—and it seems like just about the right moment, because I'm starting to get reviews asking about him. So, here's the answer to the timeless question, what _has_ Snape been up to?

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo-Ro

**A/N: **This chapter was always intended to be angst-y, but at various points, it got downright _dark_, quite unintentionally. I felt kinda sick during the "January 21st" section, so I just wanted to warn you. Adult themes present...

Chapter 15- "What Snape Did"

Or

"A Day in the Life"

(November 2nd, 1975)

Lucius Malfoy's cold, clear eyes surveyed the four teenagers across the private Three Broomsticks table. He leaned back in his seat, while three of the others leaned tensely forward. The fourth mirrored Lucius's posture, dark hair falling in front of his dark eyes with a certain amount of unobtrusive apathy. Privately, Lucius was impressed.

"What I want you to understand," the older wizard said, after a long silence, "is that you _will_ be expected to prove yourself."

"Of course," said Mulciber eagerly. The sight of Nicolai Mulciber so earnest amused Severus Snape considerably, as Mulciber usually projected such a calm, superior air. Now, he sat like an anxious child, practically begging for Lucius Malfoy's approval, and it brought a slight smile to Severus's thin lips.

"The Master," Lucius continued, "is interested in supporting a following at Hogwarts. I know a few of you have relations who have proved... sympathetic, to our point of view... Mulciber, Avery..." They both nodded enthusiastically. "...Am I then to assume that the two of _you_..." here, Lucius turned his icy eyes on Hester and Snape, "are similarly encouraging?"

"Absolutely," said Hester greasily.

When Severus remained silent, Mulciber quickly spoke up: "You've got nothing to worry about with Snape. He knows more about the Arts than anyone in the school."

"Is that right?" asked Lucius, interested. Snape shrugged, but not modestly. "Very well..." He rose from the table. "I will report everything I've heard here tonight and... be in touch."

When Malfoy had gone, Mulciber at once turned to Avery. "We're in," he announced gleefully. "Did you hear _that_? We're _in_."

"He was rather vague," remarked Severus. "He'll '_be in touch_?' Honestly."

"_You_ could have been more enthusiastic, Snape," muttered Hester. "I'm surprised he didn't kick you out at the start."

Snape rolled his eyes. "More enthusiastic? And come off a desperate puppy like the three of _you_?"

"Calm down, Severus," said Mulciber, now in more typical, self-possessing form. "We should return to the castle."

They did, too, but while Mulciber, Avery, and Hester walked through the village, mumbling excitedly about the opportunity opening up to them, Snape remained quiet. The other three, perhaps, did not understand, but he was not quiet out of lack of enthusiasm. In fact, Lucius Malfoy had, in the last hour, opened more doors than Severus Snape had ever anticipated.

(November 13th, 1977)

To nearly everyone present, sixth year Potions class seemed to stretch on unnecessarily that morning. The Amortentia seemed to require an eternity to brew, and it was far too complex for most of them to have any clear idea of what they were doing anyway. Severus Snape did not have that particular problem.

He sat next to Lily, who was similarly adept in the completion of the potion... she did not seem to mind the thirteen steps required to prepare a single ingredient. In fact, Severus noticed how her eyes were a little bit brighter, how she smiled at one of the directions in her copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ and proceeded to disregard it, how she chewed her lower lip in concentration... she was enjoying this. Lily always enjoyed Potions, and—perhaps as a result—so did Severus.

"Alright," sighed the redheaded Gryffindor about halfway through the period. She set her cauldron on the fire and sat back in her desk. "That will need to be stirred in..." she checked the clock, "...ten minutes. Don't let me forget, Sev."

"'Course," he replied quietly. His own potion was nearing the same stage, and he worked quickly to catch up. "Did you finish the Transfiguration?" he asked, once his potion was stewing on the fire as well.

"Almost," replied Lily, staring off towards the blackboard. "I haven't managed the practical part... Transfiguration has never been my strong suit."

"Rubbish," said Snape. "Your better than most of the class." Lily smiled gratefully, but shrugged. "Anyway, Transfiguration isn't so terribly important."

This time, Lily actually laughed. "How do you figure _that_?"

"_Potter's_ good at it; it can't be terribly difficult, can it?" muttered the Slytherin. He glared across the room to where the four Marauders sat—Remus divided between concentration on his potions and his friends, Peter almost solely devoted to the later, and James and Sirius engaged in what appeared to be a sword fight with wands, while their potions sat, stewing on the fire. "_Idiots_... if sparks fall into the cauldron, the potions will be ruined."

Lily followed Severus's stare. "I wouldn't worry about them," she remarked casually. "They do fine in classes."

"They're barely average in _Potions_," Severus quickly pointed out. "Lupin's rubbish, you know." Lily was silent, and Severus recognized that kind of silence. She didn't want to argue with him and was, as a result, forcefully biting her tongue. Something inside him—something masochistic, no doubt—goaded him on: "Oh, I forgot. _Lupin's_ your friend."

"Sev..."

"I don't see how you can tolerate him. There's something weird about him..."

Lily flicked her hair stubbornly. "There's something weird about me, too. Why does 'weird' have to be negative? Now cool it, alright?"

"_Cool it"_ was Lily's favored method of changing the subject, and sometimes Snape complied, sometimes he didn't. Today, he did, and the remainder of the class passed with only perfunctory conversation between the two... nothing like the Potions classes of years past, when they would sit, just the two of them, and talk about all sorts of things... big, important things that Severus had never been able to discuss with anyone else. But not today.

"Not bad, Potter," Slughorn could be heard praising the young Quidditch Captain, as he meandered through the room, inspecting the nearly finished cauldrons. "I daresay you've been working to improve your potions..."

"Oh, no," said James quite seriously. "I've just had a lot of practice with Amortentia." Slughorn looked worried, and then softened as he realized the jest.

"Of course," chuckled the Potions' Master. "Of course, you're joking."

"He is not," Sirius quipped. "How do you think he's got all his girlfriends?"

James punched him in the arm and the two began to bicker. Severus rolled his eyes, though the rest of the class seemed amused.

"Well then, Potter," Slughorn benignly continued once the two Marauders' dialogue had subsided; "What does it smell like to _you_?"

James grinned. "Professor Slughorn, you wouldn't ask me to divulge something as personal as _that_, would you?"

Slughorn chuckled once again, and Severus rolled his eyes once again. "Such a show off," he muttered, looking at Lily sideways to gauge her reaction.

"Oh, definitely," she agreed, but there was a slight curve of her lips that betrayed amusement. Severus glared into the pearly liquid of his own cauldron and wondered vaguely if Lily had any curiosity as to what he detected in its aroma.

(December 5th, 1975)

"Snape, a word," called Lucius, and the younger wizard turned back before exiting the quiet little room in the Hogs' Head. Avery, Mulciber, and Hester exchanged curious looks, pausing also, but Lucius nodded for them to leave, and they complied—if somewhat resentfully. "That was an impressive display," Malfoy continued, once they were alone. "You have done your homework, it would seem."

"Those spells work, too," said Snape quickly. "There's a lot more contained in the dark arts then the books say. If I had access to the resources..."

"You very well might, Snape," Malfoy interrupted. "The Dark Lord will be very interested with what I have to report concerning _you_... Mulciber, Hester... they're bright enough, but... well, let's just say that you have shown the most potential in the last few meetings."

Severus glowed with pride. "Thank-you," he replied, careful not to sound too keen on the compliment.

"There is one thing that troubles me about you," Malfoy went on. "I remember you when I was in school... you were strange... didn't get along with many of the other students in your house..."

"You've met Hester," said Snape dryly. "Are you surprised?"

Lucius smirked. "No. No, it is not that. What worries me, Snape, is that friend of yours... Miss... Evans?"

Snape quelled the panic that threatened to show on his face. "Mulciber explained that."

"Yes," said Lucius, businesslike. "I simply want to be certain that your interest in bedding the Mudblood won't... influence your dedication to your future with the Dark Lord."

"Of course not," said Severus quickly. "Of course not."

In the early hours of the morning that followed, Snape lay awake in bed, a mix of conflicting emotions. He was proud: he was to be given an opportunity to prove himself, something that had never really happened at Hogwarts—not with the likes of James Potter running about with the school at his feet. It was perfect... at last, he would show them all...

And yet, the things he had been forced to concede about Lily that night... it made him shudder to think.

Such thoughts kept him up for some time, until, as light broke, Severus drifted off to sleep, one thought comforting: when _he_ was in power, he would show them all... Lily would see him differently then... Lily would see that Snape was truly the important one. The Slytherin could already see that beautiful, proud little smile growing on her pink lips…

And, when he was cowering, begging for his life, James Potter wouldn't seem so great...

(December 12th, 1975)

Saul Hester's beady eyes narrowed, and—it occurred to Severus—the boy's already potent resemblance to a rat only increased.

"Where were you today, Snape?" the other sixth year demanded, as he stepped fully into the Slytherin sixth year boys' dormitory, closing the door behind him; "and don't say you were up here with the flu... you aren't ill, and you weren't here when I came up at luncheon."

"Why would you think I was ill, Hester?" returned Severus, relishing the secret that frustrated his housemate so.

"Healer Holloway said you'd asked for flu medicine and come up here to sleep," said Hester. "But that's not true, is it?"

"Well," Snape returned, unfolding the _Daily Prophet _and leaning back on his bed lazily, "it's not as though I could tell Healer Holloway I planned on missing classes because Lucius Malfoy wanted to meet with me in Hogsmeade."

The only thing better than keeping that secret from Hester—Severus realized gleefully—was telling it. The other boy's face contorted with poorly contained irritation and disbelief. "Why didn't you tell the rest of us?" he demanded.

"Mulciber knows," said Severus lightly. "I assume he told Avery. But I was the only one to go down to the village... Malfoy only wanted to meet with me."

"Rubbish," snapped Hester. "I don't believe it. Why would Malfoy want to meet with a half-blood like y...?"

Before he could complete the thought, however, there was a bang, and Hester hung upside-down, suspended in mid air at the direction of Snape's wand. "It must be humiliating to be so easily bested by a _half-blood like me_," he said coldly. A flick of his wand, and Hester tumbled to the floor. "Malfoy had a few things he wanted to discuss with me about the state of Hogwarts. I don't know why he chose _me_ out of the four of us, but he did..." Severus paused, and then added: "Although I can certainly see why he _didn't_ choose _you_."

Snape, who had risen in the attack, now returned to his spot on the bed. What he had told Hester was at least partially true, if incomplete in details. Malfoy had wanted to know about Lathe's investigation and how much—if anything—the auror had discovered. Apparently, Lathe's reports to the Ministry had become cursory and infrequent.

Hester got to his feet. "That's _it_?" he muttered. "He didn't discuss the... the test he mentioned last time? The test for _us..._?"

"Don't be thick, Hester."

The other wizard straightened up, glaring across the dormitory at Severus. "Watch your back, Snape," he muttered and stole out of the room.

(December 19th, 1975)

"Tomorrow I'll be gone," Lily observed over a library book, to which she was paying very little attention. Snape looked up from the potions book he had been idly annotating. The pair sat at their usual table in the library. "I'll be home with Petunia and cars and the telly and men who bring the post."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "You don't _have_ to go."

"I know," she replied. "But I want to. I want to see Mum and Tuney again. And the postman, of course..."

"Leaving _me_ alone with the likes of Black and Pettigrew," muttered the Slytherin dryly, and Lily couldn't repress a smile.

"I'm sure you'll find something else to do besides hang around with a couple of Gryffindors, Sev. Some of your housemates are staying, aren't they?"

"No one in my year... except Hester." Lily nodded, clearly understanding the distaste in her friend's tone. "Still, it's better than Spinner's End."

"I know," agreed the other. "I half wish you'd come home, though... at least then I'd have something to do after the novelty of being home wears off. I'll feel a little pathetic sitting at the park by myself."

Severus pretended to read his book, while adding: "So that Harper of yours isn't going to be stopping by?"

Lily looked just a touch surprised that the question was being asked at all. "No," she replied, covering hastily. "No, I don't believe he will. He's staying at the castle."

"Because of this business with his family?"

"That's right."

Severus nodded. "So the two of you are still...?"

Sighing, Lily, too, nodded. "As far as I know. Anyway: new topic." She brightened considerably as she picked up her book bag and dropped it onto the table. "I've got your Christmas present."

Wrapped inside neat cuts of gold and green paper was a brand new, shining set of scales. "They're the extra sensitive ones," Lily explained proudly. "I remember you looking at them in the catalogue, and..." She continued her happy explanation, while Severus wondered how many allowances she had saved for a present like this.

When she had finished, he thanked her sincerely. "'Afraid I didn't get you anything this year..." he added sadly.

"Oh, it's alright, Sev, I..." She stopped, having recognized his expression. "You did, too, you prat. Hand it over."

He grinned and withdrew a package from his book bag as well. The redhead eagerly unwrapped her present, tying the blue ribbon that bound it around her wrist. "It's lovely," she said, seeing the forest green leather notebook side. "Thank-you, Sev, it really is l..."

"There's more to it," Severus explained. "I bewitched it... I've got another notebook... you can write in yours, and it will show up in mine."

"Wow, thank-you, Sev!" she marveled, duly impressed as she examined the notebook in greater detail. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Lily."

(January 1st, 1976)

Severus Snape sat alone in the Slytherin Common Room on New Years' morning. 1976. It didn't sound like a very important year to him.

"_Sev?_" was the word scribbled in neat, curving script on the first page of his black leather notebook. It was from Lily of course... Severus had opened the notebook half an hour ago to see if she had written anything, and she had. After the first word, more of the same lovely handwriting followed.

"_Sev? _

_Please? _

_No?_

_Fine. You're not there. I can accept that. Really._

_..._

_How about now?_

_No?_

_Fine._

_Letter format it is... though you'd better not open up halfway through..._

_Ahem, pardon, the formalities:_

_Dear Sev, _

_Home just isn't the same without you. I hope you've had a nice Christmas. Petunia's here, in full Petunia form. She's got herself a fiancé, as you know, and I wish you could meet him. You would have quite a bit of fun with him... On second thought, that might not be such a good idea._

_It's snowing loads and loads, just like it ought. All the neighborhood children are out playing in it, and I'm exceptionally jealous. I'm sixteen-years-old, and I have no excuse to play in the snow: who says age isn't a tragedy? Still, the mere fact that there are neighborhood children again makes everything just feel so much more Christmas-soaked. For a while, it seemed all the children in the neighborhood had grown, but at last, a new generation has sprung up, bringing with them snow ball fights and noise and expectations of cocoa. _

_I can't write much—Mum needs my help in the kitchen—but I was hoping you could give me a few details about what's going on at the school. I heard something about Lathe leaving, but the details were vague... if you know anything, I'm dying of curiosity. _

_Anyway, have a happy New Year! Give my love to the library—I suddenly feel as though I've read every book in this house, and I'm suffering from literary deprivation. _

_Love always,_

_Lily_

_P.S. Remember when we were little and we would write letters and carry them to each other's postboxes? At the end I would always write: "Please write back" as though you didn't know to already! Anyway, it just occurred to me..._

_-L.E."_

That was what Lily Evans had to say—that was what tore at Severus's brain (conscience, actually, though he'd die before admitting it) and that was what had kept the Slytherin up most of the night with self-doubt. Well, _that_ and the other thing.

"_Snape,_

_I've just heard from Lucius. He wants to meet us next on January 15__th__. I think this could be what he was talking about last time: the "special trial" he mentioned. Spread the word to Hester._

_-N. Mulciber"_

And therein lay the dilemma.

(January 15th, 1976)

"That's it?" asked Severus, surprised. "That's all we have to do?"

"That," said Lucius Malfoy, "is what you must do to _begin_ with the Dark Lord, yes, Severus. I assume there will be on difficulty for the four of you?"

"No, of course not," replied Mulciber, and the other two shook their heads in agreement. Snape could hardly believe it... one spell, and he would have proved himself able to join the most powerful wizard in recent history... one spell, and, well, there would be no difficulty there. Hadn't he already used that magic half a dozen times? Sure, the objects hadn't been exactly _human_, but even still...

"And you, Mr. Snape?" asked Lucius. "Are you prepared to do this?"

It seemed so strange to him... the simplicity... the lack of grandeur in the moment: a dingy rented room with a bed and tap in the Hogs' Head... four Slytherins and Lucius Malfoy... he had thought... he had thought the step would contain at least an element of the epic, and yet here stood Severus Snape, agreeing to a supremely simple task. It seemed so strange to him.

"Absolutely," replied the Slytherin easily.

"I don't care which Unforgivable you choose," Lucius went on, businesslike now. "But you had better stray away from the _Avada Kedavra_..." (How casually he spoke... it was the simplest thing in the world...) "We wouldn't want to cause _panic_ in the school. You understand. And make certain you have a witness... one of the other three of you. Understood?"

"Of course," said Hester greedily.

"Yes," agreed Mulciber, and Avery nodded. Malfoy once again turned to Snape.

"Of course," said Severus. "I already know my target."

(January 16th, 1976)

"Bloody James Potter," Lily was muttering when she nearly collided with Severus on the stairwell between the fifth and sixth floors. She had not seen him, having been intently searching through her book bag for something, and on the collision, the Gryffindor's green eyes grew wide. "Sev! _Agrippa_, I'm sorry. You alright?"

"I'm fine," said Snape quickly. "_Bloody James Potter?"_

"Yes..." Lily waved her hand vaguely. "He was being a prat... I was looking for a book and... never mind it. What are you doing in this part of the castle?"

"I have to turn in my Transfiguration homework," he replied, holding up a scroll of parchment indicatively.

"That's right... you missed class this morning. Why was that? Feeling alright?"

"Overslept," he replied, and it was true. He hadn't felt much like getting out of bed after only a few hours sleep. Following their meeting with Lucius Malfoy, the four Slytherins had not been able to sneak back into the castle until quite late. "Where are you off to?"

"Library. Luke."

"Ah." He didn't bother keeping the sarcasm from his tone, and Lily noticed. She cocked her head to one side but said nothing. "Do you want company?" Severus quickly amended.

"If you're not in a rush to see McGonagall..."

"_Please_."

He changed direction, walking side by side with Lily down the stairway now. "So," Lily began presently, "have you got my birthday gift yet?"

"We're not too old for birthdays yet?"

"I should hope not. I'm only turning seventeen."

"Maybe I'll buy that bloody cat of yours a leash."

Lily crossed her arms. "Ira is _very_ sensitive, Sev. I would never put him on a leash. He would be offended." She smiled. "Anyway, Donna gave me one for Christmas last year."

"That cat is a _pain_, Lily."

"Ira is _not_ a pain. He simply knows what he wants."

"I was talking about Donna, actually..."

Lily tried to look disapproving. "Swot." The continued in the same vein until they reached the fourth floor. "This is me," said Lily lightly. "Thank you for escorting me."

"It's not as though it was _completely_ out of my way... although it was."

Lily smirked. "It wouldn't have been very chivalrous if it wasn't completely out of the way, Severus. Now, I'm late." She glanced over her shoulder towards the library. Teasingly, she added: "Be good," before turning and walking briskly away. Severus didn't know why he felt the pleased expression slide from his face, or what that strange, uncomfortable feeling in this pit of his stomach might be.

(January 17th, 1976)

Severus Snape didn't know Alexa Kyle very well at all. They'd never spoken, that he could recall, and they only had a class or two together. She was a Ravenclaw—a very typical kind of Ravenclaw, with long brown hair, a button nose, and thin-framed spectacles. She was cute enough, and she tutored some of the younger students from time to time. Severus only knew this because Professor Slughorn had once asked him if _he_ would help a third year who was struggling in Potions, and when Severus had quite dryly declined, Slughorn mentioned Alexa Kyle might do it.

Oh, and she was a half-blood.

That constituted just about everything that Severus Snape knew about Alexa Kyle right there, and yet Severus found himself alone in a drafty corridor with a sobbing Alexa Kyle, and it struck him as odd. This, he realized, must be the first time he was alone with a crying girl (except Lily—and even then, only once a long time ago). It was every bit as awkward as he might have imagined it to be.

There had been no invitation for the Ravenclaw to sit down beside him on that bench on the third floor. He had just been sitting there, reading a book on magical theory that would not have been found even in the restricted section of the school library, when she arrived, marched down the corridor with a stony expression on her pale face, and sat down beside him. Balled up but visible in one fist was a bit of parchment. A minute later, she was sobbing.

Comforting words did not even approach Severus's mind. "Can I help you?" he asked. She continued to cry, apparently as apathetic to his presence as he was annoyed by hers. Or perhaps she simply had not noticed him at all. After a while, Alexa Kyle's tears subsided, and Severus repeated his inquiry. She looked at him curiously, searching his dark eyes for something that she did not find.

"My parents are dead," she said quietly.

Oh.

He wanted to say: "And this is the only bench you could find?" but instead stared blankly at her.

"My parents were murdered." No sadness, no plea for pity: a simple, dark explanation was all she provided. "I never said goodbye."

Severus continued to stare.

Alexa Kyle stared back, brown eyes glassy and disbelieving. "Do you have parents?" the Ravenclaw whispered after a moment.

"Yes." And he wouldn't necessarily mind seeing his father dead.

Alexa looked away, down at the parchment in her hands. Then (and maybe she suddenly realized how terribly awkward this was, or maybe she had no clear idea of reality at that moment), the witch rose, leaving as unexpectedly as she had arrived.

Severus was left alone again.

He did not know Alexa Kyle... he had never spoken to her before. She must have had friends and a life, likes and habits, dislikes, talents, and quirks. She must have meant something to someone, but she meant nothing to _him_. How very strange...

Her parents were murdered... the parchment balled up in her hand… Severus had no doubt that it was one of the black-sealed letters from the Ministry... that it announced the cause of death... that the so-called death eaters were involved.

Severus was alone for several minutes, before he became too uncomfortable with his solitary thoughts. The Slytherin got to his feet with no clear idea of where he was headed. He moved down the lonely corridor, eyes and concentration trained on the stone floor, so that only as he rounded the corner did he notice two others in the hallway.

Potter and Black.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Snape asked, additional anger in his voice simply because he had been taken by surprise.

"Same question, Snivellus," Black retorted.

"I have a note from Healer Holloway," Severus lied easily. An idea occurred to him. "I'm a prefect. I could dock points." He made eye contact with James Potter, hoping to see some flicker of worry there. The Slytherin was sadly disappointed.

"Will that make you feel important?"

Few words could have been so provocative to Snape just then... what _was_ it about that git James Potter? How did he set up every situation so that it seemed every option gave him exactly what he wanted?

"You're not worth my time," replied Severus.

"Right. Of course." As predicted, Potter wore a faint smirk, like he had won. Snape waited for the next verbal assault, the verbal assault that would escalate the encounter. It occurred to Severus that this was the chance he had been waiting for... Potter _and_ Black. Of course, there were no witnesses—he was supposed to bring one of the others for a witness... but never mind it: they could sift through his memories later, if they doubted. Then, Potter spoke to Black: "Let's go, yeah?"

"Your call, old man," Sirius Black responded casually.

Severus watched them turn to leave, confused though he didn't show it. They were walking—strutting, really—away. There seemed to be no thought in either idiot's mind that Snape could still act, and as he realized this, Severus realized that he might not. His hand felt the wand in his pocket, wondering briefly if he was going to attack.

The two Gryffindors were chatting cheerfully about something or other.

Hester's face appeared in Snape's mind—mocking and distrusting. Then there was Lily—Lily sitting besides Potter in the Great Hall all those months ago, Lily reverently cursing his name... then, Lily looking at Severus with shining green eyes, with admiration and awe, as he showed how superior he was to that giant prat James Potter... how everyone in school was proved wrong in their hero-worship of the Gryffindor, shocked to learn that _he_, that Severus Snape, truly possessed the power.

His wand was out in half a second. "Pulsevette!" Snape cursed in his mind, wanted pointed at Sirius Black... he hated Black, of course, but right now it was Potter that he wanted.

Black flew forward, hitting a wall and flopping to the floor like a dummy. Then, before Potter had time to even register that anything had happened to his friend, Snape had murmured: "Levicorpus!"

James flipped over, levitated in the air upside-down.

The Unforgivable Curses running frantically through his mind, Snape found himself briefly distracted. He forgot to disarm Potter.

Snape felt his legs swept out from under him and a pain in his arm; he flew backward from the force of Potter's hex and lost control of his own spell. The Gryffindor crashed to the ground, just as Snape hit the ground some distance away. He landed luckily, however, and was getting to his feet in a matter of seconds. Potter recovered quicker, however. A disarming spell not only ripped his wand from Severus's hand, but tossed him backwards as well.

Severus groaned—what was _wrong_ with him? That was twice now he'd been caught off guard. Potter was mending his legs, and this time, it was Snape who recovered quicker.

He got to his feet, limped over to his wand, and disarmed Potter—who had just finished fixing his legs and remained on the floor.

The Gryffindor wore a defiant expression as his opponent approached, wand pointed at his heart. Severus barely recognized this fact. He suddenly found himself caught up in what was about to happen...

This was it.

This was the chance to prove himself... to prove himself to Potter and to Lucius Malfoy and to Hester and to everyone. One word, _Crucio_, and then it would all begin. Merlin knew he had had enough hatred for James Potter inside of him... it would be so easy... so beautifully simple (and gratifying) to do an Unforgivable Curse.

_Unforgivable_.

The word brought Lily's face to mind once again, but it was not shining with admiration this time... it was just Lily... "Be good," she'd said...

_Unforgivable_.

Severus hesitated.

He hesitated a moment to long—pain in his legs, unsteadiness, and then his body tumbling backwards... he had stepped too close to Potter, and the Gryffindor had kicked his kneecap. Snape might have fallen to the ground, but James was up in a moment, grabbing his wrist, which—while disarming him—gave the Slytherin a moment to steady himself... only a moment.

Rage burned in Potter's eyes. No one seemed to have control of the scene—James powerless against his anger and Severus powerless without his wand. Potter threw a punch. Severus hit the ground.

Pain.

Severus had experienced more than his share of punches—this wasn't the most painful, but it ranked. However, as he straightened up, bleeding but trying to ignore it, Severus fixed his expression to apathy. He saw that the violence had not diminished James Potter's anger at all. This was the sort of rage that was not released in a solitary sock. This was the sort of rage that did not bode well for Snape.

Two wands posed on the Slytherin, Potter stared hatefully down at him. Any second now, a hex, a jinx... _something_. And yet...

"What the _hell_ is your problem?" Potter demanded. Severus made certain not to show the confusion that such question caused him... his _problem_? Had there ever needed to be a problem before? This was just _them_—what they did. Why did Potter seem to be taken by surprise?

Severus was waiting for the hex meant to pay him back for silence and uncooperativeness, and his bewilderment only heightened as James did not raise either wand (his own or Snape's) in attack. Rather, he raised on arm over his head and threw Severus's wand as far as he could. James did not look at Snape, but the unexercised anger on his face remained. Still, the Gryffindor turned on his heel as the wand clattered to the ground far beyond Snape. He jogged towards where Black was beginning to recover.

Snape wasted no time getting to his feet. He practically sprinted to where his wand had fallen (ignoring the throbbing pain in his right cheekbone) and had fled the scene before either Gryffindor noticed he was gone.

(January 18th, 1977)

"I've had no opportunity," Severus lied easily. Among the five others, only Hester looked disbelieving.

"We were alone in the corridor with Mary Macdonald last week," Hester pointed out coldly—he was uncharacteristically vocal that evening, Severus noted. Usually Hester shied away from speaking (unless spoken to) when Lucius Malfoy met with them.

"I have a specific target in mind," said Severus, wondering why oh why he had not performed the Unforgivable on Potter when he'd had the chance. "I'm not going to waste an opportunity."

"There is a certain elegance to a planned target," Malfoy agreed. For once, he had not come alone to the Hogs' Head that evening. A tall, slim man with salt-and-pepper facial hair and a narrow, angular face sat beside Malfoy. He was much older than his cohort, and remained something of a silent observer throughout. The wizard had not been introduced or, indeed, mentioned at all since their arrival some twenty minutes prior. At Lucius' words, the wizard inclined his head slightly, as if in agreement.

"I agree," Hester said at once. "I am simply afraid that Severus is having second thoughts." He shot a nasty look in Snape's direction. Avery looked uncomfortable, and Mulciber glared at Hester. Severus found himself unexpectedly grateful for that.

"How sweet," he deadpanned. "But if we're to be working at Hogwarts, as Lucius wants, we might do better _not_ to get ourselves thrown out before seventh year."

Malfoy cleared his throat. "That brings me to something else," he said smoothly. "As some of you know, this is Alec Rosier." The death eater indicated to his companion. "The... Master..." (in a somewhat quieter tone), "has asked that Rosier aid me in my communications with the group at Hogwarts." That meant the four of them—Mulciber, Avery, Hester, and Snape—as they were all quite aware.

"Aid?" asked Snape sharply. "With the four of us?"

Rosier smiled slightly at Malfoy. "He _is_ quick," the former murmured, before continuing, this time to Severus, "The four of you are the beginning. We hope to expand sympathies to the cause within Hogwarts. Once you all have _proved_ your loyalty, this will become _your_ task."

"Recruiting?" Mulciber clarified. Rosier nodded.

"There are plenty of others who would want to join," said Hester quickly. "I know there are."

"You haven't _spoken_ to them about these meetings, have you?" snapped Malfoy. Hester shook his head quickly, and Severus was pleased to see fear in his narrow eyes.

"Of course not, no!"

Malfoy still looked distrustful as Rosier continued: "Over the next few weeks, the four of you will put together a list of names of those you think _may_ be compatible for this sort of job. You are not to directly mention the real possibility of joining us, however. If a lead turns sour, you will want deniability. You will _need_ deniability."

The four students nodded.

"We will meet again on the thirty-first," said Malfoy coolly. "I will owl you the specifications, Mulciber." Mulciber nodded. "Until then, Severus, I expect you to be working on your... assignment."

"Naturally."

"And," Malfoy continued, "while I appreciate the need for caution, we must be moving forward with this. Hester, you may also begin your assignment. Is that understood?" It was. "You might be wise to take an example from Mr. Snape and his caution, Hester. Do _not_ make a scene."

(January 21st, 1976)

It was a Hufflepuff girl—a fifth year, with pale blond hair, blue eyes, and a soft, curvaceous figure. She was a prefect, and the fact that she was quite pretty had guaranteed the girl her share of boyfriends over the year. Still, despite the fairly extensive list of boys who could claim having taken this girl to Hogsmeade, she did not possess what one might call a "reputation." She was a "good girl." Except, now, that meant nothing, because, as it happened, Saul Hester did not make that list of boys... and not for lack of offering.

The girl—her name was Maggie—was still under the spell when she slipped out of the Slytherin Common Room an hour later. The expression on her lovely face was as blank as before, for which Severus found himself grateful. _His_ knowing what had happened made him ill enough, without having to see it spelled across her face... how fearful she had looked when Hester disarmed her in the corridor... how odd it had been to see all sentiency disappear with the wave of a wand, the muttering of a simple word...

Imperio.

Hester did not appear for some time; Mulciber, Avery, and Snape all sat in the Common Room with the unspoken expectation that the fourth member of the strangely formed group would return from the dormitory soon. Mulciber and Avery played chess by the fire—a relatively pointless endeavor, as Avery never stood a chance. Severus had book.

"Pretty clever of him, wasn't it?" Avery mused while Mulciber momentarily deliberated over a move. To Severus's surprise, Mulciber made a disgusted sort of sound.

"Pathetic is more accurate," he corrected coldly. Mulciber sounded neither remorseful nor worried—simply annoyed, as if Hester's vices were an inconsiderate waste of time.

"At least he _did_ his Unforgivable," murmured Avery, with a suspicious sidelong glance at Snape. Mulciber took his knight.

"Careful, Avery."

Severus, meanwhile, ignored Avery's unsubtle hint and pretended to concentrate on his book until Hester arrived from the boys' dormitory a few minutes later.

"Good evening," he said, clearly pleased with himself. Snape rolled his eyes. "Is something _wrong_, Severus?"

"Nothing's wrong with _me_," replied the other.

Hester scowled, but made no argument on the matter. "It's such a relief," he continued instead, "knowing that I have what it takes."

"Apparently," said Severus to Mulciber, "'what it takes' for Saul here to bed a girl is the _Imperius_." Mulciber smirked.

"What I meant," snapped Hester, "is that I have what it takes to join the cause. _I_ had no difficulty following Malfoy's orders."

Severus made a pretense of surprise. "You didn't know you 'had what it takes' before? That's odd... you spent all that time brown-nosing to Malfoy, and you didn't even know if you could go through with it until now..."

Nothing seemed to be getting on Hester's nerves just now. "I wonder, Severus, that _you _haven't tried the _Imperio_ by now. _My_ approach might mean you actually make some progress with that Mudblood of yours."

It was all that Severus could do not to kill Hester on the spot. He felt his hand shaking, hoping that Snape would give in to the urge to draw his wand and practice a completely different Unforgivable Curse on Saul Hester. And yet, the thought of all that such an action would cost him, gave Snape just enough pause to resist.

"Severus has a nobler subject in mind," said Mulciber, lazily putting Avery's King in check. "And more powerful magic, too, isn't that correct, Snape?" Severus bowed his head. "The _crucio_ on James Potter..." Mulciber continued, touching his jaw gingerly, undoubtedly recalling the number said Gryffindor had done to it back in September. "I hope I'm there to see it. It will be _extremely_ gratifying."

Mulciber grinned as he check-mated Avery; Severus glared at Hester, who, inexplicably, still looked self-satisfied. The certainty of Hester's expression did not put Snape in any kind of ease.

(January 30th, 1976)

Outside the library well after supper that day, Severus struggled with normal breathing, as the memory of Hester's innuendo lodged itself in his mind. The Slytherin forced his mind to other thoughts—a talent he had developed well over the years. Then, fixing a casual expression in his face, Snape stepped into the library, returning to the table he had deserted fifteen minutes prior.

"Sorry," he said briskly to the redhead who sat there, "Mulciber needed to talk to me. It wasn't important—just homework rubbish... that pokey third year needn't have looked so frantic." Snape took a seat: his story was only very slightly true. Mulciber _had_ wanted to speak to him, but the subject matter was not homework. Mulciber had sent the "pokey third year" to bring Snape to the Common Room so that he could tell him the time Malfoy had assigned for their meeting the next evening. Mulciber had also, unsubtly, alluded to the Unforgivable Curse that Snape had yet to perform. "So, did you figure out the answer to number four? I think it might have to do with..." Snape broke off, noting the expression on Lily's face. Her eyes were wide, staring with frightened disbelief up at him. "What's wrong?"

Lily was lost for words, however. She pointed to something on their table, as Severus returned to his seat. A dead spider lay near the corner of Severus's potions book.

"It's only a spider," Snape pointed out, bewildered. Lily looked up at him.

"Is it dead?" she whispered. "I thought it was."

"Yes, it's dead," said Snape, still confused. "What's the matter, Lily?"

"I didn't mean to," Lily went on, "I just... I didn't know..."

"Lily, what in God's name is wrong with you?" demanded Snape impatiently. "It's a spider! What's gotten into you?"

Lily's frightened expression shifted quickly; she looked from the spider to Snape, fury in her green eyes. "What the _hell_ is your problem?" she asked, perhaps a bit too loudly, as the librarian, Mrs. Sevoy, glared in their direction. "How _could_ you, Sev?" Lily pressed, slightly quieter.

"I didn't do anything!" Severus insisted. "What are you on about?"

Lily grabbed the copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ that Severus had left on the table. She shoved it in his face, and Severus saw the page that Lily must have been reading while he was gone to see Mulciber. In one corner, scribbled in Severus's unmistakable handwriting, were the words: "_Sectumsempra—for enemies." _

"You were looking through my things?" Snape demanded, hoping to distract Lily enough that he might come up with some kind of excuse.

"_You_ invented a horrible spell," retorted Lily furiously. "And don't deny that it's one of yours—you _always_ write the spells that you make up in the margins of your books... I've seen it a dozen times! I didn't—I didn't know what the spell... thought I'd test it out and... the spider, it... it just ripped open... tore like silk!" It was, Severus reflected, the most poetic way such a thing could have been phrased. "What does this _mean_ 'for enemies?" Lily demanded, eyes quite narrow now.

"It was... it was a joke," lied Severus, lethargically defensive. "I didn't make it up, I swear. I was reading and it came up—I didn't have any parchment, so I scribbled it in the book... I wanted to look it up, and when I did, the description was... well, you know how those old books are... grandiose, dramatic language, even when they're talking about something a bit sick... it was almost comical, so I wrote the 'for enemies' bit..."

"This is _funny_ to you?" Lily snapped.

"'Course not," said Severus. "But the effects are much more dramatic on a little spider like that... I'm sure if you used it on a person, they wouldn't... y'know..."

"_Die_?"

"Yes."

Lily didn't look satisfied.

"Listen, Lily, I'm sorry. But, c'mon, you shouldn't just use spells when you don't know what they _do_. And why were you looking through my Potions book?"

Lily's expression softened considerably, and she blushed faintly. "I was—I was seeing if you drew in the margins... the cartoons, like you used to."

"In _third_ year?"

She shrugged. "I liked them." They were a quiet, before Lily straightened up in her seat and cleared her throat. "All right. New topic."

Relieved, Severus cast his mind about for a more cheerful subject. "Are you having a good birthday?"

Lily smiled. "I am, actually. I mean, the thing at breakfast was a little awkward..."

"I had no idea Cam Burkhart was in love with you," Severus agreed, wondering if he sounded jealous. Lily didn't seem to notice.

"And now everyone in the school is well-aware of that fact," she said, frowning. "But over all, it's been nice. Mary and Marlene felt so rotten about forgetting they swore they'd throw me a half-birthday party in the summer..."

"I thought you spent your half-birthday with your mother every year?" Severus pointed out. It was an easy detail to remember: every July 30th, Lily closed herself off from just about everyone, and she celebrated her birthday on its sixth month mark, just her and her mum. It was "their day," as Lily put it.

"Right," said the redhead. "My mate's will just have to throw me a half-birthday-and-one-day party. _If_ they remember this time..." She seemed sufficiently distracted, returning to her Potions homework. Severus did so as well. At length, however, the Gryffindor looked up from her book, propping her chin up on her hand. "Hey, Sev?"

"Mhm?"

"Did you see Maggie Snow at the prefect meeting?"

Snape swore his heart stopped beating for a moment, but showed no such shock. Maggie Snow—Hester's Hufflepuff _friend_. "Er... yeah. She was there. Longbottom put her and Lupin on patrols for next week, right?"

Lily nodded. "She looked _ill_, don't you think? Pale, right? And like she was about to start crying..."

"I didn't notice anything," Snape lied casually.

"I spoke to her after the meeting," Lily went on. Snape felt suddenly cold, not because he thought Maggie Snow would divulge what she had done (what had happened to her), and not because he feared any kind of discovery—even if Hester _was_ thick enough to allow Maggie to retain the memory of the casting of the _Imperius_ _Curse_, she only ever caught sight of Hester... Snape would be in no way implicated. It was simply the association of Lily with Maggie—Lily with what had occurred to Maggie, and what Hester had implied ought to be done with Lily herself... Snape almost shuddered.

"Did she say anything?" He kept apprehension out of his voice.

Lily shook her head. "She was skiddish... didn't make eye contact. I'm worried about her."

"Why? Are you two mates?" It was a stupid question. Lily worried about _everyone_. Far too much, if you asked Snape...

"Not particularly... I used to help her out in potions... she's just such a cheerful person typically, and... it's odd. Maybe she's had some trouble with her family... like Alexa Kyle."

That was a whole new topic that Severus did not want to explore. "Listen, Lily, I've really got to finish this homework..."

"Oh, right." Awoken from a thoughtful trance, Lily dipped her quill in the inkwell and concentrated on her own homework. Severus breathed deeply, but not freely, and attempted to do the same.

(January 31st, 1976)

"Is this all?" Alec Rosier demanded, eying the short list of names that Mulciber had handed over. Even in the dim lighting of the Hogs' Head room, Severus could see irritation etched in every line of Rosier's aging face. "Five names? And all of them from Slytherin? These are the only people you think might be interested in joining?"

"You wouldn't want anyone _else_, would you?" asked Hester, surprised. "I mean—from outside of Slytherin?"

"It might be useful," Malfoy noted, more calm than Rosier by far. "Don't worry, Alec. They'll have more names the next time we meet. Won't you, Severus?"

Snape nodded. Hester scowled. It was clear he could not stand how much attention Snape seemed to be receiving at these meetings. Mulciber was already recognized as the "leader" of the four, and Avery wisely never expected to be anything more than muscle, and so Hester found himself fading into the background, an idea he did not particularly relish.

"I performed my Imperius Curse," he said, rather smugly. "The others will witness to it." Mulciber nodded.

"Very good," said Malfoy, pleased. "Everything went smoothly? No questions have been asked."

"No," said Hester.

"That's not quite true," Snape interjected, suddenly inspired. "Questions _have_ been asked. The girl does not seem to be suffering in silence, and people have noticed."

"What do you mean?" asked Mulciber quickly. "The Hufflepuff's been talking?"

"No..."

"And nor will she," Hester defended himself at once. "I made _sure_ of that."

"People have begun to notice that the girl looks... ill," said Severus. "She was jumpy and skiddish at the prefect's meeting, and some of the others were asking questions..."

"_Some of the others_?" demanded Hester. "I know what you mean, Snape. Lily _Evans_ was asking questions, is that right?"

Snape shrugged. "I don't remember who said what, to be honest."

Hester turned furiously to Malfoy. It was like a scene from a dream, Snape realized. He knew what was about to happen—he could feel it, and yet he was powerless to stop it. "Snape hasn't performed his Unforgivable Curse, yet," said Hester loudly. "I don't think he's sincere. I don't _trust_ him coming here... not with all that time he's been spending with the Mudblood Evans..."

"Calm down, Hester," ordered Malfoy coldly. "That's a serious accusation."

"Then _why_ hasn't he done what you've asked him yet?" Hester practically shouted. "Why does he keep putting off the Unforgivable Curse?" Even Snape did not have the answer to that.

Malfoy looked at Severus. "Well?"

"No opportunity," was all Snape said.

"Bullshit," roared Hester. "If he had _wanted_ to..."

"Quiet, boy," interrupted Rosier. Hester fell silent. "We meet again in two weeks—is that correct?" Malfoy nodded. "Why don't we give Mr. Snape until then... February the fourteenth... to pass his test? If he fails, we shall review whether or not he is fit to continue with us?" There was a threat in Rosier's tone—if Severus failed to do this, they would not simply allow him to bow out. There would be consequences... quite likely fatal ones.

"I agree," said Malfoy. Snape breathed. Two weeks—plenty of time. He could do it the very next morning—all he had to do was ignore that strange feeling in his stomach and that irritating voice in his head... the Lily-sounding one... That could be done. He'd done it before, after all. "But I'm afraid an unforgivable curse is not enough anymore."

Snape grew cold.

"Severus," Malfoy continued, like a teacher speaking to a favorite pupil. "Hester no longer trusts you. _I_ do, but... we cannot have lingering questions about your loyalties."

"Of course not," Snape tried to interrupt, but Malfoy did not allow him to continue.

"Your test is no longer simply to judge if you can perform this kind of magic," the older wizard went on. "Your very dedication to the cause must now be proved. Is that understood?" Severus nodded. "Which is why I think it prudent that you resolve your friends' doubts about your relationship with Lily Evans."

"I am not sure I understand you," said Severus, the apathy in his voice in complete opposition to the panic he felt.

"Your Unforgivable Curse," said Malfoy, "you will perform it on Lily Evans."

* * *

**A/N: **I don't think any of the Chapter 13 teasers were fulfilled in this chapter... but there's some serious teaser-fulfillment in the next chapter, which is the Valentine's Day chapter :-). That should be interesting.

And, for your own information, because it's way too much bother to research: Nov 2: Snape's first proto-Death-Eater meeting, just after Lily and James have the "smoking-slash-let's-be-friends" conversation (Ch. 7). Nov 13: random potions class, sometime before Severus gives Lily the "him or me" ultimatum. Dec 5: Snape-Lucius interaction... sometime _after_ Sev gives Lily the "him or me" ultimatum. Dec 12: When Sev is "sick" during Ch. 10 "The Connection," during the course of which Sirius, Lily, and James investigate the suicides-ish. Dec 20: Just before Lily goes home for Xmas, between Chapters 10 and 11. Jan 15: Lucius gives the Slytherins their "task" just before Chapter 14. Jan 16-17: during Chapter 14. The rest is "new" time.

Much, much love to the anonymous reviewers: **untitled 1494 **(happy to oblige on the James-quitting front! I know a lot of people were looking forward to that. This was a Snape-centric chapter, but we'll have plenty of Lily-centric chapters in the future... no fear, inner angst abounds!), **anniefollowsthemusic **(thanks for the lovely, lengthy review! It is always appreciated! I'm really glad you're enjoying the story, and I hope this answers your "what is up with Snape?" question. Hope you liked the chapter!), **helene** (thanks for the review! Ya, I like doing the romantic angle subtly, because I really suck at fluff... really, really suck at it. In fact, for me, this is 'laying it on thick,' lol. James didn't tell Lily how he felt because she was so sad about how complicated her life was just then, and he didn't want to add to that. And he _did_ quit, at least partially, because of her... mostly he quit because he wants to change himself a bit), and **LEJP** (wow, I'm honored that you chose to review me, lol! Thank you for everything you said—it's very encouraging, and I'm really happy that you're enjoying the story! I hadn't even thought of that scene in Ben Button, but you're right: they're similar. I never understood how Benjamin could know all of those details... he wasn't even there! Lol, anyway, thanks again! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!)

Reviews are **LESS THAN THREE WEEKS TILL CHRISTMAS!**

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	16. Anatomy of a Red Rose

**A/N: **This should have been two chapters. It is almost fifty pages on MS word. I have no excuse. I hope you enjoy, though!

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo-Ro. Music from The Troggs, and many other geniuses, too numerous to be listed here. Also Captain and Tennille.

**Recap: **Following Carlotta's, Adam's, and another student's attempted suicides, auror Lathe is brought to Hogwarts to investigate. Suspecting Lily's boyfriend's family, he investigates the Harpers' shop, but leaves the school shortly thereafter with little explanation. Luke Harper's older brother Logan is suspected of being a death eater. At a Christmas party, Donna drinks too much and believes she has hooked up with Marlene's boyfriend, Miles, and even though it turns out Donna actually hooked up with a Ravenclaw, Charlie Plex, Marlene is furious at Donna for her intended deceit (as well as with Carlotta, who actually did make out with Miles). Marlene and Miles break up. Sirius begins to flirt with the newly single Alice. As a test of his loyalty to the Dark Lord, Snape is given two weeks to use an Unforgivable Curse on Lily.

Chapter 16-

Anatomy of a Red Rose

Or

"Love is All Around"

On February the fourteenth, Shelley Mumps woke up sneezing, and she didn't have the faintest idea why.

The cat never bothered her allergies much, and even if the window was left open the night before, it was the middle of February. The unfortunate witch held her breath in an attempt to stay another loud "_Achoo!" _and kicked off her blankets. She pushed aside her bed curtains, just as she could no longer hold in another sneeze.

_Achoo!_

"Who in the name of all that is reasonable is _sneezing at this hour_?" Donna Shacklebolt's raspy, barely awake voice grumbled from behind her own curtains. Shelley, however, did not reply; she was too busy gaping at her surroundings in the dormitory.

"What on _Earth..._?" she marveled, rising (_Achoo!)_.

The room—the entire dormitory—was filled with red roses.

"Hey—_achoo!—_everyone!" Shelley said loudly. "C'mon—girls—wake up! You have a look at this... it's... this is _crazy!"_

Lily emerged first. Pulling on a robe, she stared at the room, wide-eyed. "Who could...?" Realization dawned on the redhead. "Valentine's Day, of course," she said, crossing her arms. "Alright, whose ruddy boyfriend did this?"

Marlene appeared and—after adding her own statements of astonishment—pointed out: "You're the only one with a boyfriend in this dorm, Lily. It would have to be Luke."

Lily realized that Marlene was, of course, correct... and it did seem like the sort of thing Luke would do. "Let's look for a card. I bet there's one here somewhere..."

Mary, Donna, and Carlotta rose in turn, confused and a little bit dazzled—or in Donna's case, irritated—by the spectacle before them. While the six girls searched, Shelley remarked: "It could have been a secret admirer, you know."

"Mmm," agreed Mary. "This positively screams secret admirer. It was probably James Potter."

"What makes you say that?" asked Shelley quickly, straightening up. Donna looked at her coolly.

"Because _Lily's_ in this dorm."

"Right. Oh. Right."

"That's ridiculous," dismissed Lily, checking the vases on the vanity for any indication of origin. "First of all, James hasn't fancied me for ages... and even at the height of his insane exhibitionism, he wouldn't do something so... prosaic."

"Luke would," Donna commented, earning her a glare—but not a contradiction—from Lily.

"If it is a secret admirer," Lily continued, "it's probably one of Mary's or Carlotta's."

"I hope they're for me," said Mary frankly. "But I'm not that lucky."

"Yeah, they're probably for Carlotta," said Marlene. "I wonder whose boyfriend they're from."

"Probably yours, Marlene," replied Carlotta, falsely sweet. "Oh... wait..."

"Oh, c'mon," interjected Lily loudly, before Marlene could lunge. "We were doing such a good job not bickering for _once_!"

Resentfully, Marlene and Carlotta both returned to the search for a card, Shelley sneezing all along. After a few minutes, Donna spoke up. "Found the note!" she declared, triumphantly raising a slip of parchment she had found in a bouquet near one of the beds. The witch read it silently and then sighed. "They're for Marlene," she announced, and, handing the note to an eager Marlene, she departed into the bathroom.

The blonde read her note, and her smile faded.

_For Marlene Price,_

_ --I'm sorry and I love you—_

_Yours,_

_Miles_

"They're from _Miles_," the blonde irritably told her roommates. "Sodding inconsiderate ass." She marched into the bathroom.

_Achoo!_

Lily conjured and offered a handkerchief to Shelley, who gratefully accepted, wiping her red nose unhappily. "I hate Miles Stimpson."

(They Can't Take That Away From Me)

The primary difference between adolescents of the female sex and adolescents of the male sex on Valentine's Day is that the former often has a set of romantic and sometimes unrealistic wishes for the fourteenth of February, and the latter typically wish only to make it out alive. Adam McKinnon usually found himself placed firmly in the latter category.

But not this year. This year, something was different.

He got up early, and there were no roses, but there was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, like today... today something important was going to happen. He knew exactly what it was.

Today was the day.

Today, he was going to tell Marlene Price the truth.

(Unchained Melody)

Severus Snape had always hated this sad excuse for a holiday and never more than today. He didn't sleep that night. He just lay quietly in the dormitory, staring upward and seeing nothing. Today was the day.

_"Why don't we give Mr. Snape until then... until February fourteenth...?...Your unforgivable curse... you will perform it on Lily Evans..."_

"We want to be certain you're taking this seriously, Severus," Malfoy had gone on to say, in reply to Severus's complaint about interference.

But he _was_ taking it seriously. Severus fingered the wand which lay beside him on the bed. He was taking this far more seriously than he had ever taken anything. He _needed_ to do this—there was no choice anymore: a single road stretched out before him, and no matter how he looked at things, that was his course.

Today was the day.

(I Only Have Eyes For You)

"I hate Miles Stimpson."

Lily draped a comforting arm over Marlene's shoulders as the pair made their way down to breakfast that morning (a Saturday). "I know, dear."

"I mean, how could he _do_ that? After everything, how in God's name could he feel justified to... _gah_. How did he even get _into_ the dormitory? He is just _so_ frustrating!"

"Just ignore him," Lily advised. "Eventually he'll leave you alone."

"But I can't _just ignore him_," argued the other. "I don't know why, but for whatever reason, I just... I _can't_."

Lily sent Marlene a pointed look. "Are you considering taking him back, Mar?"

"What? _No._ No, of course not. Why would you say that?"

"Something about the way you're obsessing," replied Lily dryly. "And how you've been obsessing for weeks... and not depressed, Alice-style obsessing: nervous, did-I-do-the-right-thing-style obsessing."

"I have _not_." She paused. "Have I?"

Lily nodded.

"Well, what about _you_?" Marlene countered, crossing her arms. "You took Snape back, didn't you?"

"Completely different."

"Completely exactly the same."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"Marlene," sighed Lily; "It is completely different. Sev was my friend... that's a completely different dynamic... different _relationship_, than what you and Miles had." She almost believed this. "And it took a while for me to accept Sev again... long after I forgave him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well—I moved on, sort of. It got to the point where I wasn't angry with Sev, but I didn't want to take him back as a mate yet. That came later."

"So do you think I should forgive Miles?"

Lily considered the question carefully. "You should forgive him when you're ready to, but that doesn't mean you have to like him, and it _definitely_ doesn't mean you have to date him again... or that you _should_ date him again... not-that-I'm-trying-to-pressure-you-one-way-or-the-other,-because-it-is-entirely-_your-_decision,-and-my-opinion-carries-no-weight-with-regards-to-that." Marlene smiled. "But _be careful_."

"I will," assured the blonde. "Plus, I don't even _want_ to date Miles again. _Honestly. _That rose stunt was just... stupid."

"Right," agreed Lily.

"Shelley's still sneezing."

"Right."

"It was inconsiderate."

"Right."

"Unoriginal."

"Right."

Marlene hesitated. "Completely unromantic?"

"_Marlene_."

"No, no, I know. He snogged another girl. Done. Right." _She_ seemed almost convinced, too. "But what about Snape? I mean—are you glad you forgave him and everything, Lily?"

"Honestly? Yes." Lily frowned thoughtfully. "Bearing in mind that Sev's case and Miles's are _utterly different_, I'm glad Sev and I are friends again. It's not _easy_..." (She thought of James) "...but I feel like, when he's with me, he's different than he is with other people... especially with his Slytherin friends. He's almost like _old_ Sev, sometimes, and I think... I think if he weren't here, at Hogwarts with me, he'd be completely lost. I feel like I can _help_ him, you know?"

Marlene was quiet for a moment, watching her friend very carefully. Then, timidly, she said: "Lily, you're trying to _save_ Snape, aren't you?"

"What?"

"Is that why you're mates with him? To _save_ him?"

"What? No. That's mad. Of course not. Sev and I have so much history, that question doesn't even make sense."

"It makes perfect sense... Lily, that's so dysfunctional."

"Says the girl who is considering getting back together with the boy who tried to sleep with her friend and made out with her roommate!"

Marlene scowled. They reached the Great Hall: large, scarlet hearts that looked like bubbles bobbed about beside the usual candles. The two girls were quiet. "New topic," suggested the blonde.

"Agreed."

(P.S. I Love You)

A cigarette.

James Potter needed a cigarette.

He was already in a bad mood, and the stupid red hearts that plagued the Great Hall like fruit flies didn't much help. A cigarette—he desperately needed a cigarette. The resolution to quit had never seemed so incredibly futile as right then.

"Good morning," chirped Sirius, sliding into his usual seat besides James. He noted his best friend's expression and changed his tone: "Or... not."

"Do you think I could press charges against the school for forcing me to celebrate a meaningless holiday?" James queried, chewing his bacon irritably.

"_Celebrate_?" echoed Sirius. "I would hardly call what you're doing _celebrating,_ Prongs, mate. Anyway, I don't see what you're so upset about. Valentine's Day is the best day of the year."

"I beg to differ."

Sirius frowned. "Name one day that's better."

"Okay, um... how about any of the three-hundred-sixty-four-and-one-quarter others?"

Sirius shook his head. "February fourteenth, Prongs, is the day when birds are easiest."

"And February 15th, _Padfoot_, is the day when birds are _clingiest."_

Remus and Peter arrived just then. "As usual," said the former cheerfully, "You two disgust me. Pass the pumpkin juice."

"So that's your plan, is it?" James asked casually of Sirius, passing the requested pumpkin juice. With Alice Griffiths. Is that your plan? A Valentine's Day fling?"

Even Remus and Peter paused to hear Sirius's response. He glared. "Don't be thick, Prongs. Alice Griffiths is a lovely girl. You can't be insensitive to lovely girls like Alice Griffiths."

Peter looked skeptical. "So you're not planning on dating her?"

"I never said that," protested Sirius. "I simply said you couldn't be insensitive... you know, be a git..."

"Which, for you, is synonymous with 'dating,'" muttered Remus, causing James to grin and Sirius to scowl.

"So funny, Moony," he drawled sarcastically. "I don't see _you_ with a date."

"Nor are you likely to," said Remus calmly.

"It's no fun if you don't get offended," Sirius pointed out. Remus smirked. Sirius turned to Peter. "What about you, Wormy?"

"Must you call me 'Wormy?'"

"Yes."

"Fine. I asked Prudence Daly."

"Did Prudence Daly say 'yes?'"

Peter sighed. "No. But Sabrina Barbery did."

"Sabrina Barbery isn't bad looking," consoled Sirius. "Anyway, Prudence Daly was probably already asked by someone else." James was privately impressed by his friend's generosity, and his mood was improving marginally, until he glanced along the table and noted Luke Harper walking over to Lily Evans's seat at Gryffindor table. The Ravenclaw set a small, golden, heart shaped box at Lily's place, and she beamed, rising to give her boyfriend a kiss on the cheek. The gift was opened a moment later, and Harper happily fastened the contents—what looked like a heart-shaped pendant necklace—around Lily's throat. She kissed him again, this time on the lips, and as Harper took a seat at Gryffindor table, James's mood plummeted. He moved quickly to distract himself.

"The post... thank God."

Sirius looked at James, confused. "Are you expecting mail, Prongs?"

"Er... no. Just the newspaper."

_The Daily Prophet_ dropped at his place a moment later, and James unrolled it quickly to divert further inquiry. The front page contained a dire headline: three aurors had been killed.

"_Agrippa_," murmured Sirius, reading over James's shoulder. "There'll be hell to pay for that. _Three _killed... surely that's got to get rid of any death eater sympathy in the Ministry..." He continued to read, listing off facts aloud as he did so. "Three aurors dead, two wounded... death eater suspects escaped... there were four of them... with the masks, just like the attacks in Kent and Somerset... _aurors received an anonymous tip that more illegal dark magic objects were being transported into the country_... tried to stop the smuggling... killed in the process... and then there are the names of the deceased." Sirius sighed. "What do you make of it, Prongs?"

James's attention, however, was elsewhere. "Look at this," he said, pointing to a smaller headline in the side column that had caught his eye.

"Former Suspected Death Eater Now 'Wanted for Questioning,'" Sirius read aloud. "So what?"

"Keep reading," James prompted, and Sirius did so.

"Logan Harper?" Sirius asked, when he finished. "What's-his-name's brother? So... I'm confused... he's _not_ a death eater?"

"That's what it says," murmured James, frowning uncertainly. "The Ministry isn't charging him... they just want him to answer questions. He's not under arrest."

"Maybe they're just trying to get him to turn himself in," Remus suggested idly. "'Still missing, isn't he?" Sirius nodded.

James took back the newspaper while Sirius returned to his breakfast. "It seems plausible, though," James mused, rereading the article. "Not having enough evidence, they might want to try and get him to name names. And anyway, pretense doesn't really seem like Lathe's style."

Remus looked up quickly. "_Lathe_? The auror? What's he got to do with it?"

"He's the auror on the case," explained Sirius.

"I thought he was on the Hogwarts case," Remus protested. Sirius shook his head.

"It looks like that one's closed," he said grimly. "The Ministry is a bit of a goldfish these days, when it comes to attention spans."

"The last group of aurors guarding the castle left last week," Peter contributed. "It's up to Dumbledore to keep the school protected now."

"He's done alright so far, hasn't he?" bit James defensively. The other three nodded at once, and Prongs was appeased. "Anyway..." He exhaled and took another slice of bacon. "It explains why Harper's in such a jolly mood."

The others also returned to their breakfasts. "Is he, now?" Sirius murmured, before adding something under his breath that James could not hear. The Quidditch Captain decided not to press the subject any further though, and, propping his chin up on the palm of his hand, he read the rest of the article on the three dead aurors.

Yes, indeed, he could definitely use a cigarette.

(Rescue Me)

Donna had buttoned her shirt wrong.

She didn't notice until she reached the very last button at the bottom of her shirt, where she spotted an extra hole and the uneven tails of her forest green blouse. Sighing irritably, she began to undo the other buttons in order to start over.

"Ready for another, are you?" asked a cheeky voice somewhere behind her, and Donna rolled her eyes, refusing to turn around. She stared determinedly down at the bead buttons of her shirt, not even looking up lest she catch a reflection in the looking glass before her.

"No talking," she ordered. "That's the rule."

"Bossy. I like it," replied the voice. A very shirtless Charlie Plex stepped forward, resting his chin on her Donna's shoulder and attempting to snake his arms around her waist. She squirmed away quickly.

"None of that either," the Gryffindor ordered, crossing her arms. "I'm not your girlfriend. I don't _cuddle_."

Charlie seemed to suddenly remember something. His eyes flitted across his dormitory to the vanity, where he had left his watch half an hour earlier. "Speaking of which," he muttered, strapping the item on his wrist, "I'm supposed to meet said girlfriend in the village at eleven. I should head down."

Donna shrugged. "You might want to put on a shirt first, Plex. Wait a minute, though. I don't want to walk through your Common Room alone. Someone might..."

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend," Charlie reminded her, pulling a long-sleeved t-shirt on over his head, followed by a green knit jumper. "No one will be around to see your walk of shame."

Donna rolled her eyes again, not bothering to remind him that "shame" was the senseless result of a meaningless social construct that held no place in her vocabulary. "The first and second years aren't _allowed_ in Hogsmeade, idiot," she pointed out instead.

"I'll go first to make sure it's clear," replied Charlie, while Donna slipped into her brown leather boots. "And it will be... everyone's in the village..." Here, he grinned in Donna's direction. "...As I would be, if you hadn't stopped by. I thought we had a schedule, Shacklebolt."

"Fuck off," she muttered, zipping the second boot. It was true, though. She hadn't planned on meeting Charlie this morning... in fact, after Wednesday evening, she hadn't planned on ever "meeting with" Charlie again. She hadn't planned on ever meeting with Charlie again after Monday afternoon, or Sunday, or the Thursday before, or the half dozen other times either. It just happened. James Potter had said "find a release" and she had found one... so what if he was a complete prat? And so what if he had a girlfriend named Cassidy? She didn't know Cassidy from Eve—it made no difference to Donna.

Really.

She didn't feel guilty... that would be just another irrational emotion that she had so expertly exiled from her person. She _didn't_ feel guilty.

Really.

"So why _did_ you decide to visit?" Charlie pressed, trying not to look at her or to sound as though he cared, while he pulled on his cloak. "Couldn't resist?"

Never in a million years would Donna have told Charlie the real reason she had come over... that she had been so angered by a stupid, insignificant argument with Marlene over breakfast (about Miles and what happened—or didn't happen—at Christmas... _as always)_ that she had needed to do _something_... anything to silence that voice in the back of her head that told her she should just apologize already... make up with Marlene, because she _should_ have told her about Miles... she _was_ in the wrong.

But talking through things was not the purpose of her visits with Charlie Plex.

"I told you," Donna said, getting to her feet and grabbing her own cloak and scarf. "_No_ talking."

Charlie merely shrugged. "I'll come back if the coast is clear," he said, and with a final, smug look, he turned and exited the Ravenclaw sixth year boys' dormitory. Donna tied her scarf and moved to the looking glass. Her serious reflection stared back. She combed one hand through her tight black ringlets, smoothed her cloak, and breathed deeply.

No, not guilty at all.

(Love Will Keep Us Together)

The snow had almost begun to melt, though thick white slush was left along the sides of the road and on top of Hogsmeade's buildings. The streets were crowded, bustling with shoppers and vendors, all bundled up against the sharp February chill. Pink ribbons and red roses bedecked shops, and a sound vaguely resembling the vocal stylings of Celestina Warbeck drifted through the air from an open door down the road.

Lily took Luke's gloved hand in hers, pulling herself close as they made their way up the high street. "I don't care if Valentine's Day is a ridiculous excuse for a holiday, born to propagate female stereotypes and guilt-trip blokes into buying things," she said, glowing. "I like it."

Luke looked over his shoulder at the flush-faced girl at his side. He was appraising her, she could tell, and she suddenly felt self-conscious: she hadn't dressed up, by any means. A grey coat concealed the most colorful part of her ensemble (a rose colored jumper). Additionally, she wore knit gloves, a jade scarf, and a black corduroy skirt matched with black wool stockings and black boots. Not very Valentine's-Day-esque, and Lily awaited Luke's conclusion curiously. He smiled broadly and genuinely. "You look lovely, you know, Flower."

"Aw, thank-you," Lily cooed, smiling as well. "Even if that's utterly false. My hair is probably starting to dry out, which means _chaos_ in that department, and my gloves don't match." She held up her hands—one of which was still intertwined with Luke's—to show two different gloves, the same style, but different colors (forest green and dark purple respectively). Luke arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "I couldn't find the other green one," Lily explained. "And the thumb on the other purple glove has a hole. So... problem solved." She smiled with satisfaction at her decision, and Luke kissed her on the cheek.

"You're adorable," he pointed out.

"Mmm, but you shouldn't say that," insisted the other petulantly. "It sets a standard, and then I feel like I have to be completely cute all the time."

"But you _are_ comp..." Luke stopped suddenly, and Lily noticed that he no longer met her eye... something had caught his attention over her shoulder. The Gryffindor looked around quickly, but saw nothing except a typical, crowded storefront.

"What's wrong, Luke?" Lily asked, turning her eyes to her boyfriend once again. He blinked several times, and then shook his head briskly.

"Nothing. I thought I saw some... something strange... it... doesn't matter."

Lily remained unconvinced, but Luke's mood—which had been distinctly dismal for the past few months—continued to show marked improvement throughout the morning (undoubtedly due to the article in the newspaper that morning about his brother). The pair stopped at various shops, making a few inconsequential purchases and flirting in the cheesy, romantic way that Luke always inspired.

Briefly, Lily wished that it could always be like this between them... never serious or dramatic: just... comfortable. Happy. Almost immediately, however, Lily felt guilty for the disloyalty of such thoughts and pushed them from her mind. It was just before noon when Luke cheerfully asked if she would like to step into the Three Broomsticks for a hot butterbeer, and Lily willingly agreed.

(Teenager in Love)

"Alice Griffiths, are you drinking alone?"

Alice looked up from her glass and smiled at her new companion—the uncharacteristically solitary Sirius Black. Well—solitary in the very broadest sense: the ubiquitous _other three_ occupied spaces along the crowded Three Broomsticks bar, where James shamelessly chatted up Madam Rosmerta. And, of course, the whole pub was abuzz with students and non-students alike. Sirius, meanwhile, leaned against the table with his usual careless grace.

"Only butterbeer," Alice assured him, in response to the somewhat suggestive tone used; "so don't get any ideas."

"I have no ideas," Sirius told her; he invited himself to sit across from her. "That's what makes me so astoundingly unique."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, everyone's got ideas, don't they? Plans, thoughts, considerations—not me. Things just happen, and I just let them... occasionally acting, but always in a totally un-premeditated manner."

"Nothing is _totally_ un-premeditated."

"Everything that_ I_ do is."

Alice rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Can I ask you a question, Sirius?" she, somewhat seriously, asked.

"Refraining from the obvious 'you already did' response: yes." He grinned charmingly at her.

"Why are you so nice to me?" she asked.

"Oh, that's a common misconception about me—I'm nice to everyone." Alice sent him a pointed look. He tried again, more sincerely, but still drenched with levity: "I like you, Alice Griffiths."

"Like me," she echoed. "Like me how?"

He considered the question. "The usual method, I'd imagine."

"_Sirius_."

"I like you..." he began, starting to rise from the booth, "enough to get you a butterbeer right now."

"I already _have_ a butterbeer."

"Ah, but it's almost gone."

Alice hadn't noticed, but a glance at her glass told her that the Marauder was right. "Oh. Well, in that case..."

"Come along, Miss Griffiths."

She followed him to the counter, where two dozen or so other students also awaited attention from the hassled staff. "It'll be a while," Alice observed. Sirius grinned at her and shook his head.

"It won't. C'mon, I'll show you a shortcut."

(Some Kind of Wonderful)

"Have I said 'thank-you' yet?" asked Marlene, pausing in front of a dress shop to examine the display. Adam, who stood by her side in the snow-covered street, grinned.

"About sixteen times, but who's counting?"

Marlene laughed. "I'm sorry! I'm just really grateful—I don't think I could stand being alone and running into _Carlotta Meloni—"_ she uttered the name with extraordinary spite—"and her gorgeous seventh year date."

"Some chaps aren't picky," said Adam with a shrug. There was a twinkle in his eye, though, and Marlene crossed her arms—smiling a little nonetheless.

"Your dishonest loyalty is also appreciated," she said. "What do you think of those shoes? The blue ones?" The blonde pointed to a pair of pumps in the window display.

"I hope you're not asking for my opinion on clothing, Price," replied Adam. "Because I _might_ have to hang myself if you are."

Marlene laughed again. "I wouldn't dream of it," she said. "As if it isn't awful enough that I've asked you to spend the day with me when you could be out with a _girl_... I mean another girl: I wouldn't _dream_ of asking you about clothing!" She glanced at the shoes again. "But I think I _will_ run in and check the price... I'll only be a moment—do you want to come in or wait out here?"

Adam raised his eyebrows. "It's a tough choice," he said sarcastically, "but I think I'll wait outside."

"Fair enough. I'll be back in a minute." Marlene disappeared into the shop, and Adam wandered towards the display in the window next door. A few seconds passed, and then a voice called the Gryffindor's name, pulling him out of his absent-minded musings.

"McKinnon!"

He looked up. Miles Stimpson hovered over his left shoulder. "Er... personal space invasion much?" muttered Adam, stepping to the right. "How can I help you, Stimpson?"

"Are you seeing Marlene?" snapped Miles. He didn't look well, Adam noticed—his brown hair was uncombed and his skin seemed a bit pale, considering the cold. For the briefest of moments, Adam felt sympathy for the wizard... clearly, the Ravenclaw was not taking his break up as well as Marlene. None of that, however, changed the _reasons_ for the break up to begin with, and Adam's sympathy was, therefore, severely limited.

"Not at the moment—she's indoors," the Gryffindor replied.

"Don't _cheek_ me," snapped Miles. "Answer the damn question. Are you and Marlene together?"

"Are you and Carlotta?"

Miles bristled. "You _git_," he barked, stepping threateningly closer, "I always trusted you even though you were such 'great mates' with Marlene... spent all that time with her, but I didn't say a word... thought it was only fair she have a mate in that house, but all the while, you were just waiting to swoop in and..."

"Rich, coming from _you_," interrupted Adam. "Actually, I find it a bit satisfying that you're such a bloody wreck... finally seen some sense, did you? Realized that Marlene or any self-respecting bird really is ten thousand times too good for you?"

"_You_ keep quiet about Marlene." He drew his wand. Adam wasn't worried.

"Going to hex me, Miles?" he asked, almost lazily. "Right here—in the middle of the street? Right—that's a bloody brilliant way of losing your Hogsmeade privileges for the rest of the year."

Miles scowled, but he returned his wand to his pocket. "Marlene Price is never going to see you as anything but a shoulder to cry on, McKinnon," he spat.

"What's she got to cy about, now that you two are done?" retorted Adam calmly.

"Watch your back." Miles slipped away into the hustle and bustle of the village mere seconds before Marlene stepped out of the shop.

"Well, _I_ officially feel poor," she announced cheerfully. "Fifty-two galleons. Agrippa! Imagine having that kind of money to... is something wrong, Adam?" She noticed his expression, and Adam hastily changed it. He smiled and shook his head.

"No, no, nothing's wrong," he told her. "What d'you say? Record shop? There's this new band that's supposed to be _brill_. The Fresh Bloods, I think..."

Marlene nodded. "They _are_ brilliant. Lily got the record for her birthday."

"You've been holding out on me, Price."

"My sincere apologies. I'll make it up to you though—I'll flirt with salesman. He always marks things down for me."

Adam raised his eyebrows. "I should take you shopping more often."

(Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me)

Sirius Black used the term "shortcut" loosely, as Alice Griffiths realized very soon, when he pulled her around to the back of the pub, behind the bar, to a narrow archway leading to a long, poorly lit corridor.

"What's this?" asked Alice somewhat nervously. She had no cause for anxiety, however. The pub was crowded and noisy; no one paid them any heed.

"Well, all those rooms along the hall—private booths," replied Sirius, nodding towards the curtained archways which flecked the corridor; "And at the end there…" He pointed to a wooden door at the end of the hall… "Daily storage."

Alice crossed her arms. "I am not going to _steal_ butterbeer."

"Good, me neither," Sirius answered cheerfully. "I'll pay Rosie when it's cleared up." Then, off her skeptical look, he added: "I _promise_. C'mon." And once again he—gently—took her wrist and guided her, this time down the corridor. The door was locked, but Sirius attended to this quickly with a pocket knife the likes of which Alice had never before witnessed. She could not help but be a little impressed as the lock clicked and the door swung open to reveal a torch-lit chamber filled with shelves and shelves of butterbeer crates and various other items Alice recognized as standard of the Three Broomsticks menu.

"There's a cellar for more long term storage," Sirius explained, grabbing two butterbeer bottles from a shelf. "This is just what's expected to be needed for a day or two."

"How did you find this?" Alice asked, marveling. She took the bottle offered to her, and Sirius closed the door behind them.

"Most of the shops in Hogsmeade have a similar set up," he replied with a shrug. "Pr—James and I were sneaking around Chortle's Chocolates in fourth year and figured it out… it's not too different a lay out here. Hey, wait a second." She paused, having intended to leave the corridor and re-enter the main area. There was a mischievous glint in Sirius's grey eyes. "Want to eavesdrop?" he whispered.

"What?"

"On the private booths," he elaborated. "I found out about a pop quiz Professor McGonagall was planning on giving us back here once."

"_Sirius_."

"Live a little, Alice," teased the Marauder, winking. "Here…" He stood close to one wall, leaning so that his ear touched the curtain of one of the private booths. "Hmmm… two businessmen by the sounds of it… apparently, Bartley's about to be sacked."

"Who in Agrippa's name is 'Bartley?'"

"Haven't the faintest idea…" Sirius moved to another curtain. "Oi, we've got teachers in here," he whispered excitedly. Alice stepped closer to hear. "That's got to be McGonagall talking…" the young wizard mused. "And… that's the Ancient Runes teacher… he's talking to… 'Kelley.' Who's Kelley? Oi, the Arithmancy teacher, right?"

"Shhh," hushed Alice. "I'm trying to hear!"

"You rebel."

"Shut it." But she was smiling.

"_Someone should speak to Dumbledore,"_ Professor Babble, the Ancient Runes teacher was saying, sounding worried; "_I don't believe he's set up any interviews yet."_

"_Now, Angus,"_ began McGonagall's voice, "_we are not even certain that's necessary yet. We might not need anyone until next term…"_

"_Even still, we _will_ need someone for next year,"_ a new voice—Professor Flitwick, judging by the high pitch—remarked sadly. "_And we might need someone sooner, given what Healer Holloway said. It could be any day now."_

"_It might be a year, though,"_ saidProfessor Kelley. "_Dumbledore does not want Alphard to feel as though he's being forced out of the position."_

"_It was irresponsible to engage Black in the first place,"_ said Professor Babble. _"And it's even more irresponsible his keeping it from the students."_

"_No one had any idea of Black's condition being so advanced in September," _retorted McGonagall coolly. _"Even _he_ was not aware, and even still, he has done a lot of good this year."_

"_You're referring to his nephews," _said Kelley, no question in his tone. McGonagall's response—if she responded at all—was inaudible. "_Perhaps he has benefitted one of them, but I fear not the other. Regulus, I believe, has fallen in with an insalubrious crowd."_

Someone snorted—probably Babble, since he spoke next. "_And what kind of good will Black do either of them if he's dead before Easter?"_

Alice gasped, unconsciously touching her companion's arm. "Oh, Sirius," she breathed. He had gone very pale. "Sirius..."

But before she could offer even a single condolence, Sirius moved his arm away from her, walking briskly towards the exit. Alice struggled to keep up, her short legs no match for Sirius's long strides. He pushed and shoved his way through the crowded pub, ignoring Alice's pleas for him to wait just a moment, until he reached the door. Out on the street, the Marauder broke into a run.

"_Sirius! _Where are you going?" Alice shouted after him. He slowed and then stopped several shops away, giving Alice enough time to catch up with him. When she did, his expression was unrecognizable. There was no mischief or humor in his eyes, no ghost of a smile on his handsome face. It was all blank. "Sirius, wait, you have to think..."

Sirius shoved the butterbeer bottle he had swiped into Alice's free hand. "I have to go," he said, almost calmly, which frightened her.

"Well, I'll..."

"No, Alice, stay here," Sirius interrupted. "Please, just don't... just stay here, and... whatever you do, don't... don't tell anyone... don't tell anyone what you heard."

"Sirius..."

But he was already gone, tearing towards the castle with Alice left alone on the crowded, snowy street.

(Sea of Love)

"Flower," murmured Luke, pressing his lips against Lily's hair, "You look beautiful." They sat side-by-side in a Three Broomstick's booth, both sipping butterbeers.

"So do you," Lily deflected easily. "You have such fantastic brown eyes. Y'know, brown eyes can be very dull and flat, but I'm quite envious of yours. And blue is a nice color for you. Have I seen you wear that jumper before?"

"I don't think so. It was a gift from my mum for Christmas. Do you like it?"

"Very much."

The conversation was interrupted by an eruption of laughter coming from the direction of the bar, where James Potter and a group of students were making some kind of commotion. Lily wondered what they might be up to (while reflecting that James, too, looked nice in his blue cashmere zip-up). Luke, a mature seventh year on the other hand, rolled his eyes.

"Blighters," he muttered. "I don't like that James Potter."

"He's alright," replied Lily vaguely. "Immature and obnoxious, of course, but not _wholly_ bad." The wizard in question proceeded to juggle coasters. "Yes... rather immature."

Luke nodded in agreement. "Are you hungry? We haven't eaten yet—I could go and order some food, if you are..."

"Actually," admitted Lily, "I _am_ a bit famished."

Luke pulled away, getting to his feet. "What would you like, then?"

"You don't want me to come along?"

"It'll be a bit of a wait," Luke replied, ever the gentleman. "No sense in the both of us troubling over it."

"But..."

"Rubbish, Lily. Someone's got to mind the table. What would you like to eat?"

Lily relented. "I don't know—er—fish and chips, I suppose."

"Lovely." Luke departed. Lily peered into her three-quarter-filled butterbeer glass, humming along with the song that played in the background. She was alone for nearly five minutes, before a voice grabbed her attention.

"Nice legs, Snaps."

It could only be James Potter.

Lily rolled her eyes—suddenly conscious of her stocking-clad-and-booted legs crossed at the knee under the table—as the wizard himself made an appearance, half-sitting on the table-top.

"Hullo, James," she said, a bit wearily.

James did not seem bothered. He reached over and swiped her butterbeer glass, taking a gulp of the copper colored liquid.

Lily looked up at him irritably. "You stole my drink."

"Did not." James placed it down in front of her, grinning. "So where's Prince Charming?"

"_Luke _is ordering food." Lily nodded towards the bar, where Luke waited in the rather long, rather disorderly queue.

"He'll be a while," James observed. He slid off the table and into the seat across from her.

"What are you doing here?" Lily asked suspiciously.

"What am I doing here? What am _I_ doing here?"

"Yes, what are you doing here?"

"What a question."

"It's fairly basic, I think."

"You _would_ think that, wouldn't you?"

"James."

"Si?"

"You're being evasive."

"How could I be evasive, Snaps? I don't even know what that word means."

"James."

"One minute, Snaps, I'm trying to answer your question." Lily rolled her eyes. James leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "I'm here with my friends... drinking butterbeer... having a laugh... enjoying my youth. It passes so quickly."

Lily arched an eyebrow. "No date?"

"No date."

The lack of explanation—or excuse—prompted Lily to continue: "Why not?"

"Because I didn't ask anyone."

"Why didn't you ask anyone?"

James merely grinned enigmatically and reached across the table, picking up her butterbeer and taking another drink.

"Would you stop that?" Lily demanded, grabbing it back. "Seriously. You should go. Luke will be back in..."

"About a century," James finished for her, "judging by the length of that line and his unwillingness to trick people into letting him go ahead."

"Luke is honorable; he doesn't cheat people," Lily defended coolly. "And I don't appreciate your insulting my boyfriend. It's really rather rude."

"Really-rather-rude," James chanted. "And seriously, Snaps? _Honorable_? If this bloke gets anymore exciting, I might just have to date him myself! Honorable, polite... really. Thrilling. Does it all come naturally to him, or does he regulate with a healthy dose of Draught of Boring?"

Lily glared. "Do you _want_ me to throw you out a window, Potter?"

James disregarded this. "Did he get you that necklace, then?" he asked. The redhead automatically glanced down at the jewelry, visible now that she had removed her jacket and scarf in the warmth of the Three Broomsticks. It consisted of a heart-shaped clear crystal pendant on a gold chain, falling about four finger widths below her collarbone. It really was quite pretty, though it didn't match the earrings she'd worn that day (white hoops).

"Yes, he did," she responded, momentarily distracted from her task of extricating herself from any more conversation with this wizard. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"Sure." James shrugged casually, swiping another drink of butterbeer. "If you like tasteless things."

Lily stole back the butterbeer once again, fuming. "_James_."

"Oui?"

She deliberated briefly on what she wanted to say now that she had his limited and wandering attention. "What are you doing here?"

"I already answered that one."

"No," said the prefect firmly. "I mean, what are you doing _here?_ At my booth. Giving me thoughts of suicide."

"I bet that's not all I'm giving you thoughts of."

"Well, murder is also on the table."

"You aren't enjoying the playful banter, Snaps?"

"Answer the question, James. And stop calling me that."

"I've never called you 'That.' Rather impersonal and vague... no one would know who I was talking about."

"James."

"Yes, That?"

If she hadn't been so furious, Lily might have laughed. "You're annoying," she snapped instead. "Please leave."

"But I haven't answered your question yet!"

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours." James tried to steal another drink of butterbeer, but Lily slapped his hand. Rubbing the wounded hand mournfully, he elaborated: "You're the one who keeps distracting me with talk of imaginary nicknames and your fantasies about me. I'm _trying _to answer as to what I'm doing here, but _you_ won't let me. I'm not going to lie: it's a little frustrating, actually."

Lily bit her lip to stop herself from swearing. She was furious to see that the angry flush spreading in her cheeks made James smile.

"Anyway," he continued conversationally, "I actually have something very serious to discuss with you."

"Why do I doubt that?"

"I don't know; why do you?"

"Get on with it, James."

The Quidditch Captain shrugged. "Have you seen the newspaper?" he asked.

Lily rolled her eyes. "James, what has that got to do with...?" And then she stopped, realizing what he was trying to say. "You mean about Logan Harper?" James nodded, legitimately serious now. "He's not a death eater. They just want him as a witness or something."

"Well that's what the newspaper said," James dismissed, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms. "Whether you believe it or not is another story, but that's not what I'm talking about."

"But I thought..."

"Did you _read_ the article, or did you just hear Prince Charming's recap?" James interrupted.

"_I_ read it," Lily retorted.

"And did you catch the part about Lathe?"

"That he's the one who issued the statement about Logan not being a death eater?" she clarified, bewildered.

"Exactly."

"Exactly what?"

"Exactly _that_. Don't you see what this means? If Lathe's on the case about Logan..."

"He's off the Hogwarts case!" Lily finished, surprised that she had not considered this implication earlier.

James, however, shook his head impatiently. "No, no. That's what I was thinking at first. But what if they're the _same case_? What if Lathe left Hogwarts to go search for Harper, because _he_ was the one responsible for the almost non-suicides?"

"But Logan Harper's not a death eater."

The Quidditch Captain waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever. Even working under that _suspect_ premise..." (Lily scowled), "...maybe he hid the rubbish without knowing what it was, or..."

"Hid what rubbish?" Lily interrupted.

"The rubbish that gave Carlotta, Adam, and that Hufflepuff a death wish," explicated James, as though it were quite obvious. "'Darkly magical items' or whatever it was Healer Holloway called it. Remember?"

"'Course I remember."

"They _were_ believed to be in the Harpers' store cellar, yeah?"

"Yes..."

"And I've met Mr. and Mrs. Harper... they're about as likely to be death eaters as Frank Longbottom."

Lily frowned. "You've met Mr. and Mrs. Harper?"

"I've met everyone," James explained, unconcerned. "The point is, someone had to put it there, and who would have access if not Logan Harper...?" Lily opened her mouth to argue, but James added: "_Even if it was an accident_. Even if he didn't know what he was hiding, or who he was hiding it for. Maybe he thought..." James stopped abruptly.

"What?" asked the other, confused.

"I just had a thought," he said.

"Color me surprised."

"_Funny_. No seriously, this is good." Lily waited, eyebrows raised. "What if," James continued, "the magic objects in the Harpers' basement are the same things that have been in the papers? You know the 'illegal substances' that have been all over _The Prophet_... the smugglers that they think are death eaters but can't seem to catch..."

"The smugglers that killed three aurors yesterday," Lily added darkly.

James nodded. "There were a whole load of things," he continued, trying to recall what he had read; "potions, some cursed artifacts that wizards had to take away ages ago, to protect the muggles from hexing themselves when they were defiling and raiding the pyramids…"

"And some of the dangerous items were stolen last summer," Lily finished. "The Ministry thought that might be part of what the death eaters were bringing into the country, right?"

"Why bother?" James wondered idly.

"The ancients had powerful witches and wizards," replied Lily. "They had a lot of strong magic, and a lot of strong _dark_ magic, that I bet..." she hesitated, "...I bet Voldemort wouldn't mind getting his hands on." They were both quiet, and then Lily looked up at her classmate across the table, biting her lip, but this time in concentration as she attempted to figure him out. "James, why are you...?"

"Hullo there, Harper," James interrupted suddenly and brightly. Lily looked up to see her boyfriend approaching the table.

"Potter," replied Harper with much less warmth. "I believe you're in my seat."

James shook his head. "No. You were sitting next to Snaps, if I recall."

Luke looked inquisitively to Lily. "'Snaps?'"

"It's James's special way of making me want to kill him," said Lily, smiling faux sweetly at the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. He responded in kind, before accommodating Luke's wish and rising from the table. "Anyway, it was nice talking to you, Snaps. And I'm sorry I had to turn you down on your offer, but I just don't snog birds with boyfriends."

Luke grew very red in the face at that, looking ready to knock one to James, so Lily grabbed his hand quickly. "Of course you don't, James," she quipped. "You only snog the boyfriends." A crooked grin began to form on James's lips, and he would have responded, when she cut him off: "Please leave." There was a note of pleading in her tone, and James nodded.

"Fair enough," he said. Luke slid into the seat next to Lily again, and James began to walk away.

"Wait," said Lily suddenly, causing both James and Luke to look at her in surprise. "James," she began, staring determinedly at him and not chancing a peripheral glance at Luke, "Why did you come to... why did you tell me those things that you were... telling me?"

James deliberated over the question. "Consider it a warning," he said at length. "Have a good one, Harper." With a congenial wave, he returned to his friends along the bar. Luke turned to Lily.

"What did you mean just now? What was he talking to you about?"

Lily sighed and shook her head. "It was... nothing. Just something stupid about... flying. And... Quidditch." The redhead lamented her poor lying skills and resorted to kissing Luke softly on the lips. He was sufficiently distracted.

On returning to his classmates, meanwhile, James moved directly towards Remus and Peter, who were laughing at a joke that a Hufflepuff named Liam Lyle had just told. Sirius had disappeared around twenty minutes ago, though they knew not where he went. James pulled the two present Marauders away from the crowd.

"Did either of you bring the _cloak_?" he asked in an undertone.

Remus shook his head. "Wormtail had it last."

James looked to Peter, who also shook his head. "Sorry, Prongs, it's up in the dorm. Why do you need it?"

"I had an idea," murmured the other, distracted. "I think I'm going to do a bit of nosing about in the Harpers' abandoned shop."

Remus looked skeptical. "I don't think that's a good idea, Prongs," he said, shaking his head. "A whole team of aurors couldn't find anything—I doubt you'll have anymore luck than _they_ did. Anyway, it's dangerous."

"I'm going," said James firmly. "Are you two coming or not?"

Remus and Peter exchanged looks. "Fine," said Remus at last. "You go get the cloak from the castle; we'll wait here."

James nodded. He picked up his cloak and scarf, and with a final glance towards Lily and Luke, the Marauder pushed his way out of the pub.

(Sweet Caroline)

"Oh, my Merlin."

"I know, right?"

"Oh, my Merlin."

"I know."

"Oh, my _Merlin_."

"I _know!_"

"Oh, my..."

"Adam. Stop it."

Adam reluctantly complied with Marlene's order, instead running his eyes over the record he had just purchased as the two emerged from the shop. He held the item like a sacred object in danger of breaking.

"This is the greatest album of the decade," he said. "No, this is the greatest album of the century. No, this is the greatest album of the..."

"Adam." But there was amusement on her face. "It _is_ good, isn't it?"

"It changed my life!"

Marlene laughed. "You've only _heard_ half of it. Do you want to head up to the castle and listen to the rest?"

Adam considered it. "No," he responded at length. "I think I'll need time for this... you know, several hours, late at night, food... the experience."

Marlene shook her head. "You're mad, but it's up to you. What do you want to do next? We've already been to Zonko's and the Three Broomsticks..."

"What do _you_ want to do?" Adam asked, tucking the new record under his arm cautiously.

"I dunno. I'm up for anything, really."

"Boring," declared the wizard, earning him a playful punch in the arm from his companion. "Seriously, Marlene. If you could do _anything_ in the whole world right now, what would it be?"

Marlene sighed. "Coca Cola. I would _love _a Coca-Cola right now."

"Muggle drink?" inquired Adam, and she nodded. "Hmm... alright. Fair enough. What else?"

Marlene looked skeptical. "What do you mean?"

"What else do you want to do? Anything, c'mon."

Thoughtful, the blonde took some time to answer. At last, she said: "I would like to fly. The sky looks beautiful today. But obviously..."

"Let's do it."

"What?"

"Fly. The pitch will be clear all afternoon

"But the village..."

"...Will be here in two months when we have our next visit. If you want to fly, that's what we'll do."

"I don't want to waste your Hogsmeade weekend, though," Marlene protested weakly. "Just because _I_ want to, doesn't mean..."

"I have my record. I'm happy. Honest." Adam held up the album indicatively, and his expression made Marlene laugh. "C'mon—you can practice for when you play on the team next year."

"There won't be any openings on the team next year," Marlene pointed out, but she was smiling. "Are—are you sure?"

Adam frowned. "No, I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm kidding—of _course_ I'm sure. Now c'mon, we'll grab the next carriage up to the castle."

"I have to change," said Marlene, glancing at her skirt and stockings—not a particularly flying conducive ensemble. "And I haven't got a broom."

"We'll use one of the brooms from the shed. Everyone on the house teams has the password to get in. C'mon." He guided her up the street in the direction of the carriages to the castle.

"But are you...?"

"If you ask whether or not I'm certain one more time, Marlene Price, I will literally never let you borrow this record." They reached the nearest carriage, and he helped her inside, before taking a seat across from her.

"I'll go up to the castle and change clothes, then," said Marlene, "and you can get a couple of brooms from the shed. Deal?"

"Deal."

She held out her hand, and he took it, grinning. They shook, as though solidifying a critical arrangement, but, as he released her from his grip, Marlene felt something strange in the pit of her stomach... a squirming, agitated feeling that bore an odd resemblance to butterflies.

But... no. That... just... _no_. This was Adam. Sure, she had grown somewhat used to the fact that her stomach did back flips when he went out of his way to make her laugh, or when he grinned in his special "just for her" way, or when he wore his Quidditch robes, or... well... most of the times they had any contact... but that was because she was happy to see him... because he _made_ her happy... because they were friends... because... because...

Adam's attention turned towards the window, where he lazily watched the afternoon sky, but Marlene was in the middle of a revelation and could not be bothered to remove her eyes from her companion. She ought to have been shocked—blown away by the sudden onslaught of previously uncategorized emotion, and yet none of it seemed very surprising at all. It seemed natural. It seemed to make sense. It seemed to fit. It seemed _right_.

When the carriage reached the school, the two parted ways—Adam towards the Quidditch pitch and Marlene, carrying Adam's record, towards the castle.

* * *

It was almost funny, Severus Snape mused, how easily the awkwardly shaped pieces fell into place. It was almost funny how the comparatively vague idea in his mind was molded into something solid—something concrete, that he could now manipulate to function properly.

It felt like solving a puzzle, when he saw his object exiting a Hogsmeade shop, wrapped up in her winter clothes and accompanied by her boy, both smiling and cheerful and nothing more than objects to him. Snape didn't second-guess that, because it had always been that way for him. Objects.

"Wait a minute," the Slytherin ordered of his companion, Hester, who had insisted on following Severus around all day, ready to gloat if he _did_ accomplish the task, and to report him if he failed. Hester paused in his lazy trek up the main street and sent an inquisitive glance in Snape's direction.

"What? Have you spotted her?"

"I have an idea," was all Snape said. He jerked his head in the direction of the nearest alleyway, an indication for Hester to follow him, and—eyes subtly trained on the Gryffindor girl, chatting and laughing with her companion—Snape led the way there. In the alley, Hester folded his arms.

"What is it, Snape? I didn't see the mudblood..."

But before another word could be uttered, Snape whipped out his wand and, with a simple flick, threw Hester against the brick wall. He was disarmed before he even thought of reaching for his own wand, and Snape stepped close, wand jabbing at Hester's throat.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Snape?" barked the other, but he stopped—not by choice, but by the force of another spell from Severus. Short of breath and gasping for air, Hester's eyes narrowed.

"I'm going to do what I have to do, you know," said Snape coldly. "But don't think that I've forgotten your role in this, Hester. I want you to know: I'm going to get revenge. And it might take a very long time for me to get that opportunity, and you may think that I've forgotten, but I won't. Understand?"

"S-S-Snape..."

Snape moved his wand from Hester's neck to his forehead. "Confundo," he muttered, and at once, the other wizard's features relaxed. His eyes went blank, and Snape leaned closer still, whispering into his ear.

Both Slytherins emerged a few minutes later, walking side by side as though nothing had happened. Hester's face had not quite returned to normal though: his expression was too tranquil to be completely natural. They were out on the street only a few seconds, however, before his face changed, his dark eyes lighting with excitement. He spotted the witch, the object, just as Snape had, though she was now being helped into one of the carriages back to the school.

"There, Snape," said Hester gleefully; "She's going back to the castle... half the staff is down here and most of the students... it's perfect. This is the time."

Snape nodded. "Alright," he said calmly. "We'll take a carriage."

And they did. Their own transport arrived mere seconds after the first carriage; stepping onto the soft dirt path outside the castle, Snape reviewed the plan in his head.

He would use the Cruciatus. It seemed right, and it would firmly convince the others of his loyalties. Hester would look on; he would be the perfect witness, because he would not _want_ to admit that Snape had done his job. Then, he would clear her memory... a clean wipe, so that she would not know who had attacked her or that any attack had even taken place... Lily must _never_ know.

There was a practical purpose for this, too. If a student reported being attacked with the Cruciatus—even if they could not identify their assailant—things could get complicated, and Malfoy had ordered _against_ complicated. At least for now.

Hester, meanwhile, strived to be on his guard. He saw, quite clearly, Lily Evans depart the carriage in front of them, losing her companion somewhere in the trip towards the castle. As the two Slytherins followed a short distance off, Hester saw the pretty redhead walk—with a certain skip in her step—across the empty Entrance Hall and up the marble staircase. He saw her ascend several staircases, until at last she reached a deserted corridor that she needed to cross in order to reach her destination—wherever that might be.

"No portraits here; we should be safe," Hester whispered to Snape, who nodded.

Hester felt a thrill, as he heard Snape call out: _"Lily!"_ And then, when she turned, there was no time for the cheer to fade from her eyes before Snape followed the address with a murmured: _"Crucio!"_

Hester saw—and he would swear to it later—that he saw Lily Evans' legs buckle beneath her, as she fell to the ground in sheer pain.

However, what Hester saw, and what Snape saw (and what was, in fact, reality) were quite different. Hester did not really comprehend the strange, light-headed feeling he experienced, and he thought nothing of it. He remembered nothing of the alley way, and while _he_ saw Lily Evans fall in agony, Severus Snape saw Marlene Price.

* * *

Professor Black's office door was unlocked, and Sirius didn't knock. He pushed through, and at once spotted his uncle standing near the fire, levitating a steaming kettle towards a china cup at wand point.

"Sirius," greeted the elder Black, surprised but not displeased by his nephew's unexpected appearance. "Not visiting the village today? Would you care for some tea, perh...?" He broke off, noticing the expression on Sirius's face for the first time. "Is something wro...?"

"You're dying," Sirius cut him off sharply. Black stared for a few moments, shocked, before he collected himself, set down the kettle, and sat down himself.

"Have a seat, won't you, Sirius?"

"No I will not!" the other shouted. "You could be _dead_ any day now, and you didn't even tell me? Were you _ever_ going to tell me, or was I supposed to figure it out when they started sending a substitute for Defense Class?!"

"Sirius..."

"No! Stop that! Stop speaking to me like I'm six, alright? Stop _treating_ me like I'm a child!"

"That was never my intent," Black began earnestly. "And I do not know where you've gotten this information..."

"Are you denying it, then?" snapped Sirius.

Black took some time to reply. "It's a bit more complicated than that, Sirius. I _am_ sick. Beyond that, the Healers do not agree _when_ precisely..."

"But you _are_ going to die?"

"Well," replied the professor with a sigh, "we all know we are going to die someday."

"Yeah, but most people don't know what's going to do the job."

"Sirius, I could have as much as six months..."

"Six months?" shouted Sirius, anger surging again. "I heard a year... what the hell do you _mean_ 'six months?'"

"Healer Holloway conducted another examination three days ago," said Black quietly. "Six months is the outside estimate. It's new information. I haven't told the staff yet..."

"Forget the staff!" Sirius bellowed. "You didn't tell _me!_ Three days you've known! We spoke for twenty minutes after class the other day about Andromeda's letter, and you didn't say a word! Tell me the truth: were you ever going to tell me?"

"I wanted to very much," Black replied. "Truly, I did. I was coward, and I..."

"Oh, shut up!" bit the younger wizard. He didn't care that this was his professor, his uncle, or his elder. He had been deceived... he had been tricked into believing that his uncle would be there for him... "You lied to me! You let me think I actually had a friend who wasn't blasted off the goddamned family tree! You tried to get me to make up with Regulus—what the hell for? So you could have a clean conscience when you kick it next week? And you didn't even have the nerve to tell me! What? You didn't think I could handle it?"

"No, Sirius, of course not..."

"Then _why_?"

"Because," began Professor Black, "I did not want to be another person that you felt had abandoned you."

Sirius's grey eyes grew dark. "Oh, I see," he muttered, "you were worried about my _issues_. How considerate of you. How bloody thoughtful." He shook his head, laughing bitterly. "Well don't trouble yourself, Uncle. You won't be obliged to coddle poor little Sirius and his abandonment issues any longer. I'm leaving now." Sirius started for the door. "And stay the hell away from me." He slammed the office door behind him.

(Blue Moon)

James jogged along the second floor corridor, cursing his own lack of foresight in forgetting the Invisibility Cloak. The carriages had brought him up to the castle considerably quicker than any of his secret passages would have, but—all the same—the fifteen minutes required had seemed an eternity. He was positively burning to get back down to the village and have a poke around the Harpers' abandoned store.

James picked up his pace. However, perhaps it would have been wiser if he had not, for as he turned a corner, he turned much too sharply and collided with a suit of armor.

"Son of a bitch!" James swore loudly, cradling his wrist, which had hit the suit at an unfortunate angle. Wincing, James stepped back to gather himself. "_Agrippa's sake_," he muttered, "I swear that stupid thing's never been there before!"

He was right, actually. The suit of armor, and several others about the castle, had been jinxed to follow first years as part of an elaborate prank the day before. The spell had worn off at just that spot in the second floor corridor, and Filch, noting a large suit of armor in the middle of the corridor, had pushed it towards the wall, perhaps a little too close to the corner.

And who was responsible for the prank in the first place?

James Potter and Sirius Black.

So, looking at things from an ethical standpoint, one might say that James had it coming.

"I swear that stupid thing's never been there before," James was saying, rubbing his sore wrist and limping at a marginally slower pace down the corridor. He was walking normally by the time he reached the next corner, and he took that one with considerably more caution.

However, what he saw wiped around the corner James's mind clean of the Invisibility Cloak, of the Harpers' shop, of the suit of armor, and of anything resembling pain that remained within him. Some distance away, the figure of a person—a witch by the look of it—lay in a heap on the ground. She was sobbing.

James took off at a sprint towards the girl, and he was nearly halfway there before he realized who it was.

"Marlene!" he half shouted, skidding to a stop as he reached her. Marlene's eyes were firmly closed, her pale cheeks streaked with tears and her caramel colored hair fanned out along the stone floor. James was on his knees in a second, pulling up her head from the ground as he tried to guide her into a sitting position. Marlene's face was pale like death, her pupils strangely dilated, and her breaths short, raspy, and uneven. "Marlene, are you okay?" James pressed, trying to check if she was bleeding. But she looked intact—her clothes were, visibly at least, unmarred, and she had no cut or bruise that he could see.

Yet her expression was broken. As James held her head up, her blue eyes closed, her breathing became more staccato, and she continued to weep.

"Marlene, are you alright?" James continued. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

Marlene clutched at the front of James's robes, pulling herself up. He assisted this, sliding one leg behind her back to sit her up. Marlene attempted to compose herself.

"Cruciatus," she managed to mutter. James suddenly felt very cold.

"Someone used an Unforgivable Curse?" he nearly shouted. "Who...? Marlene, who did this to you?"

The witch took a moment to compose herself. She wiped away tears with the back of her hand and considered the question carefully. "I don't know," she said at last. "I—I don't think I saw his face."

"It was a bloke, though? You're certain?"

"I'm n-not quite... I'm not very certain of anything." Her face contorted as she strived to withhold more tears, and James realized that she must still be in a great deal of pain.

"You're going to the Hospital Wing," he said firmly.

"No, James, I'll..."

"How long?"

"How long what?" One of her hands flew to her face, wiping away cold sweat and tears.

"How long were you under?" James pressed.

"I—I couldn't say," she finally. "It was all so... but if I had to... I mean, I think, perhaps... maybe five or... maybe ten minutes?" At once, James slipped an arm under the crook of her knees, pulling her up into his arms and— with some difficulty—staggering to his feet. "James, please, I..."

"You have to get to the Infirmary," he said sternly. "Now. And I have to fetch Dumbledore... someone used an Unforgivable... that's big. That's not..."

"Please," interrupted Marlene, unexpectedly lucid. "Please don't tell anyone..."

"Healer Holloway will have to report it anyway," James pointed out.

"No," said Marlene, sniffing. "I know that. But... no one else... the teachers of course, but... no one else. Please."

"Marlene, you're not making any sense," James sighed. "Calm down. Everything's going to be alright. We're almost there."

"_James_..." But they reached the infirmary doors just then.

He was too confused. Shaking his head, James agreed: "Fine. Alright, fine. I'll wait for you to tell them everything. C'mon." He pushed open the Infirmary doors, supporting Marlene as she limped inside.

"What's going on here?" asked Healer Holloway, who stood next to one row of cots, changing the sheets by magic.

"She's been cursed," said James at once. Marlene gripped his arm tight, as Holloway came closer.

"Cursed how?" he grumbled. James hesitated, looking at Marlene. She was quiet for a moment, and Holloway stared between the two. "_Well?"_

"Cruciatus," Marlene whispered at last. Holloway gasped. James had never seen the older wizard express so much emotion. He took hold of Marlene and steered her to a cot.

"You, Potter," Holloway barked, "Find Professor McGonagall. _Now_."

James nodded, hastening out of the Hospital Wing to comply. Outside, he paused, pulling the Marauders' Map from the pocket of his cloak. "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good." He scanned the map for anyone nearby who might have been responsible, but the area was clear. Swearing under his breath, James looked for McGonagall, and found her in the Staff Room... that knowledge would save him time in searching for her. But first...

James wiped the map and stuffed it back in the pocket of his robes, before pulling from his _other_ pocket a small, round mirror. He stared into the glass and said: "Sirius Black." Nothing happened. "_Sirius Black_," James repeated. Again, there was no answer. He repeated the request several more times, but with identical unsatisfactory results. James swore and replaced the mirror in his pocket. He paused for a few moments to think until an idea struck him.

Automatically, James analyzed the image of the castle's layout in his mind. If he took the secret passageway around the corner (the one behind the tapestry of Boris the Bewildered), he would get to the owlry in under three minutes and back down to the Staff Room in five. James set off in the direction of the Boris the Bewildered Tapestry. As predicted, he reached the owlry in a matter of minutes.

Without pausing for a moment, James moved to the suspended table along the east wall of the room, where there were quills, ink, and parchment for student use. He scribbled a note, hailed the nearest bird, and tied his message to the creature's leg.

He knew what he'd told Marlene, but really—she would want her friends to know. "Remus Lupin at the Three Broomstick," the Quidditch Captain instructed the owl—a snowy white bird. James was out of the room before it was.

* * *

"Where exactly is the pain?"

"And you're certain you didn't see his face?"

"Are you experiencing any numbness?"

"But you're certain it was a male?"

"How long did the curse last?"

"How long did the curse last?"

Neither Healer Holloway nor Professor McGonagall seemed to be showing much compassion for Marlene's headache, which throbbed considerably as both adults bombarded her with questions. Already in a considerably confused state of mind, Marlene shook her head, massaging her forehead wearily.

"Please," the blonde pleaded, closing her eyes in concentration. "_Please_, just give me a moment. I'll answer your questions just... just one at a time. _Please_."

McGonagall realized the sense in this at once. She looked towards Healer Holloway and nodded, indicating that he might interrogate the unfortunate witch first. Holloway stepped forward. "Where exactly do you still feel pain, Miss Price?"

Marlene, who was seated on a cot in the Infirmary with Frank Longbottom and James Potter standing not far off, as well as the Transfiguration teacher and school Healer, considered the question. "Here, mostly." She rubbed her chest—just below the collarbone—gingerly, before adding: "And my head, and a bit in my legs."

Holloway nodded, examining each place she had specified. "And are you experiencing any numbness?" Marlene said that she wasn't, before adding that she had been under the curse for somewhere between five and ten minutes, if her memory could be trusted.

McGonagall now moved forward and began to question Marlene. Across the room, James and Frank sat in conference. The former had encountered the Head Boy on his way to fetch McGonagall, and the latter had insisted on following him back to the Infirmary.

"And you didn't see anyone at all?" Frank asked in an undertone; James shook his head.

"Whoever it was had already left by the time I arrived," he said. "I even searched the..." he checked himself, "the area... no one was on the floor."

"But they'll be able to tell who was in the castle," the Head Boy pressed. "I mean, most people were down in the village by then. Besides the first and second years, there couldn't have been that many students at the school."

"_You_ were," James pointed out. Frank flushed.

"'Didn't much feel like a holiday in Hogsmeade," he muttered. That gave James an idea.

"Listen, I'll be right back." Frank nodded, as James slipped out of the infirmary, closing the door behind him. No one was about, and he once again withdrew the Marauders' Map, summoning its contents with the usual words. There were far fewer dots roaming the corridors today—most of the younger students were outside, in the library, or in their Common Rooms. Sirius Black was down by the lake (Godric only knew why, and he wasn't answering on the mirror...), while Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, Donna Shacklebolt, Mary Macdonald, and Alice Griffiths were making quick progress towards the Hospital Wing—Moony had received his letter apparently and followed the instructions. But there were not many other older students about.

Almost on instinct, James's eyes moved towards the Slytherin Common Room, and then towards the Slytherin dormitories. Two dots sat in one of the rooms: Saul Hester and Severus Snape.

Footsteps and loud voices hailed the imminent arrival of James's fellow Gryffindors, and the Marauder immediately cleared and hid the map, just as Lupin and the girls rounded the corner.

"Is she...?" began Mary fearfully.

"She's with McGonagall and Holloway now," said James. "Conscious and everything, don't worry. I'll let her explain." Mary, Donna, Lily, and Alice all entered the Infirmary immediately, but James halted Remus with a look. "Can I talk to you a moment?" Remus nodded, and James once again pulled the door closed behind him. "Marlene was attacked with the Cruciatus," he said urgently; Remus's eyes grew wide. "She didn't see who attacked her, but I've been looking on the map for someone else in the castle who could have done it... it happened almost an hour ago, but guess who is sitting in the Slytherin Boys' dormitories right now."

Remus arched an eyebrow. "Snape?" he guessed. James nodded. "I dunno, Prongs... if I attacked someone, I wouldn't hang about waiting for someone to catch me. I'd go somewhere with people—establish an alibi, y'know..."

"He's not alone," said James quickly. "That Hester git is with him. And _no one else_ is about."

"But like you said, it was almost an hour ago. That's plenty of time to get out of the castle... maybe go back down to the Village." James glared. "I'm not saying you're wrong, but we haven't any proof."

"Hmph. It's Snape. What proof do you need?"

"You're not planning on going into the law, are you, Prongs?"

"Very funny."

"C'mon." Remus jerked his head towards the Infirmary doors. "Let's look in on Marlene."

On re-entering the room, it was clear that Mary had already had the girls banished from Marlene's bedside, as they had moved to a corner of the room and were talking in hushed voices. James and Remus, meanwhile, approached Frank.

"What's Alice doing here?" asked the Head Boy at once.

"She was talking with Lily when I found her," explained Remus. "She wanted to come along."

"With Lily? I thought she'd be with _Sirius_." It was the closest thing to contempt James had ever heard in Frank Longbottom's voice. He might have been offended, if he wasn't thoroughly annoyed with his best mate at the moment.

"I tried to get in touch with Sirius," James told Remus cryptically, and Frank knew better than to question the vaguely enigmatic language that the Marauders used. "No answer."

"Where is he?" asked Remus.

"By the lake, last I checked."

"Did he..." Remus paused, trying to figure out how to phrase the question. "Did he take everything that he needed with him this morning?" James knew he meant he mirror, and nodded.

"I saw him packing up myself."

"You think he's alright?"

James sighed. "He was fine a few hours ago. He's probably just in 'angst' mode." He had little sympathy just now. "Where's Pete?"

"There wasn't enough room in the carriage," said Remus. "So he agreed to wait for the next one. He should be along any minute."

"Everyone," said Professor McGonagall loudly and suddenly, calling the students to silence, "Miss Price is going to sleep for a while. There's no reason for the rest of you to remain while..."

"But we haven't been allowed to speak with her yet!" protested Mary. Professor McGonagall looked appealingly to Healer Holloway, who merely shrugged.

"They can stay if they want..." he grunted. "But it'll be a wait. I'm having her sleep for a few hours; that should diminish the lingering effects."

"Very well," sighed McGonagall. "You may here for Miss Price to wake up, or you may return to your dormitories." She gave them all pointed looks, before sweeping out of the room.

"Reckon the Ministry will come and investigate?" Remus wondered aloud. Frank shook his head.

"Something like this happened in my first year," he told them. "No one used an Unforgivable, but someone used some serious dark magic... blew up a huge chunk of the third floor corridor. No one knew who did it, though, so the Ministry sent some lecturer, and the whole school had to sit through a fairly uninformative seminar on why we're not supposed to do dark magic."

"That's it?" asked James. Frank nodded.

"What else could they do?"

Healer Holloway, who had departed to his office in search of a sleeping draught, returned. The girls had all gathered around Marlene's bed and were once again obliged to move off. Before she took her potion, Marlene turned to James.

"You said you wouldn't tell," she accused.

"I thought you would want your _friends_ to know," replied James honestly. She sighed, but her frown faded a bit, as she emptied the vial that Healer Holloway provided for her. She lay back down on her pillow, and was asleep in a matter of minutes.

"Don't wake her," cautioned Holloway, before returning to his office. James exhaled heavily and sat down on an unoccupied cot. To his surprise, however, Lily sat down next to him.

"Can you tell us what happened?" the prefect asked softly. She was sitting very close, but her eyes were fixed on Marlene.

"I only saw her after it was over," James admitted. "But I heard some of what she told Holloway and McGonagall. She was attacked by someone—she thinks it was a bloke, and then she was under for... for a while."

"That can do bad things to your head," Remus muttered darkly.

"She seemed fine," Mary spoke up at once. "I mean, she didn't seem... messed up."

"She'll be alright," Lily stated. "She has to be. But who could have done this? Why would anyone attack Marlene? She's... she's never hurt anyone."

James looked at her, wanting very much to tell her what he knew and believed about Snape. But it wouldn't do to talk about it now... not with everyone there. It would have to wait until later. Lily chewed on her lip as she watched her friend's sleeping figure. Mary went to sit beside Alice on another vacant cot on the other side of Marlene's bed, while Donna stood, leaning against the wall with her arms folded, uncharacteristically quiet.

* * *

It was suppertime when Sirius arrived in the Hospital Wing. The seating arrangement had changed significantly. Mary and Alice sat in a corner, where they had been whispering non-stop for hours. Lily was now on the floor, back against the wall, but she had fallen asleep on the also sleeping Remus's shoulder. Peter, who had arrived hours before, sat with Frank, and they were playing cards on one of the cots. Donna now sat where she had stood before, but her cold, unreadable expression remained unchanged.

When Sirius entered, confusion on his face, James crossed the room to meet him. "Where have you been?" he asked in an undertone. "I tried calling you over the mirror, but you didn't answer."

"I went for a walk," replied Sirius moodily, shrugging of the question. "What's everyone doing here, anyway?"

"Don't you know?"

Padfoot shook his head. "I just thought I'd check... you and Moony and Wormtail didn't show for supper... the dorm was empty, and I thought one of you might've been hurt or something... what's going on?"

"Someone used the Cruciatus on Marlene Price."

Sirius's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Is she alright?"

"She's sleeping."

"Then what are you lot doing here?"

James rolled his eyes. "People are _concerned_, Padfoot. Anyway, there's something I want to ask her when she wakes up. I think I might have an idea who attacked her, and I want to see if she thinks the voice might've..." He noticed his friend's skeptical expression. "What?"

"Nothing," said Sirius. "Nothing at all. What's Alice doing here?"

James was getting annoyed. "She was with Lily and wanted to come along."

"Oh. Did she... er... did she say anything?"

James crossed his arms. "She asked if I'd seen you," he snapped. "Agrippa's sake, are you seriously questioning me about this right now? Sirius, Marlene is in induced sleep because she spent several minutes under the Cruciatus Curse. Holloway is just hoping there isn't lasting damage to her mind. A _student_ is—in all likelihood—responsible. And you're standing there, wondering about what your date thinks of you?"

Sirius stood in mutinous silence, heightening James's irritation.

"For once, this isn't about _you_, Sirius," he continued heatedly. "If you're going to be self-centered, you might as well leave."

"Fine," retorted the other. "I don't want to rain on your heroic little parade any longer." He turned and exited the Hospital Wing. James returned to his spot with Frank and Peter, resuming the hand of cards he had formerly held. Alice joined them a few seconds later.

"Is he okay?" she asked.

James frowned. "He's as self-centered and idiotic as ever," grumbled the Marauder, in no mood for romantic heart-to-hearts. "Why wouldn't he be okay?"

"He—he didn't... talk to you about anything... troubling him?" Alice continued.

"_No_. What are you on about?"

"Lovely," huffed the seventh year. "Just lovely. Honestly... _boys_." With that, she too exited the Hospital Wing. James shrugged.

"Well, I'm all out," Frank announced, setting down his last pair of cards.

"Some blokes have all the luck," grumbled Peter, who held nearly a dozen cards in his hand.

The Head Boy shook his head. "Not exactly."

--

"Sirius, _please_ wait up!" Alice called after the Marauder for the third time, and at last he paused in his progression down the corridor. She hurried after him, pulling his arm and forcing him to face her. Sirius waited for her to speak, while she studied his face carefully. "Did you speak to your uncle?"

He nodded mutely.

"And?"

"He has six months at best," he replied with a mirthless smile. Alice's brown eyes lit with pity.

"Oh, Sirius, I'm so sorry."

He shook his head. "'Doesn't matter."

"Of course it does!"

"No, it doesn't." He didn't elaborate. "You should get back to the others."

"Why didn't you tell James?" Alice asked, ignoring him. Sirius glared in the direction of the Hospital Wing. "He's your best mate."

"He was too busy playing at detective. Anyway, I don't want to talk about it."

"But Sirius..."

"Alice, stop it, alright?" Her hand had rested on his arm, and he pulled it away suddenly. "Stop this, alright? I'm sorry for... well, I'm just sorry, okay? You're a nice girl; you really are. And I am... I am _way_ too complicated."

"But..."

"I'm not good for you... and there's a bloke that is... who's mad about you, and who you're mad about, and everything else is... everything else is just you kidding yourself. So go, please—you don't have any obligation to me, and..."

"Sirius Black," snapped Alice. "While I'm _grateful _for your more than slightly condescending gentle letdown, I'm not here for you because I'm looking for a relationship, alright? I'm here because you just found out your uncle has six months to live, and I think you need someone."

"Oh."

"And I know I'm not your best mate or anything, but as someone who has your best interests at heart, _please_ talk to James. He _is_ your best mate, and you can't—you _shouldn't_ let your sadness make you angry, or make you push your friends away."

"I'm not sad," said Sirius. "I'm _not_. I don't like to be lied to... not by anyone, and..." He stopped. "I don't want to talk about this. Please just leave me alone."

Alice sighed heavily. "I will," she said. "But don't do anything stupid."

Sirius did not reply. Instead, he turned and continued to trudge down the corridor. Alice returned to the Hospital Wing; at the door, her eyes flickered towards Frank, who seemed to be out of the game, but held conversation with his two Marauder companions. Shaking her head, Alice sat down next to Donna.

"What's with Black?" the sixth year asked dully.

"Bad day I guess," answered Alice. "How are you? You're awfully quiet."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Well, I am."

"Are you sure?"

"Are you sure you want to keep asking stupid questions?"

"Yes."

"Well..." Donna broke off. "I feel guilty," she said unexpectedly. "It's not my fault. Rationally, I know that. I had nothing to do with this. I literally had _nothing to do with this_.But Marlene and I had been fighting—more than usual—and I didn't apologize, and I _should_ have just apologized, and now she's in the Hospital Wing, and it's not even like she's dying, so this is just stupid, but for whatever reason, I feel guilty." She finished and looked at Alice. "Don't tell Lily. She'll gloat."

Alice patted Donna's shoulder awkwardly. "She _isn't_ dying, Donna. You can still apologize."

"I know... but I probably won't."

Alice nodded. "Yes, that sounds about right."

* * *

What was taking them so long?

Snape paced his dormitory tensely, wand held tight between his fingers, just in case someone decided to circumvent Dumbledore and pay the Slytherin dorms a visit on their own. Even if it _didn't_ come to that, he was expecting _something_. Three hours and no one had so much as knocked on the Slytherin sixth year boys' dormitory door. Was it possible his hastily applied Confundus Curse had actually worked on Marlene Price? It didn't seem likely—he had tried to erase his face from her memory, but Hester had been in such a panic after hearing someone in the next corridor, and it was distracting... she certainly remembered the attack itself... the pain of the Cruciatus (_it had been every bit as thrilling as the books promised_) was still written on her mind when the two Slytherins left. Surely she would tell Dumbledore or McGonagall or someone that she had been hexed into forgetting, and it wouldn't take much work on the staff's part to reconstruct her memory.

Even still, three hours had passed, and Snape was still alone... well, not quite. Severus cast an irritable eye over his shoulder to where Hester lay asleep on a bed. It was all _his_ fault, really... he had gone to pieces at the noise—started to run away and tried to drag Snape along with him. Severus had needed to wrap it up quickly with all the commotion his dimwitted companion was making, and it made him sloppy.

On their retreat to the dormitory, Snape hadn't known what else to do with Hester. A second Confundus Charm served to ensure that he would remember nothing of his own assault and just enough of Snape's attack on Marlene (whom he still believed to be Lily) that he would be able to testify for Malfoy. Then, because he had become so weary of Hester's bewitched chatter, Snape cast a quick sleeping spell and levitated him to the nearest bed. Hester would wake up oblivious in a few hours, but Snape had no doubt that by then, his own stay at Hogwarts would have been terminated.

He wasn't seventeen, yet, and he hadn't killed anyone. They couldn't send him to Azkaban, but he'd be expelled for certain.

So long as it didn't become generally known that Marlene Price—not Lily Evans—had been attacked, Severus didn't mind that so much... He wouldn't go home. He would join the death eaters, _full time_. He would serve the Dark Lord... he would have unlimited hours to study the Dark Arts, unlimited resources to expand his own prowess... it would all go according to his preexisting plan, except that he could have it all earlier.

Only one thing kept Sev in the Slytherin dormitories just then. It was the sole reason he hadn't already fled to Hogsmeade to avoid the formalities of Dumbledore's inevitable visit (of his own inevitable expulsion). It was the sole reason he had for hesitation about leaving Hogwarts—the one thing he still clung to.

Lily.

And it was irrational, he knew, because after this, it would be a long, long time before Lily would agree to see him again. He didn't know how long—how powerful he would have to be to win her back—but he knew it would be a matter of years, not months. So, though Snape knew he _could_ leave—that he would be seeing Lily much sooner than she would be seeing _him_—he similarly recognized that it would be difficult, arduous, and that he needed to really see her one last time.

He prayed that she would have no opportunity to shoot him a sad, disappointed look. He hated that look.

Snape squirmed uncomfortably at the thought. He constructed a scene in his imagination... his being led out of Hogwarts, shamed in the eyes of most of the idiots there... Lily's furious, beautiful glare... her anger, but not her hatred (no, never her hatred). True hate might have been Sev's frequent companion, but it was an impossibility for Lily Evans. Of that, Snape was certain.

He paused, thinking he heard footsteps on the stair outside, but after a minute of silence, realized that this too must have been a product of his imagination. Snape resumed pacing.

He could handle the situation. He could handle the expulsion and the risk... it was the waiting that killed him.

What was taking them so long?

* * *

Marlene's eyes fluttered open around seven o'clock. Donna noticed first. "She's awake," she said loudly, getting up and crossing the room to Marlene's bedside. The others followed at once.

"How are you?" asked Lily first; "does anything still hurt? Because I've read a lot about it, and if it doesn't wear off, that could mean..." She stopped. "Sorry. Go on."

Marlene sat up in her bed. "I feel better," she said. "Drowsy, but... nothing hurts. I'm fine."

"What happened?" asked Remus. "I mean, James told us part of it, but... you really don't have _any _idea who could have done this? You haven't been receiving death threats that you just—I don't know—forgot to mention?"

Marlene shook her head. "And have any of you heard anything? From Professor McGonagall or anyone?" They hadn't. "I hope they don't announce it... I'd really rather as few people know I was attacked as possible."

"Why?" James wanted to know.

"It's awkward, that's all. The stares, the questions... I don't want to be 'the girl that got attacked.'"

"Well, we won't tell," Alice assured her. "Someone should fetch Healer Holloway." Donna left to do it, and Marlene began to explain what had happened.

"There isn't too much to tell," she confessed. "I was walking and then someone... someone called out—it was a male voice. I turned, but... before I got a good look, I was hit with the first... the first Cruciatus Curse. That lasted for a while, and then it stopped, and then it started again... and then it stopped, but I could still feel it, y'know? Then the person left, and... then I heard James's voice calling my name. I can't even be sure how much time passed, only... Mary, are you crying?"

"Yes!" sobbed Mary pitifully. "I can't help it! You're my best friend, and I don't tell you that enough, and...!"

"Mary, I'm not dying," Marlene pointed out.

"I know, but... but..." She didn't finish, instead throwing her arms around Marlene in a watery embrace. Marlene smiled as she patted Mary on the back, and the others looked on, amused in spite of themselves. Then, Healer Holloway arrived with Donna at his heals.

"Move over then," he grumbled, and they cleared a path for him to examine Marlene. "Any more pain? Any at all?"

"No."

"Hmph. Numbness? Shortness of breath?"

"No."

"Disorientation?"

"No."

"Light-headedness?"

"No."

"Anything unusual at all?" Marlene shook her head. "Very well," said Holloway. "I'm going to ask you a few simple questions, just to be certain of your mentality. What's your full name?"

"Marlene Katharine Price."

"Birthday?"

"July twelfth."

"School house and colors."

"Gryffindor, red and gold."

Holloway continued in this fashion for several minutes, asking everything from favorite dessert to childhood pets. She answered them all quite clearly and without hesitation, until at last Holloway seemed satisfied. "Alright, then," he said, crossing his arms, as though he would rather not admit it: "You seem to be recovered. But you'll come straight back, should you experience anything odd over the next couple of days, understand?"

"Yes."

"I'll have to fill out a report," the Healer went on, "And I'll get you a sleeping potion, or you'll be up half the night after _that_ nap. Wait here."

He left, and as he did, Remus stepped forward. "It's good to see you're okay, Marlene. I'm headed down to the kitchens now—do you want me to get you anything?"

"No, thank-you, though."

"I'll come too," said Peter.

"Me, too," said Frank.

"Coming, James?" asked Remus, starting for the door.

"No, I'll meet you in the dormitory," said James. "There's something I want to speak with Marlene about first."

Remus nodded and left with the others. "I should go, too," said Alice sadly. She gave Marlene a one armed hug. "You ask me if there's anything you need, alright?"

"Thank-you," said Marlene again, and Alice, too left.

"You know," said Mary, sitting down on the edge of Marlene's cot. "There's one thing I don't understand about this. Why weren't you in the village? What were you doing in the castle to begin with?"

Suddenly, the blonde's eyes grew very wide. "_Shit_," she swore. "Adam! I completely forgot! He must..."

Just then, the Infirmary door opened, and—as if summoned by the sound of his name—Adam McKinnon appeared.

"I am _so_ sorry...!" Marlene began to say, but Adam cut her off.

"Are you alright? Sirius didn't say much, except that you were here, and..."

At that point, James stopped listening. Entering just behind Adam was Sirius. At first, the Marauder kept his gaze on the floor, but he soon looked upward, locking eyes with James. They didn't say anything, but James nodded slightly, and Sirius inclined his head, and they both understood.

"Marlene!" shouted a new voice suddenly.

"Bloody hell, it's like Kings' Cross Station in here, the way people are coming and going!" muttered Donna, folding her arms irritably. The latest arrival, however, was considerably less welcome. Miles Stimpson rushed to Marlene's bedside and planted his lips firmly on hers, making everyone else present feel as though they ought not be there.

"Miles!" cried Marlene, pushing him away. "What are you _doing_? How did you find out I was here?!"

"There was a rumor that someone was unconscious in the Hospital Wing," explained the Ravenclaw hastily. "And you weren't at supper, so I thought perhaps... Marlene, I am _so_ sorry! I should have been there for you! This whole thing is stupid, and I'm sorry, and I love..."

"Miles!" Marlene cut him off sharply. "Can we have this conversation later? I'm _fine_. I'm not dead... not even close! I'll speak with you later!"

"No, Marly, don't you see? When I thought you might be seriously hurt, I realized something—I've been really stupid, I know that, and I can't apologize enough, really! But before—I wasn't really ready! I wasn't ready to be with you completely, and so I was a git! But now I'm ready! And it'll be different! Really, Marly, I _love_ you, and I want to be your boyfriend."

Everyone was uncomfortably quiet. Marlene blinked twice. "_Excuse me?_" she said finally. "_You're_ ready now? What the bloody hell of you been doing for the last two and a half years? If you weren't 'ready' to be in a relationship with me, why were we in one?"

"But, Marly..."

"_No!_" Marlene very well near shrieked. "_You_ said you wanted to talk about this now—let's talk about this now! You're a _git, _and a cheat, and a liar, and you never listened to me! Like when I said I hated the nickname 'Marly.' Yeah, I said that! Like a hundred times! You were a _terrible_ boyfriend, and whether or not you're 'ready' now, Miles Stimpson, you and I are now and always will be _over!"_

"Mar—Marlene...!"

"I already broke up with you once, Miles! Do I have to do it again?"

"Marlene, you're tired, and..."

Unable to contain herself, the blonde picked up the tissue box on her bedside table and hurled it at Miles, who dodged it easily, but re-emerged looking a sad mixture of embarrassed and furious. Without a word, he turned and stormed out of the Infirmary.

A long, awkward silence followed.

"I wonder," began Sirius at length, "how he thought that conversation was going to end. I imagine it didn't include the tissue."

"No, rather without the tissue," James agreed.

Lily, Mary, Donna, and Adam at least found this funny, but they ineffectually smothered laughter as Marlene buried her face in her hands. "Good God, let this day be _over_," she pleaded, but she too was smiling—if somewhat weakly—when she moved her hands away from her face to push her hair back. "I have _such_ a headache..."

And that, unfortunately for Marlene, was the precise moment that Healer Holloway decided to reappear. "A headache?" he inquired, hastening to her side. "How severe? How long have you had it?"

"No, no, no," protested Marlene hastily. "It's not like that! It's just, my ex-boyfriend was here, and I had to break up with him again, and..."

But Holloway would have none of it. He insisted that Marlene stay the night for further observation, and, after a great deal of protesting, she relented. "Everyone out," ordered Holloway crossly; "I'll have supper brought up to Miss Price, and the rest of you can return to your dormitories now. She's had quite enough company."

Their protests were equally ignored, and as Holloway hobbled back to his office to file away Marlene's forms, the others were left to say their goodbyes.

"Marlene," began Donna unsteadily, "Listen, I just... I wanted to say that I..." She didn't quite catch anyone's eye. "I just... you know, er... that is, I..."

"Right," interrupted Marlene. "Me too."

Donna nodded, smiling faintly. "I'll see you in the tomorrow."

"'Bye, Love," said Lily, smiling warmly at Marlene. "I'm proud of you, you know."

"For getting attacked?" queried the blonde, confused.

Lily laughed and shook her head. "For flinging a tissue box at Miles's head."

"'Love you, dear," said Mary, hugging her friend. "Don't unexpectedly die during the night, if you please."

"I'll do my best."

The three girls trudged away, and James stepped closer to the bed. He didn't really mind if Adam and Sirius—the only others left there now—overheard what he had to say to Marlene. "Listen, I know you're tired, but there's something I've got to ask you." She nodded. "Because of the Hogsmeade weekend, there weren't a lot of people in the castle when you were attacked."

"Right..."

"One of the few people that _was_ in the castle... that is... well, it doesn't really matter how I know this, but... just... there was one older student. Do you think the voice that you heard... calling you, before you were attacked... do you think it could've been Severus Snape?"

Marlene's face grew pale. She did not answer for several seconds, and she stared off into space, as though thinking very deeply about her reply. "No," she said at last. "I don't think so."

James frowned. "But you can't be sure?"

"I don't think it was him, James."

"But you don't _know_, and..."

"James, let it go. It wasn't Snape."

"How do you know, if...?"

"I just know it wasn't him," insisted the witch. "The voice isn't right."

James softened a bit. "You're _sure_?"

"I wouldn't say so if I wasn't sure," Marlene replied.

"Alright then." James nodded slowly. "I hope you feel better."

He started to leave, but Marlene called him back. "Thank-you," she said. "For taking care of me, and taking me here, and... telling all of my friends, even though I asked you not to."

James grinned slightly. "You're welcome." He left with Sirius, and Marlene and Adam were alone.

"I'm _so_ sorry," she reiterated earnestly. "And you know, I think I dropped your record in the hallway."

Adam smiled. "I'm not very easy to convince, Mar, but when your excuse for standing me up is that you got attacked with an Unforgivable Curse... even _I'm_ going to cut you some slack, there." Marlene tried to smile back, but instead, her face distorted oddly, like she was about to cry. Adam hurried up to her. "What's wrong?"

"I've done something terrible," Marlene whispered, sniffing. "I don't think I can take it back, either."

"What are you talking about? You haven't done anything wrong! Certainly not Miles..."

"No." She shook her head quickly. "No, not Miles. It's something else... I can't explain it." The witch looked up and met Adam's eye. "You know you mean a lot to me, don't you? And—earlier today, I thought... but... right now... right now I just need a friend. I just—I just need someone to tell me everything is going to be alright."

Adam was quiet for some time. "Everything's going to be alright," he said at last, but his voice shook a little. He sat on the edge of her bed, and slipped an arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Thank-you." Marlene closed her eyes, allowing the long withheld tears to trickle down her cheeks. Adam said nothing, but pulled her closer, so that as he leaned back against the wall, her tears fell onto the front of his shirt. She began to cry properly, her shoulders shaking as she wept, but still he said nothing, and—some time later—when Healer Holloway came by and saw the two sleeping teenagers, he, too, said nothing.

(Some Enchanted Evening)

Remus and Peter always knew just what to get from the kitchens, James reflected, as the Marauders feasted in their dormitory that evening. Without so much as asking, they had brought back what could only be described as the perfect meal, and so, with ham and potatoes and cake and treacle tart and a wide variety of breads and puddings and drinks, the boys sat on the floor, talking about things that didn't matter.

They were just finishing laughing at a story Sirius related to them, sobering up and having some more butterbeer, when Peter spoke up: "Something feels different, doesn't it?"

James raised his eyebrows. "Different how?"

"I don't know," said the other. "Just... different. Unforgivable Curses at Hogwarts... didn't it used to be the only thing we had to be afraid of were... 'Levicorpus' and jelly leg hexes?"

The others were quiet, before Sirius said, cheerfully: "Don't worry yourself about it, Wormy. If you're afwaid of the big bad Switherins, we'll get some Hufflepuff girls to protect you!"

Peter blushed, the others laughed it off, and nothing more was said on the topic. Later, while Remus cleared up the remains of the supper, Sirius and James moved to a corner of the dormitory.

"That was a pretty decent thing you did," said James, "finding Adam McKinnon, I mean."

"It's a bit trickier finding someone without the map," Sirius agreed, grinning.

"I'm sorry I said you were self-centered."

"I'm sorry I was a git to you."

They both nodded.

"So are you going to tell me?" asked James, and off of Sirius's inquisitive look, he continued: "Are you going to tell me what happened? What is it that Alice knows about you and I don't? Are you going to tell me?"

Sirius hesitated. "I will," he replied. "But... not yet. I don't... really want to talk about it just now."

James nodded. "Well... I'll be around."

"Yeah. Thanks."

--

It was like a bad joke.

Wearily, Lily stepped into her dormitory that night, and the room lit up to reveal hundreds of red roses. Lily had forgotten all about the flowers, and there they were, a ridiculous mockery of whatever they had been meant to represent at the beginning of the long and tiresome day. They sat on almost every surface of the dormitory, exactly as they had that morning, and yet so differently.

At first, the roses had seemed so romantic, then a little sad, then irritating, and now they were something kind of darkly ironic.

Lily stood surrounded by the flowers, too tired to react, with her cloak and scarf still in hand for several minutes, before the door opened behind her, admitting an equally exhausted Mary.

"Bloody hell, I forgot," murmured the brunette, throwing her own cloak over a chair as she attempted to navigate her way to the lavatory. "Oh, and, Lily, Luke's outside the Common Room looking for you."

This brought Lily back to reality at once. "_Shit,"_ she swore, "I _completely_ forgot. Thanks, Mare..."

Mary nodded vaguely in reply, as Lily darted out the door, downstairs, and through the Common Room. Out in the corridor, Luke was pacing back and forth across a short stretch just before the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Ever-loving Agrippa, I'm sorry," said Lily, hastening towards her boyfriend. "I didn't mean to slink off like that, but Marlene was in the hospital wing, and you were out, and I didn't even think with..."

"Never mind it," Luke interrupted; he was very pale, and Lily doubted that he had heard a word of her excuse. "I need your help, Lily. I can't answer your questions, and I can't explain, but I need you to trust me and come with me. It's very important."

For the first time, Lily noticed the book bag slung over her boyfriend's shoulder. She noted the urgency in his brown eyes and the intensity of his voice.

"Luke, you have to give me something more than that."

The Ravenclaw nodded slowly. "All I can say is... is... it's a matter of life and death. _Please_, Lily."

In the years to come, Lily would never distinctly remember saying 'yes,' although she supposed that she must have agreed in some manner. She would also never remember the trip through the castle corridors, down the marble stairwell, across the Entrance Hall, and outside. She would never remember how Luke managed to convince Filch to let him take a last carriage down to the Village, or what was said throughout that ride.

She would, however, recall stepping out of the carriage and onto the high street, crowded with Valentine's Day couples, enduring the elements for a romantic evening. She would remember Luke's silence as she followed him to a highly familiar closed-down wooden building—the Harper's old shop—and how the bustle of the outside world evaporated as Luke closed the door behind them. She would remember how it was quiet in the house—quiet, but not quite silent.

Very aware of the exact location of her wand (in the pocket of her coat), Lily followed Luke up the stairs of the clearly abandoned house. Halfway up the stairway, Lily became conscious of the fact that the house was not _utterly _deserted—there was the sound of a crackling fire, and shortly, she could see a slight orange light reflecting off a wall.

Most of the second floor corridor was dark when the pair reached the landing; all of the doors were closed, but while most were pitch black, the crack on the floor of one revealed a strip of orange firelight. Lily looked to her boyfriend, her hand closing around the wand in her pocket.

"You don't need to be afraid," Luke murmured, as though he heard her thoughts. He led the way down the corridor towards the lit room. They reached the door, and Luke made for the knob, but he did not open it right away. "Trust me: you have nothing to fear," he reiterated. "I need your help. If you can't help me, I don't know what I'll do."

Slowly, Lily nodded.

Luke opened the door.

* * *

**A/N: **I bet many of you can guess what's on the other side of that door! Fairy dust to whoever reviews with their ideas!

Oh, how my heart broke for poor Adam! I could literally go on forever about the construction of this chapter, but I won't. I had a lot of influences here, including: David Addison (James channeled some serious Bruce Willis!), 50s music, my new hat, a very slight amount of tequila, Anya Marina's genius cover of "Whatever You Like," and a healthy dose of Christmas spirit.

There is a Chapter 16 "deleted scene" so to speak posted in my profile. It's nothing epic--just a little look at what Donna was doing during most of the chapter. Have a look if you like :D

Look forward to lots of Lily and Luke in Chapter 17.

Lastly, parts of three different Chapter 13 teasers are fulfilled in this chapter. Cookies to whoever knows which ones! :-)

Reviews are my new hat (Seriously: it is one sexy hat).

Love and Cookies,

Jewels


	17. The Harpers

**A/N: **This chapter WOULD have been posted tomorrow, except that one of my friends picked _today_ to declare his love for me via a—get this—facebook message, and I found the inspiration to finish while avoiding answering that. Which I now have to do. Damn it.

The three fulfilled teasers were guessed by **ASmileADay **and **Will Write For Food** and are as follows: Donna is in the process of making a bad decision repeatedly, Marlene broke up with the same boy for the second time, and Severus made one of at least two big mistakes. Not the juiciest, perhaps, but they shorten the list, don't they?

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo-Ro.

**Recap:** Luke Harper's brother, Logan, might be a death eater. Sirius finds out his uncle is dying and is pissed Alphard didn't tell him sooner. Snape attacks Marlene, because he was ordered to attack Lily but managed to "convince" (via magic) his co-pre-death-eater Hester that it was Lily under the Cruciatus, not Marlene. James suspects Snape of the attack, though the confunded Marlene disagrees. There's an article in the newspaper about three aurors who were killed in an altercation with death eaters. After Hogsmeade visit, Luke Harper goes to Lily and asks her to go with him into the village and not ask questions—it's a matter of life and death. She follows him to the Harpers' deserted shop.

This chapter is dedicated to every single lovely person who reviewed, especially _Foggy Moon, _who invoked the power of having reviewed every chapter (in like a 24 hour period), thereby compelling me to update as quickly as possible.

Chapter 17- The Harpers

Or

"Wake Up, Little Susie"

Lily had seen his face before. They had been in school together after all, though their gap of houses and several years prevented any real interaction. Also, Luke had pictures, and there had been one in the newspaper a few months back. He had a jaw like Luke's, but his eyes were darker—almost black. He had a roundish kind of nose, an unshaven face, and feathery brown hair. Lily had seen Logan Harper's face before, but it was somehow different now—although that might have been the blood and dirt.

Logan sat on the floor of the room, leaning against the sofa quite near the fire. His face was bloodied, but only slightly; there was far more blood on the white rag that the wizard held to his bare chest. He looked up at Lily when she and Luke entered the fire-lit room, but there was no fear in his eyes; rather, he eyed Lily distrustfully, as though he did not notice the rag he uselessly employed on the wound that continued to bleed.

"Who's this?" Logan asked, and though some of his features might have resembled his younger brother's, his voice was not one of them. It was rough and coarse, like Luke's had never been.

"She can help you," was Luke's vague reply. Lily turned to her boyfriend at these words.

"What's wrong with him, what is he doing here, and why do you need me?" she asked, very quickly and rather sharply.

"Can you trust her?" demanded Logan.

"Of course I can trust her," said Luke; he hesitated before starting on Lily's questions. "Lily—this... this is my brother Logan. He's... hurt. He's bleeding out... I think it's a cursed wound..."

"Of course it's a cursed wound," snapped Logan.

"_Quiet_," ordered Luke to Logan. Addressing Lily, he continued urgently: "I need you to make a potion to help him clot. You're a thousand times better at potions than I am, and..."

"Luke, he should go to St. Mungo's," interrupted Lily. Logan coughed.

"You know he can't do that," pleaded Luke.

"The Ministry said he wasn't under arrest. They just want him for questioning. He should go to St. Mungo's... it'll be much safer."

"I _can't_, Lily," said Luke. "He won't go, and if he doesn't stop bleeding, he's going to die." A look at the scowling but weakened Logan told Lily that this, at least, was true. Whatever was going to be done, it had to be done quickly. There was no time to think, to weigh options, or to gamble, and she couldn't just let him die.

"I don't have anything to work with," Lily muttered, running a hand through her hair. "I'd need instructions, and a cauldron, and a hot fire, and ingredients, and..."

"I have it all," said Luke quickly. He indicated to the book bag that Lily had noticed earlier; "I bought out half the apothecary, and there's a room you can use." He pointed towards the stair and was about to lead the way, when Lily stopped him.

"I'll need to look at the wound," she said.

"Oh. Of course."

Lily approached the injured wizard, who flinched as she knelt beside him on the wooden floor. "What's your name, anyway?" asked Logan, as Lily gently removed the rag.

"Lily," she replied distractedly. The wound was small—barely the length of her ring finger, and yet it bled profusely. "When did this start? How did you get it?"

Logan did not answer, so Luke spoke up: "He got it about... almost twenty four hours ago. It didn't start bleeding until this morning, though. He got it when..."

"_Luke_," censured the elder brother.

"She has to _know_, Logan," snapped Luke.

"No, she _doesn't_."

"Yes, I do," interjected Lily. When neither brother spoke, she added impatiently: "Can you at least tell me if it was a spell, or if you cut yourself on something, or...?"

"A hex," mumbled Logan.

"He found a spell that stopped the bleeding for most of the afternoon," Luke added. "But it started again about an hour ago, and nothing's worked since."

"Lily _what_?" Logan said, as Lily cleaned the rag with a simple spell.

"Hmm?"

"You said your name was 'Lily.' Lily _what_?"

She met his eye. "Evans."

"_Evans_? Who's your family?"

"No one you know."

"A mudblood?" asked Logan sharply.

"_Logan_!"

"I wouldn't be insulting _my_ blood," Lily crisply replied, continuing her examination of the cut. Logan looked at Luke.

"Never mind it. I don't want her working on the potion. I don't trust her."

"Fine with me," snapped Lily. She got to her feet and started towards the door, but Luke impeded her path, looking pleadingly between his brother and his girlfriend.

"Logan, I can't trust anyone else, and if you won't let me take you to St. Mungo's, there's no other way."

"_You_ could make the potion..." Logan began to say, but Luke cut him off.

"I'm rubbish at potions—always have been. I know you don't trust Lily, but you don't know her. She's brilliant in potions, and she wouldn't hurt anyone. _Least_ of all someone that I care about." Here, he looked meaningfully at Lily. Logan continued to scowl, but made no more complaints. Lily sighed heavily.

"Give me the book, then."

Luke pulled a large volume from his bag, handing it to her and leading the way out of the room. He closed the door behind them and started for the downward staircase. "There's two potions in there for blood clotting; I'm not sure which..."

"You'll want the one by Havershamp," muttered Lily, as much to herself as to Luke. "The one by Warlock Bace is quicker to brew, but it's not as effective on curse wounds." She followed Luke down to the first floor, through what had once been the main shopping area, and into a back room. A fire was lit, and a table covered in dozens of potions ingredients was laid out. In addition, there was a chair near the fire and a cauldron. "I'll need another cauldron," she said.

"Why?"

"Two parts of the potion should be brewed separately and combined at the end," she explained. Luke hesitated. "Do you want me to do this or not?" the redhead pressed, and he nodded quickly.

"Right. I'll find one."

"Thank-you."

She opened the book and skimmed through the index. Locating the correct page, she scanned the ingredients list and walked over to the table. Luke observed her apprehensively, as she moved different ingredients to different areas of the table, muttering to herself and counting out portions on her fingers. After a few minutes, she finished, sighed, and turned to Luke.

"All the ingredients are here," she said. "I can do it. It should take about an hour. Your brother used a spell to slow the bleeding, so I don't think he'll bleed out in that time, but... make sure he doesn't move around much, yeah?" She grabbed hold of the table and pulled it a short way, closer to the cauldron and the fire.

"Right." Luke moved towards the door, but paused at the threshold. "Lily, I..."

"The cauldron," she interrupted coolly.

"Right... right." He left, and Lily sat down in the chair provided for her. She closed her eyes and ran one hand through her hair, breathing deeply several times. Then, opening her eyes, she set about her work.

* * *

It was a tedious potion to brew. The instructions included many details, not just concerning ingredients to be added, but the heat of the fire and the temperature of the room. As a result, Lily spent as much time using her wand to regulate the conditions as she did working directly on the potion.

_That_ took longer than she expected too—the pine sap was slow in pouring, and the kneazle furs didn't change the liquid to the right shade of maroon, which meant she had to supplement it with a little powdered dragon claw. Lily took her time though; rushing was the biggest mistake someone could make in potion-brewing, and a flawed draught could just as easily kill Logan Harper as save him. So it was that nearly an hour and a half passed before Lily shifted the larger of her two cauldrons onto the fire, stirring it twice clockwise, and then moving out of the room.

Her legs and back were both a bit stiff from the awkward position she had taken for the last ninety minutes, and her eyes were sore from the poor lighting. She stretched and yawned as she moved out of her small room, through the main walkway, and into another side room, to which she knew Luke had exiled himself.

Lily knocked twice on the wooden doorframe. Luke was dozing in a chair, but the Ravenclaw stirred at the sound of her fist on the frame. His unfocused eyes opened, landing on Lily and causing him to straighten up.

"Lily..." He cleared his throat. "Is everything alright?"

Lily nodded and stepped into the room. "The potion's on the fire; it'll be another ten minutes."

"Oh. Okay."

The redhead sat down in a chair and looked at her boyfriend intently.

"How is he?" she asked, her tone much softer than it had been the last time they spoke. "Any developments?"

Luke shook his head. "He's lying down, now. I think he's in a lot of pain."

"When did you find him?" Lily wondered. "Or did he find you?"

"He found me," Luke explained. "It was right after you left... he got my attention out on the street—said he was going to the shop, and I should meet him there. He had a few other injuries... nothing major, and I was able to clean him up. That's what we did most of the afternoon. Then he started bleeding again, and it wouldn't stop. I remembered a potion that I thought might work, but I knew I'd never be able to brew it... I'm rubbish at potions. You were the only one I could think of that I could trust... who wouldn't run away screaming or try and turn him in."

"If he's innocent, he shouldn't have anything to worry about," murmured Lily resentfully.

"That's what I told him," Luke insisted. "But he doesn't see it that way, does he? He always believes everyone's out to get him. "

"Why did he come to _you_? Why not someone else in the family or one of... one of his _friends_." The implication of the last word was lost on Luke.

"He doesn't want to upset Mum. I can't say why he didn't go to his friends—he didn't even mean to come to me. He was going to crash in the shop for a few days, but when he saw all the Hogwarts students in the streets, he thought of me."

"And what are you going to do?" Lily asked.

"I dunno... He has to make a decision on his own. I can't _force_ him to turn himself in, can I? He hasn't committed a crime—they only want him to testify or something. Once he's healed, he'll probably stick around for a few days, and then I'm not sure where he's off to. I doubt he will tell me." Lily sat quietly for some time, until Luke queried: "What are you thinking?"

She was thinking about _The Daily Prophet_ that morning, about where Logan might have been wounded, all that James Potter had said to her in the Three Broomsticks, and three dead aurors whose murderers were missing. It was a lot to think about. "Did he tell you how he got those injuries?"

Luke hesitated, then shook his head. "He's family, Lily. He's my _brother. _I couldn't just leave him alone, could I?"

"No," agreed Lily. "Of course not."

"Listen, I really am quite grateful for everything you're doing," her boyfriend continued presently. "I knew you would help me, and I really can't thank you enough."

"Well, I couldn't... I couldn't just let him bleed to death..." (_Even if he _is_ a death eater...)_ Luke looked like he wanted to add something else, but Lily got to her feet again and said: "I'd better go check on the potion."

"I'll go with you," promised Luke, following her.

The thick, soupy liquid in the cauldron was just about the right shade of scarlet when Lily arrived. She stirred it once again and watched the potion steam. "It's ready," she said to Luke, taking a vial from the table and pouring a few ladles full of the potion inside.

"Perhaps," began Luke as she did so, "it might be better if _I_ gave it to him." At Lily's unhappy expression, he hastily added: "I'm _sorry_, Lily, but he trusts me, and I _need_ him to take this! It would be best if he didn't have any more reminders that it was..."

"Brewed by a mudblood," Lily finished angrily.

"Please, Lily, don't say things like that," begged Luke. "Let's... let's not talk about things like that, please? Let's not think about it! He's my brother. He's not perfect, but he's my brother, and you can't talk him out of these things. Just... just let me give him the potion. It'll go over smoother."

"_Let's not think about it_?" snapped the redhead, handing her companion the vial. "Luke, I don't even know where to _begin_ with that."

"What are you talking about?"

She was fully prepared to fight him on this... shout at him and try to lift the persistent veil that seemed to shadow her boyfriend's eyes, and yet—in a moment of extraordinary self control—Lily merely exhaled heavily, closed her eyes, and placed her hands on her hips, forcefully calming herself. "Nothing," she breathed. "I'm not talking about anything. You'd better go give that to Logan. I'll be up in a minute... just going to clean up here."

"Thank you," Luke repeated at the door. Lily nodded shortly.

When she reached the room upstairs a few minutes later, Luke was still in the process of convincing Logan that the potion would help him. Lily stood on the threshold, arms crossed as she watched the little argument. Luke had been right about one thing—his brother's condition was certainly deteriorating. The older wizard was now frighteningly pale, and though he maintained his position on the floor, he slouched further still against the sofa, as though it took all the energy he had to even keep his head up.

"Logan, _please_," implored Luke. Logan's attention, however, had now turned to Lily; he eyed her with similar—if faltering—resilient dislike as before.

"I don't trust you," he said calmly: the family resemblance grew less and less apparent.

"If I wanted to kill you, I would have let Luke brew it," replied Lily.

Logan snorted. "Fine." With that, he took the vial from Luke's hands, uncorked it, and tasted a drop. He flinched. "It's disgusting."

"I wasn't aware that made a difference," said Lily.

"I'll get some tea," Luke interjected anxiously, but as he started for the door, Logan called him back.

"Let _her_ get it." He grinned challengingly at Lily, the vial still poised at his lips.

"Logan..."

"No, it's fine," Lily interrupted. "I'll do it. Where do I go?"

"The kitchen's next door." Luke pointed towards one of the walls, and Lily departed. When she returned, Logan had emptied the contents of the vial and moved to the sofa. His facial expression was one of suppressed pain.

"It's not working; I'm still bleeding," he snapped at Lily. She was levitating three cups of tea at wand point and merely rolled her eyes.

"Give it a minute or two more."

She was right; a few minutes passed, and the wound had ceased to bleed entirely. Shortly after that, it began to scab over, and some of the color returned to the wizard's face. Logan still looked exceptionally ill, though, and Luke advised his brother to sleep, to which the older Harper shook his head and insisted that he was fine. Lily levitated the tea cup to sit, midair, beside Logan. "You can drink it whenever you want. It shouldn't affect the potion... if anything, it'll help to have something in your system."

Logan begrudgingly took the tea that he himself had commissioned and sipped it. Luke took a seat by the fire and imitated the gesture, but Lily remained standing, drinking her own tea near the door. Logan drained his cup quickly, and then, to his brother's very great surprise, slumped against the couch cushion and fell asleep.

"Is that normal?" Luke asked of Lily in a whisper, for fear of waking the other.

"It's normal when you've just downed a cup of tea spiked with sleeping draught," said Lily quite calmly. Luke got to his feet.

"What did you _do_?" he snapped, crossing the room. "You _drugged him_?"

"There's no need to keep your voice quiet," Lily went on, in the same even tone. "He won't wake up."

"_Lily_," barked Luke. "Who do you think you are? You can't just... _that's_ what the other cauldron was for, wasn't it? _Circe¸_ I had enough trouble getting him to trust you in the first place! What is he going to think now that you've..."

"As much as I'd love to listen to this," Lily interrupted, setting down her tea, "there isn't time. He'll be asleep for about fifteen minutes. If you feel too traitorous taking him to the Ministry, you should drop him at St. Mungo's. They'll make sure all his wounds are healed, _and_ they'll know what to do with him from there."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that you have someone sleeping on that couch who is wanted by the Ministry of Magic, and you have to do what's best for everyone... _including _him. I've done the cold, heartless part with the sleeping potion and the lying... you can tell him _I_ was the one who apparated him to St. Mungo's if it makes you feel better, but..."

"I'm _not_ turning him in!" Luke practically shouted. She had never heard his voice that loud before, but Lily remained resolute.

"Luke, I _know_ he's your brother, and I know you feel disloyal, but this is about right and wrong. If he was involved with..."

"He _hasn't_ done anything wrong!"

They were both silent for a moment, before Lily quietly stated: "You're lying."

Luke stared. "_What?"_

"At first I thought _you'd_ been deceived," the redhead continued, a little surprised at the sudden onslaught of revelation as it came to her. "But that's not it, is it? You're _lying_ to me. You know exactly where he got those wounds as well as I do."

"You don't know what you're..."

"I _do_ know what I'm talking about, Luke Harper. I'm not _stupid_, you know, even though I _am_ only a lowly mudblood. He got those wounds twenty-four hours ago, you said. It must have been some mighty dangerous altercation he got himself into... I don't suppose it had anything to do with the three dead aurors in the paper... the ones killed by death eaters within the exact same time frame as your brother got injured. _What_ a coincidence!"

"It's not true!" said Luke. He turned away from her and paced towards the fireplace. "And I'm _not_ betraying my own brother to the Ministry!"

"Even if he's a murderer?"

"He's _not_ a murderer! He didn't get those wounds in a fight with aurors... he's _not a death eater! _It was... it was just a... a stupid brawl with some idiots in a pub. It has nothing to do with..."

"You're lying!" Lily repeated disbelievingly. "Why are you lying to me? Luke! For Agrippa's sake, would you _look_ at me?"

Luke turned to her again. "It was just a fight with some gits outside a pub."

Lily watched his face quietly for a few moments. Then, she brushed her hair out of her face and said: "Fine. Whatever. I'm going back to the castle; you can do as you please..."

"Wait."

She paused by the door. "_What_?"

"You can't go back to the castle," said Luke. "It's passed nine o'clock... the wards are up around the castle. No one can get in or out."

"Well, then I'll bang on the gates until they let me in."

"You'll get detention!"

"I think I'll survive."

"Lily, wait..."

She waited impatiently by the door, and he stepped closer. "I need you to stay," he said. "I just... I can't be alone with Logan. What if he starts to bleed again, or something else happens? I don't know if I'll be able the handle it—I _need_ you."

"My friends will be worried, and Filch knows we took a carriage," Lily replied, though her resolution was slipping. "He'll know we haven't come back."

"No, he won't."

"What?"

"I—I confunded him. I'm sorry, Lily, but I wasn't sure how long it would take..." His voice was soft again, more Luke-ish, but the change that had come over him in the last few minutes had irreversibly changed him in Lily's mind. She had never thought her boyfriend _stupid_ exactly, but perhaps she had never counted on his being so clever for anything but books. There must, she realized, have been more reason for his being in Ravenclaw then she had ever considered, but she wasn't sure she liked it. "Please, Flower, we can explain to your friends in the morning, but I—I need you now."

He reached out to take her hand; she drew it back and folded her arms. Without another word, she crossed the room to a wooden chair in the corner and sat down. Luke moved back towards the fire.

(Interlude)

"Oh. Hi. Alice."

The sound of her own name caused the witch to look up from the wall of books that flanked her in the Common Room. She was less than pleased to see who it was that summoned her from her feverish, late night studies.

"Hi, Frank," she replied, as awkwardly as the Head Boy had. He was just entering the Common Room from the direction of the dormitories, and he looked surprised to see his ex-girlfriend there.

It wasn't the first time the pair had been alone since the infamous break up all those months ago, but it was the first time that there seemed any chance that the encounter might have a duration of more than a few seconds. The fact that Frank had spoken at all showed that he wasn't about to just turn around and leave. Some kind of conversation might be expected. Alice dreaded the thought.

"What—er... what are you doing down here?" he asked, stepping slightly closer.

"Just homework," Alice replied softly. "Couldn't sleep."

"Oh. Yeah. Me either."

While Alice still wore the jeans and sweater she had donned for the Hogsmeade visit an eternal twelve hours before, Frank had his pajamas—plaid trousers and a grey t-shirt. Alice forcefully suppressed vague memories of conversations they'd had in years gone by while he wore that t-shirt, or the time she spilled pumpkin juice on those trousers, or the hours they had spent "studying" for O.W.L.s in their pajamas. Nostalgia would get her nowhere.

"Listen, Alice..." began Frank, and he moved closer still. "Can I—er—can I speak with you for a minute?"

No, indeed, nostalgia would get her nowhere.

"I don't think so," she replied, barely above a whisper.

"Oh." It surprised him. "Alright, then." Frank turned and climbed the staircase back to his dormitory, but not before quietly adding: "Good night, Alice."

* * *

To his brother's immense relief, Logan did not realize that his twenty minutes of deep sleep were unnaturally induced. On waking, the older brother started and looked about the room, to see Lily seated silently in the corner and Luke tending to the fire.

"Must've been more tired than I thought," Logan grunted; he drew a wand from the pocket of his robes and gripped it tight, straightening up on the sofa but not moving from it.

"You... you really should sleep," coaxed Luke (repeatedly, once every ten minutes or so), but Logan was resolved to stay vigilant. He did agree to some food, which Luke summoned from an unknown location. When the Ravenclaw offered some to Lily, however, she merely shook her head and summoned the potions book she had left downstairs. For some time, the witch sat in her corner, reading the book and not sparing Luke a second look, though he cast anxious eyes in her direction almost as often as he repeated his encouragement of sleep to Logan. In the end, it was to both Lily and Logan's relief when her boyfriend and his brother finally drifted off to sleep, about a quarter after midnight.

It was then that Logan finally removed himself from the sofa and walked unsteadily across the room to Lily, pulling his robes to cover what remained of his wound.

"You're his girlfriend, are you?" the wizard asked bitterly. Lily looked up from her book and nodded. It suddenly occurred to her that she was not all together safe there. Logan's wand, though relaxed at his side, was in hand, and her own was tucked in her boot. She did not let her fear show on her face, however—she kept her expression utterly neutral. "He mentioned there was a girl, last time we spoke," Logan went on. "He didn't say she was a mudblood... didn't mention it at all. 'Should've known, I expect... he always was rather daft when it came to the ways of the world." Lily wasn't sure what kind of response Logan was expecting, so she gave none. "Aren't you afraid of me?" he asked at length.

"No," lied Lily, but as she said it, her confidence increased.

"But don't you know what I am?" A sardonic smirk formed on his lips.

Lily nodded. "I suppose I'm too tired to be properly frightened. Anyway, I thought you old pureblooded families were all about honor."

"So?"

"So, I just saved your life."

Logan's smirk turned to a scowl. "But you're right," he said after a minute. "I'm not going to kill you... you _did_ make the potion, and that's bought you something this time."

"How generous."

_Good Godric, Lily, provoke him, why don't you?_ She really had no idea where this indifferent courage—or was it stupidity?—came from, but she couldn't help herself. Still, she must have been lucky or something, because Logan made no comment. Instead, he flicked his wand once and summoned a chair from across the room to them, seating himself there.

"I realize I'm not the first person to say this," remarked Lily dryly, "but you really ought to sleep." Logan merely grunted. Lily rolled her eyes and attempted to return to her book.

"How did it happen?" the wizard interrupted her suddenly; "Between you and my brother—how did it happen?"

"He asked me out, and I said 'yes.' We've been going since June."

"Hmph. Luke knows better than that. Idiot. Did he know you were a mudblood?"

"Yes." She ought to have been offended, of course, but the fact that her companion was quite possibly a murderer bothered her more than a derogatory name. "You see, _I_ don't manipulate and use him."

"I am _not_ manipulating him," snapped Logan. "He's my brother. He's a Harper. There's such thing as duty, you know. Honor."

"Your brother certainly knows," grumbled Lily. "Even if he's completely misconstrued what those things mean."

"What are you talking about?"

Lily fought a brief but tumultuous internal battle, and then answered him: "I drugged you. The tea. That's why you slept." Logan's eyes grew dark. "I wanted Luke to turn you in. He wouldn't do it."

"I should kill you, you know," muttered Logan.

"But you won't."

"No?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Now, Lily felt herself smirking. "Because you're not sure how deep your brother's feelings are for me."

Logan observed her for several seconds, and then laughed scornfully. "Don't cross me, girl. Charm and a pretty face don't account for bad blood."

"_Good_ blood doesn't account for murder," retorted the other.

"I'm not a murderer," said Logan casually. "I've never killed a true wizard, except in self-defense."

"A true wizard? A pureblood, I suppose you mean."

Logan nodded. "And even they were traitors. Blood traitors—the very worst kind. No respect for magic... no love for what makes us the advanced species. They would pollute the magical world... refuse to advance as we are destined to do."

"What is it exactly that you hate about muggleborns?" Lily asked, more curiously than angrily. "Why do you feel so threatened by us?"

"You pose a threat to our very way of life," replied Logan, as though it were obvious. "You pose a threat to magic itself! You carry with you the possibility of producing muggles from magic blood... your magic is weaker than purebloods, which further threatens our world. Continued breeding with _your _kind will spell the end of magic within ten generations."

Lily had heard that line before—mostly from pureblood propaganda articles and books or else the occasional Slytherin. "There are about a hundred studies that have disproven that statistic," she argued. "Magic parents—even muggleborns—are much more likely to have magic children then squibs."

"Mudblood-loving propaganda," disregarded Logan.

"How do you know your information isn't purist-mania propaganda?"

The wizard glowered at her. "Careful, mudblood."

Both were quiet for several minutes, before Lily closed her book and asked: "What do you intend to do with Luke?"

Logan raised his eyebrows. "I could ask you the same question."

"I mean, what do you want with him?" Lily continued. "Why did you come to him? Are you going to let him alone, or are you going to try and convince him to... to join you?"

"I would hardly tell _you_ that," was all Logan said. Lily set her jaw firmly.

"He won't do it," she said. "He _won't_."

Logan made no reply. Just then, a sudden grunting sound indicated Luke's awakening, and he jerked his head up from the sofa cushion it had rested on. Logan ceremoniously rose from his chair and started back towards the couch, just as Luke asked, suspiciously, what they were doing over there in the corner.

"Only talking, little brother," replied Logan smoothly. Lily felt ill.

* * *

She did not remember falling asleep, but just before sunrise, Lily opened her eyes and realized that she must have. She straightened up in her uncomfortable wooden chair and tried to recall what time she had given in to her exhaustion; she remembered checking her watch just after four thirty... it must have been around five, then...

Luke and Logan were awake, talking quietly by the dead fire. A window revealed a pale sky, and Lily's wristwatch told her it was exactly one minute past seven o'clock. Taking a moment to collect herself, to remind herself of the last night's confusing and strange events, Lily wiped the sleep from her eyes, straightened her skirt, and pulled back her disorderly hair into a loose bun. Only when she coughed, rather unsubtly, did the two Harper brothers notice that she no longer slept.

"Lily!" said Luke, as though he had not realized she was still with them. He cleared his throat and rose (Lily saw Logan roll his eyes), crossing the room. "You—er—you fell asleep. It's almost seven. I'll get you some breakfast, and you can go up to the..."

"It's past seven," Lily corrected. Her neck was stiff—her whole body ached from two hours slumber in that awful chair. "I'll get breakfast in the castle."

"Oh." Luke, too, was very pale, and there were dark circles under his brown eyes from the mostly sleepless night. "Alright. If that's what you want."

"Are you coming?" asked Lily coarsely. Luke glanced at his brother.

"I'll be along soon," he promised solemnly. The seventh year reached out and took her hand: his was warm, hers cold, and the gesture shocked Lily, perhaps more so because of the events of the last twelve hours, but also simply because Luke had never been very physical... never much of a hand-holder, unless Lily initiated. "Will you be able to get up to the castle on your own?"

"I'll manage somehow," she responded tersely.

"You'll want to get some sleep, I expect," Luke went on quietly, presumably so that Logan would not overhear. "But can I see you at lunch hour? I'd like to talk to you about... about last night." Lily nodded. She started for the door, but Luke followed her into the corridor. "Listen, Lily," he said, closing the door behind them, "I—that is... you won't... you won't talk about this, will you? Not with anyone?"

That was a subject on which Lily had not decided, and now she was far too exhausted to make any sort of decision. "I won't say anything before we talk," she told him noncommittally. Without another word, Lily made for the staircase, and Luke re-entered the room with his brother.

The sixth year had made it halfway downstairs when a thought struck her. She halted, and then drew her wand, pointing it at her shoes and waving it once. When she ascended the stair, her movements made no noise on the wooden floor. The redhead crept back towards the room and, feeling only a slight twinge of guilt, held her ear to the closed door of the room she had just exited. Logan's rough voice became audible first.

"...Complete rubbish, Luke, and you know it."

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," dismissed Luke's annoyed voice. "She's my girlfriend—it has nothing to do with you. Mum and Dad don't seem to object..."

"Mum and Dad are doddering idiots," snapped Logan. "Well-meaning, perhaps, but uninformed."

"I told you, I don't want to talk about Lily," insisted the younger brother, and then they were both quiet for nearly a minute. Then, Logan's voice broke the silence.

"Have you thought about my offer?" he asked, surprisingly tentative.

"No," said Luke. "I haven't."

"You've got months still," Logan continued. "You don't need to decide anything now. But it's a good opportunity, and we'll need another wand."

Luke said nothing for some time; when he did speak, it was on a new topic entirely. "I think I'm going to make some tea—would you like anything?"

Lily didn't wait to hear Logan's response. She was sprinting down the corridor a second later, reaching the staircase before Luke even opened the door. The witch did not stop until she was out on the slushy street, and even then, she slowed only to a brisk walk. The cold morning air bit at her exposed skin, and she pulled her cloak a little tighter as she walked.

(Interlude II)

_I'm starving_.

It was the first conscious thought that Severus Snape registered on waking Sunday morning. His black eyes opened to the Slytherin sixth year boys' dormitory—Mulciber, Avery, and Piper still slept, but Hester was nowhere to be seen.

Hester.

In a moment, it all came back to him—attacking Marlene Price, the sloppy cover-up, the high commendation Hester had given him when relating the tale to Mulciber and Avery, and then Severus's decision to skip supper and remain in the dormitory... well, that explained why he was so damned hungry. But where was Hester?

He was at breakfast, as Snape learned several minutes later. The latter had dressed and washed by then, and he was about to head for the Great Hall himself when Hester entered the dormitory. He smirked when he spotted Snape, and gestured for him to follow out of the dormitory. Snape did so, still apprehensive.

"Well, you did it," Hester told him, once they were out on the stair. "Dumbledore made an announcement at breakfast. It seems _the Ministry _is sending some git to lecture tonight—mandatory attendance of course—and they'll be jabbering about dangers of dark magic or something other, but the point is..." And the amused smirk on Hester's face changed into a devious grin, "You're in the clear."

"I don't see why you say that."

"No one knows it was you," said Hester. "I know you were thinking someone might, but this—this shows that old fool Dumbledore knows all about the attack, and he hasn't come to kick you out, has he? Anyway, no one has any idea what's going on. I heard at rumor that it was that Price girl that got attacked." He laughed here; Snape didn't even try for a weak smile.

"I expect you'll be writing Lucius Malfoy, then," he said simply.

"I've already done it."

Snape didn't let the confusion at his own narrow escape or relief over the same show on his face. Instead, he nodded shortly to Hester and said: "Then we have nothing else to say here," before slipping past him down the staircase.

* * *

"Where have _you_ been?" asked almost the last voice in the world that Lily wanted to hear just then. James Potter's accusatory tone caught her off guard, and she opened the eyes she had unconsciously closed to see the wizard himself approaching her across the Entrance Hall. The cavernous doors closed behind her, and Lily searched her weary, sleep-deprived brain for a good excuse.

Unfortunately, all she came up with was: "I went for a walk."

"Where to? Brazil?"

This also caught Lily off guard. "What?"

"You've been gone all morning, and you weren't on the school grounds," said James, and he sounded angry.

"Yes, I..." she began to lie, but stopped when James withdrew a folded bit of parchment from his pocket. Lily raised her eyebrows defiantly.

"The _map_," James clarified, though all Lily could see was blank parchment. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Yes. Brazil. I was in Brazil. Is that all, or was there a reason you were stalking me?"

"You stayed in Hogsmeade last night, didn't you?" James demanded. "Don't you have any idea how _dangerous_ that is these days? And after what happened to Marlene! You can't just..."

"Really, Potter?" she spoke over him, though he continued to rant. "_You're_ lecturing me about safety? When was the last night that you _didn't_ sneak out after curfew?"

The Quidditch Captain ignored this. "...And that idiot boyfriend of yours might be more responsible, too, considering..."

"Luke? What has Luke got to do with this?"

James rolled his eyes. "Should I pull out the map again and explain how it works, Snaps?"

"_Why_," snapped Lily, poking him in the chest, "are you _spying_ on me and my boyfriend?"

"_Why_," countered James, "are you and your boyfriend being complete _idiots_? Agrippa! If you're going to make a night of it, you could at least do it inside the castle! Or is Her Highness too good for a broom closet?"

Lily laughed disbelievingly. "First of all, _yes_, I _am_ too good for a broom closet! Ew! _Second_ of all, _her highness_ is going up to bed now, if you'll excuse me..."

She tried to sidestep him, but James moved to impede her path. "No, you know what I find _really_ interesting?" he coolly continued; "the fact that you had _no_ moral qualms about leaving the castle to shag your boyfriend, only hours after one of your supposed best friends landed in the hospital wing!"

Lily looked around quickly to make sure no one was listening, but it was not even eight o'clock yet, and most students slept in Sunday mornings. They were the only ones about in the Entrance Hall. "Good bloody God, Potter, everything you say is less and less your business! Now _move!_"

"No!" He once again blocked her path, and Lily could not help herself. She whipped out her wand and jabbed it against his throat.

"Move!"

"Oh, really?" mocked the wizard. "You're going to hex me? Why do I have trouble believing that?"

"GAH!" Lily flicked her wand: "Silencio!"

James Potter found himself uncharacteristically—albeit magically—speechless, which distracted him long enough for Lily to slip around him. She had reached the marble staircase and was several steps up before he had restored his voice and managed to catch up, hopping in front of her and causing her to cry out in irritation.

"I need to speak with you," said James. "I wasn't _stalking _you—I actually have to talk to you about something, and I was looking for you, and I didn't see you on the map, and then I thought maybe Harper would know where you were, and I looked around, and I didn't see him either. That's how I knew. I don't just spend my mornings _staring_ at a dot labeled 'Lily Evans' you know."

Lily breathed heavily. "Fine. What is it you need to speak with me about so desperately?"

"It's about Marlene."

"Is she alright?"

"Yeah, she's just been released from the Infirmary."

"Well...?"

"I think I know who attacked her," James went on, and there was a tremor in his voice that—shockingly—suggested apprehension. "I had _the map_. It was about an hour after she was attacked before I got to look, but... I have a good guess."

"Then why don't you tell McGonagall or Dumbledore?" asked Lily.

"Well..." (James frowned) "I don't exactly have _proof_. I'm not even _completely_ certain that I'm right, though I don't see how anyone else could have... well, it doesn't seem _likely_ that anyone else could or would have, and..."

"Who is it?" Lily interrupted.

The moment of truth: "Snape."

The interest slid from Lily's face immediately; her eyebrows practically disappeared into her disheveled red hair, as she pinched her lips together very tight. "Of course," she said presently. "Of bloody course. Because—who was I kidding? Who else would you _ever_ suspect of doing _anything_ wrong in this stupid castle, besides Severus Snape?!" She pushed past James on the stair and hurried upward, but he followed.

"Would you just listen to me, Evans? I'm serious—I'm not making it up! He was in his dormitory with..."

Lily continued as though he weren't speaking: "A Hufflepuff fourth year has a cold? Must be Snape's fault! Mrs. Norris is losing her hair? I bet Snape did it! Slughorn assigned loads of homework? Guess whose fault that is! Oi, it's raining outside; I bet..."

"...I didn't see any other upperclassmen around the school at all—except Frank, and even _you_ wouldn't be thick enough to think..."

"...Everything with you—Snape, Snape, Snape! And the worst part is, he's the bloody same way! Potter, Potter, Potter! _Always_ Potter! I can't so much as mention the _word_ 'Quidditch,' without hearing something about bloody _James Potter! _And on top of _that_..."

"...And why wasn't he in the village with everyone else? Why would he be in the castle at all? And..."

"...Because _God forbid_, anybody or anything else in the world be at fault for any of the ills of the universe..."

"...He's a Slytherin. He has a history of hexing muggleborns. He'd be smart enough to attack from behind, so that..."

"...I swear, it's like the two of you are bloody in love or something! If that's the case, for God sake, please put us all out of our misery and find a sodding broom cupboard already!"

They reached the top of the staircase, fuming. "You didn't listen to anything I said, did you?" demanded James.

"I heard _everything_ you said," Lily countered. "And you _do_ realize that your evidence for suspecting Snape is the fact that he was 'in the castle' within an hour of the attack, right? Think about that: he was in the place where he spends eighty percent of his time year round. Brilliant theory, Potter—really, truly inspiring."

She once again pushed past, hurrying down the corridor. James pursued. "You're biased," he accused.

"So are _you!_"

"But _I_ have evidence."

"No, you have an idea. An _idea_ is not evidence. I have an idea that maybe you temporarily went insane, attacked Marlene, and then hit your head on something and forgot all about it." James opened his mouth to protest. "You see... just because you can imagine a scenario within the vast realm of possibility, assemble the words in to a semi-coherent sentence, and shout it loud enough, does _not_ mean you have evidence."

"Well then _what _was he doing in the castle?"

"What were _you_ doing in the castle?"

"I was getting my cloak."

"Maybe he was getting a cloak! Maybe he had a headache and was taking a nap! Maybe he didn't feel like going out in the cold! Anyway, what possible motive does Severus have for attacking Marlene?"

James rolled his eyes.

"Oh," Lily realized; "I meant besides the fact that he apparently runs about the castle doing varied nefarious deeds for kicks."

"You think you're joking."

Lily halted, her hands on her hips. "Listen, Potter, if you're so convinced Sev did this, why don't you go to McGonagall or Dumbledore? Why are you bothering _me_ with this?"

James scowled. "What's the point in telling you? You'll just assume that Severus is the saint, and I'm delusional."

"Severus is no saint, but you certainly are delusional. Now get on with it, or else leave me alone, please."

"Someone's in a bitchy mood," observed the other.

"Well I didn't get a lot of sleep last night," Lily retorted, and only after the words had left her mouth did it occur to her how that sounded. For whatever reason, James looked furious, and though she usually took a secret sort of pleasure out of getting on his nerves as he got on hers, Lily also found that she had the strangest urge to set the record straight. "Listen, it's not what you think," she said, brushing her hair out of her face. "It's... it's complicated. But I didn't... I mean, I didn't sneak out of the castle to meet with my boyfriend. _Honest_."

"What do I care?" replied James icily. But his features were a little softer now. "Okay, the reason I wanted to talk to you about Snape was because I was wondering if you'd noticed him... acting differently."

She had. He'd been distant and sullen all week... all of last week, too, but Sev always had been rather moody, and so "differently" was really a subjective thing. "I dunno. Not really... a little grouchy maybe, but not really. Why? What would that prove?"

"He didn't hex me," said James. Lily arched her eyebrows, and he explained: "it was a few weeks ago... Snape and I got in sort of a run in..."

"By which you mean you attacked him."

James did not correct her. "Believe what you want, but... he had a chance to curse me, and he didn't take it. He looked... weird. Different. I can't explain it, but _something_ was going on with him."

"James," began Lily, speaking slowly, as though her companion were a slow-witted six-year-old, "am I correct in thinking that you think Snape attacked Marlene because he _didn't _attack _you_?"

"I'm just saying maybe his _weird_ behavior correlates somehow with Marlene."

Lily frowned. "Yes, Potter, you are _definitely _delusional." She started to leave.

"Can you just _talk _with him, at least?" James called after her. Lily paused.

"How _exactly_ do you imagine that conversation would go? 'Say, Sev, you didn't happen to attack Marlene Price—one of my best mates in the world—did you?'"

"Just ask him why he was in the castle," said the wizard. "If you know him as well as you think, you'll be able to tell if he's lying. Right?" He retreated towards the marble staircase again, and Lily sighed.

* * *

"Oh, thank _Merlin,_ you're not dead!"

Mary enveloped Lily in a surprisingly overpowering hug (considering the brunette weighed about ninety-five pounds), which the prefect returned with a pat on the shoulder and an attempt to extricate herself. "No, not dead yet," Lily agreed. "Almost, but not quite."

"Where have you been?" demanded Donna, with her hands on her hips and her amber eyes flaring. "You didn't come back to the dorm... weren't here this morning... _didn't _go to breakfast! And after what happened with Marlene... you could've been lying in a corner of the school somewhere with your arms cut off, and we wouldn't have the slightest notion!"

"Oh, Donna, you care," cooed Lily, sitting down on her bed.

"I _do_ not! It's just that it might have been _courteous_ of you to let us know..."

"She was looking all over for you," chimed in Mary happily.

"She threatened a second year," agreed Shelley Mumps, who was also in the dormitory at the moment. "Well, now that you're located, Lily, I'm headed down to the Great Hall. Cheerio." She flashed them a crooked-toothed smile and skipped out of the dorm, while Lily turned to her two friends.

"How's Marlene? Is she out of the Hospital Wing?"

"Mmm, she had to meet Dumbledore," said Mary. "We didn't tell her you were missing, because she had enough to bother her, we supposed, but _goodness_, Ginger, where _were_ you?"

"Well..." began Lily unsteadily, "I was... with Luke."

"Oh-my-God-you-had-sex!" gasped Mary all in one breath.

"No wonder you look sort of green," said Donna.

"We didn't have sex," Lily corrected calmly. "_Truthfully_, we didn't."

"Why the hell not?" Mary asked. "I know if _I'd_ been dating a bloke as good-looking as Harper for as long as you have, I'd have jumped him _ages_ ago."

"If you'd been dating a bloke _half_ as good-looking as Harper for _thirty seconds_, you'd have jumped him," Donna interjected.

Mary merely smiled. "Careful, there, Pot, the kettle doesn't like to be called 'black,'" she chirped, and the two exchanged a look that Lily did not understand but was far too tired to question.

"Well," began Donna, forcefully looking away from Mary, "If you weren't doing the deed with Harper, where were you, and what were you doing?"

"Was it slutty?" asked Mary.

"Not in the slightest," replied Lily. "It was... I mean, I can't really talk about it. Luke asked me not to talk about it, and I agreed. There was a bit of a... a crisis—an emotional crisis, I suppose—and Luke needed my help."

"It _sounds_ slutty."

Donna scowled. "Only _you_, Macdonald, could hear something as mundane as 'emotional crisis' and interpret it as something slutty."

"It wasn't the 'emotional crisis' part," corrected Mary, smirking. "It was the 'Luke needed my help' part, sweetie."

"Alright," interrupted Lily. "That's quite enough of that. I am alive. I'm sorry I didn't tell you were I was off to, but I'm extremely tired and would like to get a few hours lie in before luncheon, so if you could bring the volume down..."

"We have apparition lessons in a few minutes, Ginger," Mary pointed out. "Do you want me to tell them you're ill?"

"Would you mind?" asked Lily, and Mary nodded. She flitted out, but Donna remained, turning to her friend, who was in the process of deciding whether or not she wanted to change out of her clothes. "Are you _sure_ everything's all right, Evans?"

Lily nodded. "I'm fine, Donna," she answered. "Really—I just need sleep."

"Alright. If you need anything..."

"I'll find Alice," Lily finished, smiling.

"I _knew_ there was a reason we were mates."

Donna left, and Lily lay down on her bed. She needed a shower, and though the thought of hot water sounded like heaven to her just now, the prefect was not quite up to all that movement. Instead, Lily kicked off her boots, grabbed a throw-blanket, and pulled it over her. Clearing her head of Luke Harper and everything else, Lily closed her eyes, and the cat's gentle purring was the last sound she heard before she fell asleep.

(Interlude III)

"Er... hi," said Adam uncertainly. "All done with Dumbledore? What did he say?"

Marlene shrugged, leaning against the doorway of the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, her hands behind her back and her expression neutral.

"You don't know?" pressed the other, who sat near the window, with a forgotten magazine in hand. "Weren't you there?"

"I dunno," sighed Marlene; "Dumbledore asked me about everything that happened yesterday, then he said he had to write my mum, even though I asked him not to, and then he asked how I _felt _about the whole business, and I said not too keenly, but he didn't have to worry about me jumping off the Astronomy Tower... no offense."

"None taken."

"Then James Potter came in, and Dumbledore gave him ten points, and we were sent on our way." She shrugged again. "Nothing very interesting. What are you doing?"

"Reading," said Adam, gesturing vaguely to the magazine. "Have you had breakfast? Or lunch? I suppose it's almost lunchtime now."

Marlene shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

"Do you want to talk?"

"Not really. I have a better idea."

"O-k_ay_..." (Like he wasn't sure where this was going.)

It became clear why Marlene had held her hands behind her back until now; she pulled them around to reveal a brown paper back. Adam arched an inquiring eyebrow, and Marlene smiled. She crossed the room and withdrew from the bag two glass bottles.

"What's this?" he asked, as Marlene handed him one.

"Coca-Cola," she told him; Adam eyed the dark liquid suspiciously. "Who knew James Potter was so resourceful?"

"Which explains what he was so secretively gathering from his trunk half an hour ago," said Adam slowly. "Alright—what else is in the bag?"

Marlene's smile grew broader. She pulled out the large square jacket of a record and handed it to him. The heading—written in spindly scarlet letters—bore the words "_The Fresh Bloods_," and a few, creepy looking goblin-like creatures hopped around the animated cover.

"You found my record," he said, taking it and grinning.

"You thought I forgot, didn't you?" challenged the blonde.

"Well, it's not like you didn't have anything else to think about."

"I didn't forget. You asked me to bring it up, and I said I would. 'Couldn't just break a promise, could I? Budge over." She sat down next to him on the window seat. "I guess I dropped it when... you know... I was attacked, and then someone must have picked it up and brought it to the lost-and-found in Filch's office, because I tried to summon it, but… well, long story short, I _may _or may not have flirted with our school's beyond creepy caretaker to get this for you, so you had better enjoy it."

Adam laughed. "Oh, Merlin, that is a visual that I never wanted to have. Here, hold this..." She took the cola. Adam crossed the room and put the record on; the first notes sounded, and he returned to the window seat. "Thank-you... for finding it."

Marlene returned the coca-cola and tapped it with her own bottle. "Cheers, McKinnon."

"Cheers."

* * *

It was a few minutes after twelve noon when Lily woke. Her muscles felt stiffer than before, and she was suddenly very conscious of how desperately she needed to wash and brush her teeth. The rose-colored shirt she had first donned twenty-eight hours prior was itchy, and the clasp of her skirt was probably leaving a mark on her abdomen. She needed to shower, change, rinse and repeat. Now.

Unfortunately, there was no time for all of that. Luke had promised to meet her for lunch, and that could mean anytime in the next hour or so. Lily had slept soundly, but her dreams had been troublesome, and she wanted to hold that desperately needed conversation with Luke sooner rather than later. So, instead of a luxurious hot shower followed by sweats and a cup of hot tea with her battered edition of _Idylls of the King_, Lily splashed her face with cold water, brushed her teeth, and hastily found some jeans and a lumpy red sweater to wear.

She didn't realize how famished she was until she reached the Great Hall and the enticing smells that emanated from it wafted towards her. It was just after twelve twenty by then—usually the height of the luncheon rush hour—but the only one of her good mates at Gryffindor table at the moment was Mary. Luke Harper was nowhere to be seen, so Lily sat beside Mary, careful to keep an eye on both Ravenclaw table and the entrance.

Still, time pressed on, and while Lily ate about six servings of everything (earning an inquiry from Mary: "Are you _sure _you didn't have sex last night?"), Luke had still not appeared by one o'clock.

"Are you staying?" asked Mary, getting up from the table.

Lily nodded dismally. "I'll see you back in the Common Room. Do you still need help with the Potions homework?"

"Oh, always."

"I'll be around a little later in the afternoon, then."

"Perfect. Later, love."

At one-thirty, the Great Hall was all but deserted, and still Luke had not shown up. Lily had even asked his Ravenclaw friends if they had seen him, but no one had. They all promised to send him in the direction of the library if they should see Luke, and Lily headed there herself, but not before collecting Mary and some Potions books from Gryffindor Tower. An hour of homework later, Luke had not made an appearance, and Lily's frustration mounted.

Mary departed, but Lily hung around in the library, borrowing a newspaper from a Hufflepuff friend of hers and scanning the pages for any story regarding Logan Harper. A muggleborn Ministry official had disappeared, but Lily's boyfriend's brother had not made _The Prophet_ that day. This annoyed her even more: it had occurred to her over the last twelve hours how little she really knew about Luke's family, and she found herself craving information on the Harpers.

Then, a thought occurred to her. Most pureblood families knew a fair bit about each other, didn't they? Hadn't James Potter mentioned having met Mr. and Mrs. Harper? Various well-known surnames like Bones or Potter or Prewett popped up in conversations with Donna, on the rare occasion Miss Shacklebolt mentioned her deceased parents' old friends, too. Wasn't it possible her friend knew a thing or two about the Harper line? Lily set off at once to find her.

Unfortunately, Donna was nowhere to be found. Lily had searched all of her friend's usual haunts to no avail, so that she was quite ready to give up, when she spotted Sirius Black sitting alone near the frosty lake. He had a cigarette in hand and was scribbling on paper; Lily was inspired. She walked briskly towards him, haulting several paces away.

"Hi, Sirius."

He looked up from his project—the crossword, Lily now saw—and was evidently surprised by her presence and greeting. "Hey, Evans." His tone lacked the typical Sirius Black cheer. Still, he didn't seem totally adverse to conversation, as he pressed: "You turned up, then. How are you?"

"I've been better," Lily confessed. "Do you mind if I join you for a bit?"

"Alright," replied Sirius. "But you'll have to join me in other respects too..." (He indicated to the cigarette in hand), "I don't like to smoke with people who aren't."

Lily folded her arms. "_Really_, Black?"

"Mhm."

"Fine." She sat down on another root of the large, leafless tree that shaded them both, and accepted the cigarette that the Marauder handed her. He lit it with his wand, and she inhaled once.

"That's not your first cigarette," Sirius observed casually.

"What makes you say that?"

"You didn't cough. Everyone coughs on their first smoke."

Lily was relieved to see something of a smirk on her companion's lips; he just didn't look right without one. "I had a phase," she answered vaguely.

"A phase? Oi, I'm liking you more already. When was it?"

"What? The phase? A few summers ago." Lily laughed at the memory. "Yes, I was rebellious for all of a month, and then I found it didn't suit me well at all."

"Any tattoos?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Ah. I'm not tempting your resolve with that cigarette, am I?"

"I was never _addicted_," Lily pointed out reasonably. "It was only a month." Sirius returned to his crossword, but the prefect did not feel slighted. "Aren't you cold sitting out here like this?"

He shrugged. "I've had a few."

Lily wasn't sure if he was joking or not, but she rather thought not, and something about his demeanor worried her. "Is everything all right, Sirius?"

"With me? Oh, yeah, never better." Lily didn't believe him. "Was there something you wanted to speak with me about, or could you just not stay away?"

"There _was_ something, actually," said the redhead, remembering her purpose. "I wanted to ask you if you knew anything about the Harpers."

"The Harpers? Your Harpers?"

"Right. Luke Harper's family."

"Oh..." Sirius considered it for a minute. "Well, I reckon I know a bit. Most pureblood families know something about the others... I dunno—who do you want to know about?"

"Just... whatever you can tell me." She took another drag.

Sirius shrugged. "They're not all that matey with _my_ dear family, if that tells you anything. Mr. and Mrs. Harper are fairly boring types... he's tall, she's short, and they've both gotten fat. Politically, they're pretty apathetic, I suppose. They're the sort of family that opts out of picking sides in the blood battle by saying they're 'loyal to their family,' I think. That worked for a while, but lately, the purists have started interpreting that as a cop out, you know? Like if a family were really loyal 'pureblood-ists,' they ought to come out and say it."

"So you wouldn't say the Harpers are as... extreme as... your family?" Lily hoped that didn't sound insensitive, but Sirius merely shrugged again.

"I guess not. It's difficult to say—with most families, there are branches that are extreme and branches that are moderate and branches that are 'muggle-loving fanatics...'" He grinned a bit here. "The Blacks are one of the few exceptions, I should add—there are a few non-crazies in my _tourjous pur_ bloodline, but nothing so substantial as to be called a 'branch.' Then again, the Harpers don't go as far back as families like the Blacks or the Potters or the Malfoys. They're not much more than a century old, I don't think. But like I said, it's tricky to generalize about most families. Now, you take that Logan Harper bloke... he may or may not be a death eater, depending on how _The Daily Prophet _is feeling today... though, I expect you know all about that."

"Mmm," was Lily's imprecise answer.

"Why do you want to know, anyway?" inquired Sirius, exhaling upward. "Considering joining the family, are you?"

"Hmph. Not quite."

"Good."

Lily arched her eyebrows. "Good?"

"Sure. What do you even see in that bloke? _Harper_. He seems a bit... wooden to me."

"Sirius," censured the witch teasingly, "are you coming on to me?"

He grinned. "Vicariously, maybe."

"I don't think you know what that word means, Sirius." She shook her head, and Sirius's grin broadened—it seemed more sincere now, too, and that encouraged Lily.

"What are you doing out here all alone anyway?" she asked.

"The crossword," he replied, as though it were obvious. "The crossword and the obits are the only parts of _the Prophet_ worth reading these days."

"That's not true," defended Lily. "Do you read Dorthea Grey's column? She's got some fantastic commentary on..." She broke off. "You were teasing me, weren't you?"

"Oh, never."

"Where are the others?" pressed the redhead, to which Sirius shrugged. "It's weird seeing you without them... like seeing a severed arm. If that's insulting, I'm sorry."

"Insulting, but depressingly accurate."

"Why aren't you with them, then?"

But Sirius didn't answer. He simply returned this his puzzle. Lily sighed; she was about to tell him that she would leave him to his own devices, when the Marauder unexpectedly spoke up. "You're dad's dead, right?"

"Um... yeah." Sirius continued scratching letters into the little boxes of his crossword, and did not press the issue, so Lily, tapping her cigarette to rid it of ash, prompted: "Was there a reason you asked?"

"I dunno..." He had stopped writing and was now forcefully keeping his eyes trained on the paper. "It must be odd, though, right? Having someone like that die? I mean—did you know it was going to happen for a long time before?"

"Not really," said Lily softly. She didn't talk about this a lot. The last time she'd discussed it at all had been with James, all those months ago. It was funny—he'd been smoking at the time, too. It occurred to Lily that she hadn't noticed James with his cigarettes in some time... "I mean, they found out he was sick while I was here. The doctors—those are like muggle healers, y'know—they said he had like... six months or something, but Mum didn't tell me that. That was... terrible." She remembered finding out everything—the look on her sister's face, like it was _her_, Lily's, fault that she hadn't known how little time they had left._ "_But I came home at Christmas, and it was pretty clear that Dad was deteriorating quicker than expected; Mum told me how little time we were supposed to have. I only had a few weeks with him before... well, I mean—he died the first week of January."

"See, I don't understand that," Sirius burst angrily. "Why wouldn't they tell you? Did they think it'd be better if just—bam, all of a sudden they drop dead?"

Lily watched him carefully, and he briefly met her eye. They exchanged a look that communicated everything: Lily knew that Sirius knew about his uncle, and Sirius knew that Lily... well, that Lily wasn't talking about her dad anymore. "I think," she began, "they didn't want me carrying it around, the fact that he was dying. They wanted to tell me... they wanted to give me enough time to grieve before it happened, but they... they didn't want me to be so burdened... especially when there was nothing I could do about it."

Sirius was quiet for a long time, staring at his paper in what Lily thought was faux concentration, until he spoke up: "Trip, stretch, and jelly—six letters."

It took a moment for her to realize he was talking about the crossword puzzle. Lily thought about it. "Jinxes. Jelly-leg, tripping, and stretching jinxes." She got to her feet. "I should go, but thanks for the info on the Harpers."

"No problem." He hesitated. "And... thanks for the crossword answer."

"Right. No problem."

* * *

By four o'clock, Lily was more worried than annoyed. There must have been a reason for Luke to be this late... his best friend in Ravenclaw insisted that he hadn't seen Luke all day (but carelessly attributed it to mismatched paths) and renewed the promise to send him towards the library should he spot the missing wizard. So, Lily returned to the library and tried to work on her homework (there really was a lot of it) for about half an hour, before Severus Snape showed up.

"Sev!" Lily beckoned, earning her a glare from the librarian, Ms. Sevoy. Still, she had achieved the goal of catching her Slytherin friend's attention, and he walked over to the table at which she sat.

"Working on that Dark Arts essay?" he asked.

Lily shook her head. "Faking it. I can't concentrate. Sit with me?"

Snape looked around the library, but only a few bookish Ravenclaws were spending their Sunday afternoon there, and he took a seat. Lily noticed but did not comment; she did, however, remember James Potter's request to her that morning.

"Did you hear about that lecture tonight?" she asked in what she hoped was a casual voice. "Some Ministry type is coming around to talk about the pitfalls of dark magic."

"Yeah, I heard," replied Snape noncommittally, before sarcastically adding: "Should be a good time."

Lily smirked. "We could always ditch and go up to that grouchy portrait of the hag on the fourth floor like we used to. Remember? We'd throw Knuts at her until she'd get so angry she'd threaten to curse our families."

Something like a smile flitted across Snape's thin lips. "Yeah, I remember."

"Unless you'd rather go to the lecture," Lily teased. "I dunno. Could be educational. Y'might learn something."

"Mhm."

Alright, he had to be doing this on purpose. Snape was rarely verbose, but he almost never resisted conversation like this. Unless...

Lily looked around the library, but no, there were _definitely_ no Slytherins about. She frowned and sighed heavily, while Snape's eyes remained on the page of some book. "So what did you do in Hogsmeade yesterday?" she asked, tugging on the sleeve of her jumper. "Anything interesting?"

Snape shrugged. "Not really. I bought a new book and came back early to read it."

Lily could have hugged him. She wasn't sure when it started, but she realized now that she _had_ begun to give credence to some of Potter's suspicions, and the presentation of a logical alternate explanation—delivered with no affectation or falseness—relieved her more than she cared to admit.

* * *

She didn't go after him, into the village, though she resolved to do it a dozen times. Twice, she was halfway down to the Entrance Hall before she stopped and turned back.

Lily ate supper at a quarter to six, and Luke Harper remained absent. She chewed her lip, watched the Ravenclaw table, tapped her foot, annoyed her friends with her inability to sit still, and all the while, no Luke. But she didn't go after him into the village, because for whatever reason, Lily didn't think—no, she didn't feel—that he was really in danger.

Intellectually, she understood that he might be, but she honestly did not believe that he was. There was a reason he hadn't returned to the castle, and she didn't know what it was, but she didn't like it.

"Lily..."

Donna brought her out of her unhappy reverie.

"Are you coming?"

The redhead nodded and followed her friend into the Great Hall, from which the tables had been cleared to be replaced by dozens of pews split into two aisles, which were about half filled with other students. It looked like a church.

Lily's wristwatch declared the time to be 6:52, and the witch or wizard from the Ministry—the one who was supposed to give the perfunctory lecture discouraging the use of dark magic or whatever—would be starting in a few minutes. Students filed in, irritable at the prospect of spending their dwindling weekend hours in a mandatory lecture. Lily had firsthand experience with that: not only was this the last place _she_ wanted to be just now, but McGonagall had called on her—as a prefect—to make sure the Gryffindors in the Common Room and dormitories made it downstairs. Remus, her partner prefect, ought to have been there to aid, but he was home visiting his mum again. The other three Marauders, Lily noted, were also absent, but she didn't feel obliged to scour the castle for them; they would show up if they wanted to, and if not, it was hardly her duty to babysit them.

And so, Lily slid into her pew with Mary and Donna, leaving just enough room for one or two more people to sit between her and the end of the row. She leaned back, folded her arms, and waited for the thing to begin.

At length, a plump, bow-legged wizard stepped up to the front of the hall, where the staff table usually sat but had been replaced by a simple podium. He was just tapping his wand to his throat—undoubtedly to magnify his voice—when the unoccupied seat to Lily's right suddenly became occupied.

By Luke.

"Where the hell have you been?" Lily asked, just as the wizard up front began to speak.

"_I am so pleased to be here to talk to you all this evening..._"

"The village," murmured Luke, so that only Lily could hear. He kept his eyes on the speaker, however, and that frustrated the witch even more.

"Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," said Luke.

"I thought he might have started bleeding again or..."

"No, he's fine."

Lily waited for more of an explanation, but when none came, she pressed: "Why didn't you come back? You were the one who said to meet at lunch hour. It would have been nice to know you were alright..."

"I'm _sorry_, Lily," interrupted the wizard sharply. "I wanted to spend more time with... him. We spent the afternoon talking, that's all."

Lily's temper was incensed now. "Why didn't you send an owl?"

"We... I... I got caught up in things. I'm sorry." He spoke more softly this time, but Lily was not so easily deterred. She watched his profile carefully, trying to read it.

"You know I understand you wanting to talk with him," she began. "But it was _hours_. It's not like you to forget to write." Luke said nothing. Lily turned her eyes back on the speaker.

"..._Curses should _only_ be used in a defensive situation, and never outside the classroom context here at Hogwarts..."_

"We _are_ going to have a full conversation about this," Lily continued presently, still facing forward. "The fact that I know the location of a fugitive—of whose guilt I'm fairly convinced—doesn't play well with my conscience."

Luke shook his head. "You don't."

"What?" Lily turned back to him, but he still stared forward.

"You don't know the location of a fugitive. He left about an hour ago."

"I thought he was staying for a couple of days."

Luke merely shrugged. Then, suddenly, it was all very clear to Lily.

"He never planned on staying for a couple of days, did he?" she asked, a little louder. Luke sent her a _"Please be quiet!"_ sort of look, and though she did speak a decibel or two lower, there was fury in her tone: "He planned on leaving the whole time. That's why you had me stay overnight... that's why you asked me not to say anything until you got back... because you weren't going to come back until he was _gone_! Isn't that right?"

"Lily," began Luke shakily, "You have to understand—I _did_ trust you. I _did_. But it wasn't _my_ safety at risk. I'd trust my life to you, but..."

"But not your brother's," she interrupted, unable to look at Luke any longer. "You tricked me, and you manipulated me."

"I didn't manipulate you," defended the other. "And as for 'tricked,' what would you call that stunt you pulled with the sleeping potion?" But Lily was ignoring him now. "_Lily_, there were some things we had to talk about... my dad, he's sick, and Lo—my brother and I hadn't even had a chance to..."

"I don't care," snapped Lily. "I would have listened to all of this last night, and I would've kept the secret until we had a chance to talk about it, if you asked me to. But you lied to me. You _lied_ to me. The thing I've always admired about you is that there wasn't any... deceit. You were straight-forward and sincere and sweet and genuine..."

"I'm the _same_ _person_," pleaded Luke. "I'm telling you everything _now_, aren't I? Lily, I _love_ you, and I would _never_ do anything to hurt you. I wanted to spare you the conscience battle. I wanted to _protect_ you."

"No, you didn't."

"_If you _do_ see someone cursing another student, it is _very_ important that you speak with someone about it..._"

"You didn't think about my safety at all," Lily went on in a furious whisper. "If you'd cared about my conscience or my safety, you wouldn't have asked me to do the thing that you asked me to do, and you wouldn't have _fallen asleep¸_ leaving your muggleborn girlfriend alone in a room with your _death eater brother_!" Here, she turned to meet his brown eyes, which were wide with surprise and horror, as though he had just realized that any of this really effected Lily at all.

"Flower, I'm... I didn't mean to... I can't..."

"I can take care of myself, Luke," she replied coldly. "I don't need you to protect me. But it would be nice if you made an effort."

Luke was silent.

_"Roughly half of Azkaban's inmates have the use of an 'Unforgivable Curse' on their records..."_

"I do love you, Lily," he whispered at last, reaching out and touching her upper arm—the only part immediately available, as her arms were crossed with determination. She didn't look at him. Never, since he had first said those three words to her in September, had Lily doubted—even questioned, or wondered about—the sincerity with which Luke spoke them... Now she did.

And never had she felt less tempted to say them back.

(Exeunt)

Marlene stood in the back. She hadn't planned on coming at all, but there was nothing else to do in the deserted Common Room, and so she slipped in when the portly wizard sent to speak to the students of Hogwarts had already begun what was surely an enlightening talk, though Marlene only half listened.

Even still, she was not the last person to enter. Alice Griffiths stole through the slightly ajar doors of the Great Hall a few minutes after Marlene made her own subtle entrance; the older witch at once joined Marlene along the wall.

"Did I miss anything?" whispered the seventh year sardonically.

"Just got here myself. I think he's talking about how much we all don't want to go to Azkaban. Apparently it's not the ideal vacation spot we all thought it was."

"Well there go _my_ summer plans," replied Alice, and Marlene stifled a snicker.

"_I_ was debating whether or not to ditch," the younger witch continued quietly. "What's your excuse for being late?"

"Homework," Alice sighed. "It's the damn N.E.W.T.s. I'm sure to fail every one of them, and I still can't concentrate. It's taking me an eternity to finish a single assignment... and all the reading! It's maddening."

"Well it's good to know that I have _that_ to look forward to," grumbled Marlene.

Alice nodded, and both witches were quiet for some time.

_"If you're wondering if a spell is appropriate to use, think—does it hurt someone else? Do I endanger anyone else? Do I endanger _myself_?"_

"So Frank tried to talk to me last night," Alice murmured presently.

"_Really_? What happened?"

"I told him I didn't want to talk." The seventh year shrugged. "Which was kind of true, I guess. I don't know."

"You don't know? Why not?"

Alice considered the question. "I'm not sure if I miss him exactly, or if I miss the idea of him. It all seems so petty, though, you know, and I don't want more drama in my life. I want to focus on school and getting into the auror program and things that matter."

"Boys matter," said Marlene. "They don't matter as much as some people believe, but they matter more than other people think, too."

"Boys, yes," Alice muttered. "Frank, no." She paused. "Do you think I should speak with him if he tries it again?"

Marlene merely shrugged. "I dunno—what's the worst that could happen?"

Alice smiled weakly. "I guess you're right. I think I'm going to sit down—you coming?"

"I don't think so," said the other. "I'm still considering skipping out early."

_"Books with dark magic themes should be used for research purposes only. Writing, not wand-waving..."_

Marlene watched as Alice slipped into a seat a few rows up, and as she did, the sixth year spotted a head of uncombed black hair that caught her attention. The wizard sat in the second to last pew, and was one of only a handful to occupy the row, so that there was a lot of free space to both his right and left. Marlene at once stepped forward and took a seat between the wizard and the end of the aisle.

Severus Snape looked up in surprise. Still, he said nothing, and quickly turned his gaze back towards the Ministry wizard.

"I know it was you," said Marlene. She felt Snape stiffen beside her. "You wiped your face from my memory," she continued in an undertone, "but I recognized your voice."

Finally: "Then what are we doing here, exactly?" He spoke quite calmly.

"I'm not going to tell Dumbledore or the staff," Marlene went on, eyes still fixed forward. "But I wanted you to know that... that I know."

Snape looked at her. "Why aren't you going to tell?"

Marlene raised her eyebrows, as though the answer were thoroughly apparent. "Don't you remember what you said to me?" She thought, by the flicker of recognition in Snape's black eyes, that he did.

* * *

"_Lily!"_

_ Marlene heard her friend's name called out in the quiet corridor and instinctively wheeled around. _

_ At first, she thought she had been punched in the stomach, and without ever being conscious of a fall, she found herself on the ground. In an instant, nearly all sentient thought was blocked, however, by the pain that pulsed through every nerve of her body. There was a pounding in her ears and everything seemed so loud, but she wasn't sure if she screamed, or if her voice still worked at all. She choked just for air._

_ Her eyes were slits, but she saw two wizards approaching her—one with his wand arm outstretched, and the other cackling like a maniac. It was Severus Snape, and that friend of his—Hester or something. Snape was the one with the wand._

_ It went on. Pain, pain, pain, burning her blood and pressing against her bones, until they were surely about to shatter, and... and then it stopped. For a few seconds, her entire body ached, and she was just beginning to remember what it felt like to _not_ experience that burning ache, when she heard a hiss of "Crucio!" and it started all over again. _

_She knew she didn't scream this time—the wind was knocked out of her... she gagged and writhed and Oh, God let it stop. Anything to let it stop._

_ Then, once more, the pain retreated, slower this time and less noticeably, but she was prepared, and—with stinging tears—Marlene gasped: "Why are you doing this?"_

_ The Hester boy laughed. "We've made poor Evans cry!"_

_ Marlene could barely register that Hester had addressed her as the wrong person. Snape, meanwhile, stepped closer, bent down, and muttered: "It's for her, you know." Then, he jabbed his wand against her temple, and it started again._

_

* * *

_

Marlene gingerly touched her forehead. She could still feel an invisible mark where his wand had stabbed—how the pain had flooded her body from that point, how she had wanted to reach out and grab him... push him away, anything, but was completely helpless to control her limbs, her voice...

She stopped. Snape was watching her, doubtless at a similar place in his mind (if on the opposite end), but he seemed to be waiting for some kind of explanation.

"You said you did it for her," Marlene whispered. "That boy with you—Hester... right? He called me 'Evans.' You called to 'Lily,' when you first..." She didn't finish the thought, for fear it might bring another onslaught of unsolicited recollection. "He thought I was Lily... I don't know how or why, and I don't care, but... that's it, isn't it?" Snape neither confirmed nor denied, so she figured that she had pretty much guessed it. "It doesn't make sense for you and Lily to be friends," Marlene went on shakily; "I reckon your mates in Slytherin aren't keen on it, her being muggleborn and a Gryffindor and all that. I reckon they might want you to prove your loyalties."

"None of that explains why you're not telling," Snape pointed out coldly. Clearly, he did not enjoy his handicap.

"Because..." and now there was an edge to her voice, "if it got out that you attacked me, it would get out to your people that Lily _hadn't_ been attacked. I think, for once, we want the same thing. You want to protect Lily, and I don't want anything to happen to her either. But she's not safe as your mate, is she? So here it is—as long as nothing happens to Lily, nothing happens to you. _I_ never remember who attacked me, and everything quiets down. But you—and your friends—will stay away. Got it?"

Again, something flashed in Snape's eyes, like he just realized what this was. Blackmail. "What's to stop me to _making sure_ you don't tell? Wiping your memory, or..."

"You don't know who else I've told," said Marlene. "I haven't told McGonagall or Dumbledore, but that doesn't mean I haven't told another student. Maybe I have, maybe I haven't. Maybe I've kept this entirely to myself, or maybe I've told someone to keep an eye on things, should I start having memory gaps, or changing my mind about who attacked me." She set her jaw firmly. "This shouldn't be too difficult for you—it's something we both want."

_"Unforgivable Curses in particular lead to self-destructive, unproductive lifestyles..._"

Slowly, Snape nodded. "Nothing happens to Lily," he agreed.

"Good." She got up and moved to the seat beside Alice.

"_So, as young witches and wizards today,"_ the wizard droned on,_ "you have to ask yourselves, 'Is this _really _the decision _you_ want to make?'"_

* * *

**A/N:** No cliffhanger here... no more planned for a little while... hopefully I'll get my act together and get you all an update real soon, though! What did you all think? I sort of loved Lily going all bitch on everyone in this chapter (well... for her, anyway)... thoughts?

Shout out to **thatchesirecat**, **anonymous **(oh, no, the one thing I am not guilty of is short chapters), and **untitled1494**, the lovely anonymous reviewers!

Fairy dust and magic beans to those who made guesses as to what was on the other side of the door! **Abarraine, JulieAV, Off Dreaming, beautifulandmysterious, Meda Plaster Caster, **and **Akt5us **guessed correctly, while my favorite guess came from Meda Plaster Caster: "...Bizarre death eater experiments involving genetics?" Oh, if only... (Sorry if I missed anyone!)

Chapter 18 is called "March," with the musical title of my favorite Rolling Stones song. It's kind of a Frank-and-Alice chapter, but includes lots of Sirius angst and the return of an OC we haven't seen for a while (unless I change my mind and push that back). More magic beans to anyone who ventures a guess who that might be.

Reviews are cute, straight boys who smell nice.

Cheers,

Jewels


	18. March

**A/N: **Frank and Alice have scenes! That's right—plural! Please don't hate me for the slight amount of James, and even _slighter_ amount of Lily-and-James! I think I promised someone a great scene with them in this chapter, but I meant to say the next chapter, I swear. There's a REALLY good one coming up soon, and a REALLY, REALLY, REALLY good one coming up shortly after that—scouts honor!

**Disclaimer:** Copyright Jo Ro.

**Recap:** An auror named Lathe is assigned to investigate the suspicious attempted "suicides" at Hogwarts. After that case is left, he is assigned to look for possible death eater Logan Harper. Lily's boyfriend, Luke, brings her to the village to aid his injured brother Logan. Sirius finds out his uncle, Professor Alphard Black, is dying, and he's furious that this information was withheld. The lovely Carlotta Meloni is responsible for breaking up Frank and Alice. Donna has a continuous "affair" with a Ravenclaw named Charlie, who happens to have a girlfriend.

Chapter 18- "March"

Or

"You Can't Always Get What You Want"

She was going to end it.

The day after Logan Harper's departure, Lily determined to put an end to her relationship with his brother. She had been lied to, she had been manipulated, she had been used, and worst of all, she didn't think Luke really understood that he'd had a hand in any of it. And so, after another sleepless night (she was too angry to calm down), Lily walked alone to the Great Hall, emotionally and intellectually prepared to sever all romantic ties with Luke Harper.

What Lily was neither emotionally nor intellectually prepared for was the sight that met her eyes at Ravenclaw table.

Luke gazed downward, his face invisible, and several of his mates crowded around. One girl was sniffing back tears. Lily sent a questioning look towards Luke's best friend, a curly-haired seventh year.

"His father," muttered the Ravenclaw. "You know how he was ill...?"

Lily knew the rest before it was said.

Luke didn't go to the funeral. His mum didn't want for him to miss classes so close to N.E.W.T.s, and she said it wouldn't be much of a family gathering, since _one_ brother was already forcefully absent. Luke had wanted to go, but his mother's insistence otherwise kept him away. So he stayed in school, and Lily stayed with him through some of his most miserable weeks.

February became March, the snow was all but melted, and Ravenclaw lost to Slytherin, setting up a Gryffindor verses Slytherin Quidditch Final. The sky was grey, and rain kept all but the unluckiest of Herbology students indoors, but life went on, as it is wont to do.

(I Can't Get No Satisfaction)

"Ms. Sevoy," began Alice Griffiths, her voice shaking. "_You_ are a reasonable woman. _I_ am a reasonable woman. _All_ I am asking, is that you ask those obnoxious, noisy, gossiping fifteen-year-old girls to leave the library. They are not working. They are not reading. I'm not even sure they _know_ _how_ to read. What could they _possibly_ be doing in the library that is in any way productive? _How _are they contributing to society? _How?!"_

"Miss Griffiths," replied the plump, grey haired librarian with a voice like sugar-laced arsenic. "Those girls are not doing anything wrong. They're whispering, and whispering is perfectly acceptable in the library." She smiled sweetly in the direction of the fifth years, and one of them smiled back, adding a small wave.

"They are _not_ whispering!" cried Alice.

"Miss Griffiths! Volume!"

"They are _not_ whispering!" Alice repeated in a loud, furious whisper of her own. "They are twittering. Like birds. Evil, possessed birds, hell-bent on ruining my life."

"Ruining your life?" repeated a skeptical Ms. Sevoy. Alice nodded vigorously. "How?"

Alice leaned over the librarian's desk, setting down the book ("_A Deeper Look at Potion-Brewing in the Seventeenth Century")_ she had been clutching. "Ms. Sevoy, I need to study. I have to complete a Potions project by the end of the month that is worth a quarter of my grade. That means a ridiculous amount of research, using books that _barely _cover the information I need. And then, Ms. Sevoy, in ninety-seven days, I will be taking my N.E.W.T. tests. I have to score... _phenomenally_ on those, and if I don't, I will not even be allowed to take the test that decides whether or not I can fill an application for the auror program. If I do not make it into the auror program, the dreams that I have been carefully and meticulously constructing since I was seven, _will_ be shattered, sending me into a downward spiral of self-doubt and alcohol abuse, which will then force me into a life of prostitution... where, no doubt, I will become _very_ well acquainted with those twittering fifteen-year-olds, who will by then, be my fellow street-walkers, and because they are younger and skinnier and stupider than I, they will steal all of my business, and I will be forced to do the unthinkable... marry one of those brainless, rich purebloods that my parents like. Ms. Sevoy, _save_ _me_ from that! _Save me_ from life as a trophy wife! I _beg of you_!"

Ms. Sevoy, however, was neither amused nor impressed. "Miss Griffiths, those girls are doing nothing wrong." Alice flung her face down on the desk. "And _furthermore_, if you want _my_ advice..."

"_I don't,"_ groaned Alice against the table.

"...You had better forget this auror nonsense and marry one of those wizards that your parents like, if they'll have you. Aren't you still single?"

"Aren't _you_ still single?" countered Alice, earning her a look of pure hatred from the librarian; the seventh year decided that was cue enough to make her exit. She gathered her books hastily and moved to the furthest possible table from the giggling fifteen-year-olds. "Smart girls, ye be warned," she murmured to no one in particular. "The enemy is multi-lateral."

"_If that Bernice Fletcher_—" _giggle _"—_gets any fatter—"giggle "—she'll collapse Hufflepuff table!" _

Alice sighed, as the girls erupted in a fresh wave of shrill laughter at the expense of another. She opened one of the larger volumes at her disposal ("_Progress in Potions, Vol. 13"_), scanning the index for the information she needed. It took a moment to realize that this was, in fact, the wrong book: the final chapter was entitled: "A Last Look: 1586-1599." Alice needed the 1600s.

Sighing, the seventeen year old rose from her chair (a few of the fifth year girls stopped giggling long enough to watch her cross to the bookshelves) and headed towards the Potions section, trying to remember which shelf had given her _Progress in Potions, Vol. 13_. She found it quickly, but also found that she was not alone in the long aisle. Two wizards also scanned the shelves: one was a pimply faced Ravenclaw in her year, and the other was ("_Of bloody course,"_ she thought) the distinguished Head Boy.

"H-H-Hi, Alice," stammered the Ravenclaw.

"Hi, Terrence," replied Alice wearily. She thought she noticed Frank smirking a bit, but it was difficult to tell, as he had just buried his face in a book. Anyway, she was too tired to care.

"Are y-y-you looking for a b-book, Alice?" the boy called Terrence asked.

The witch bit her lip to keep her composure. "I sure am," she replied as sweetly as possible. And, because she thought it might stem the questions, she added: "What about you?"

"Oh, yes! I'm doing P-Potions homework! Y-y-you know, P-Professor Slughorn said I was third in our year for P-P-P-Potions!"

"Congratulations." Alice was sure she saw Frank sniggering now. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I need to... you know... book." She gestured with _"Progress in Potions, Volume 13" _and sidestepped the Ravenclaw to replace it on the shelf. However, as it slid into its proper place beside _"Progress in Potions, Volume 12,"_ Alice noted that its successor, Volume 14, was missing. "Of bloody course," she muttered, grabbing Volume 15 from the shelf and flipping to the index. The first chapter title read: "_The 1730s_:_ Laws and Love Potions."_ Alice swore under her breath and returned that book to the shelf as well. She turned to her companions in the aisle.

"I don't suppose either of you have '_Progress in Potions, Volume 14,' _do you?"

They didn't. Alice might have mentally congratulated herself for how well she was handling this proximity to her ex-boyfriend, had she not been so focused on being infuriated that the book she positively _needed_ to finish her report was nowhere to be seen.

"Of bloody course not," she said again, folding her arms. The witch crept to the end of the shelves and peaked around the corner to see Ms. Sevoy. Terrence was looking at her funny, but Alice didn't really care. She didn't dare even a peripheral glance to see what Frank thought of her strange behavior...

"What are you doing?" he asked suddenly, and he sounded a bit amused.

"I am observing the enemy," Alice replied with dignity. "Ms. Sevoy," she clarified to Frank's and Terrence's bewildered expressions. "She hates me."

"You _did_ just suggest she was an old maid," Frank pointed out. Alice scowled.

"You heard that?"

"You _shouted_ that."

"I did not shout."

"She didn't," Terrence loyally defended. Alice beamed. Frank shook his head and returned to his book. The Ravenclaw looked between the two. "Are you guys still dating?"

And they both blushed at that.

"I am going to ask Ms. Sevoy about that book," Alice announced, turning on her heel and heading for the desk. It testified to how awkward that situation was that she would prefer another confrontation with the librarian. She cautiously approached the desk, and the older witch did not look up from the scroll she was marking with a quill. "Ms. Sevoy?" the seventh year tentatively began.

"Mmm?" snapped the other. Considering it was but a single consonant sound, she managed to express a great deal of malice.

"Er... do you... is there a copy of '_Progress in Potions, Volume 14' _ here?"

Without missing a beat: "No."

"No?"

"No."

"There's not?"

"No."

"But there's Volume 13."

"Yes."

"And Volume 15..."

` "Yes."

"But no Volume 14."

"No."

Alice waited for an explanation. Ms. Sevoy continued to mark on her scroll. "So... we just... didn't order Volume 14? Just thought... screw the 1600s... no one needs to know about them... even though there were several very important developments... such as Golpalott's Laws, upon which I am doing an assignment... an assignment worth twenty-five percent of my gr—have I already mentioned this?"

"Miss Griffiths, we don't have Volume 14," said Ms. Sevoy, looking up impatiently. "It was stolen."

"Stolen."

"Yes."

Alice frowned. "Who the hell steals _'Progress in Potions?'_ That is literally the last thing in the world that I would _ever_ steal!"

"Volume, Miss Griffiths!"

"Well..." Alice continued more softly, "Can I... order it or something?"

Ms. Sevoy nodded. She pulled a slip of parchment from her desk and slid it across to Alice. "This is a form to place an order. It will take three weeks."

"Three weeks? Sorry—_three weeks?_ I could apparate to Diagon Alley and get it in about two minutes!"

"There is a process, Miss Griffiths."

Glaring at the now smirking Ms. Sevoy, Alice took the form and returned to her table, muttering disagreeable things under her breath. She sat down at her table, and scribbled answers to the questions on the paper. Hopefully Ms. Sevoy was lying about the three weeks thing... Professor Slughorn had _particularly_ recommended the "Progress in Potions" series for her report topic...

Once the parchment was returned to Ms. Sevoy, Alice sat down to the rest of her homework. Or at least she tried.

_"Did you see Sirius Black last Saturday?"_ giggled one troublesome fifth year girl to the others;_ "With the grey shirt... I know, he's _dreamy_, don't you think?"_

_ "I'm more of a Potter girl myself, but I'd take Black with whipped cream any day..."_

_ "Mmm... Sheryll, you've actually _dated_ Black. Is it true that he's...?"_

Alice endeavored to tune them out, but found her mind rebellious. Sure, she would've had the classic "Potter or Black" conversation with her girlfriends... at sleepovers where they'd all had just a bit too much to drink, but this was the library in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, and damn it, Alice had homework!

Anyway, Black and Potter _were_ people, whipped cream or no whipped cream. If a group of blokes were overheard talking about _girls_ that way, those fifth year birds would've been all up in arms with righteous—albeit it somewhat insincere—indignation. Alice glared down at the printed book page before her, summoning all her strength to disregard the whispers that floated across the quiet library. She might've succeeded, too, had she not suddenly caught the name of her ex-boyfriend.

_"Did you see Frank Longbottom walk through a little while ago?"_

Alice made a concerted effort not to look up.

"_Mmm,"_ one of the other girls replied. "_He's always been a dream... easy to miss, but if you look..."_

"_Oh, the only reason anyone ever overlooked him was Alice Griffiths," _said another. "_They were together so long you kind of forgot he existed separate."_

_"Yes, but they've been separated for months, and he hasn't dated anyone else. I heard _she_ slept with Sirius Black..."_

Alice blushed. Damn Hogwarts Rumor Mill.

"_Please, that's just a rumor_." ("Thank-you," thought Alice.) "_Like Black would ever _look_ at a girl like Alice Griffiths... _("Bitch.")

"_Shh," _hushed one of them. "_She's right over there! And that's really mean... Alice is a nice girl."_

"_Don't be thick, Prudence. She's reading. She's not listening. And she can't hear us all the way over there..."_

_ "Speaking of which," _chimed in another slyly, "_I thought _you_ might have a bit of a thing for Frank, Pru. You two were looking awfully cozy after the prefect's meeting."_

"_Oh, quiet. We're just friends."_ But Alice had heard that way of saying "just friends" many times before. There always seemed to be an implicit "for now" hanging on the end.

"_For now," _said one girl. Oh, lovely, now it wasn't even implicit. "_Anyway, you'd be better matched with him then Alice Griffiths. What does he even see in a book-ish girl like _her_ anyway?"_

_"I know, right?"_

_ "Seriously."_

Alice clenched her fists, growing very red in the face as she attempted to suppress a few homicidal urges that suddenly seemed to be springing up inside of her.

"_I think she wants to do something with the Ministry... that's why she's so concerned with school. I dunno—like an auror or something."_

_ "Please. Witches hardly ever make the auror programs..."_

And that was the straw that broke Alice's resolution. "I'm right bloody here you know!"

--

"And _that's_ how I got banned from the library," Alice finished telling her story glumly, half an hour later. She lay on Marlene Price's bed, surrounded by four of the sixth year girls and her seventh year friend, Hestia Clearwater. "For _three_ whole weeks! How the bloody hell am I going to get any work done now? And I've got Slughorn's project to do, and..."

"We'll check out anything you need," Lily vowed, patting her friend on the shoulder sympathetically. "Ms. Sevoy is a... horrible, horrible person."

Even Donna agreed with that. "Smarmy bitch," she muttered. Banning anyone from the library was, in her eyes, the greatest possible evil. "She once said the reason I don't have a boyfriend is because I spend too much time in the stacks. What kind of banshee librarian from hell _is_ she?"

The other girls murmured their agreement, and Alice sat up with a troubled expression. "Lily," she began thoughtfully, "you're a prefect."

"True."

"You were at the last prefect meeting, weren't you?"

"Yes."

Alice frowned. "Is Frank seeing Prudence Daly?"

"Oi, I've got this one!" yelped Mary, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet and raising her hand excitedly, as though waiting to be called on. "_I_ heard she fancies him something mad, but there's no word on reciprocation, except that they chatted after two recent prefect meetings, and he lingered after Herbology talking to her."

"You should have a column," said Marlene thoughtfully. "Anyway," she added, this time to Alice, "would it matter if Frank _was_ seeing Prudence Daly?"

"_Matter?!"_ cried Alice, appalled. "Of course it would matter! He can't date first! If he has a girlfriend before I have a boyfriend, he _wins_!"

"What about Carlotta?" Donna wanted to know.

"No," Mary chipped in. "He went out with her once, that is, but they never 'relationshipped.'"

"That's not a word."

"_You're_ not a word."

"Clever."

"Quit it," Lily refereed calmly. "Anyway, Alice, what about Sirius Black?"

"I didn't _date_ Sirius Black," sighed the seventh year. "We talked a few times and flirted. We didn't even make out. Mother of Merlin—!" She went very pale. "What if Frank _snogs_ before I do? Oh, if he gets action before I do, he _definitely _wins!"

"So get a boyfriend," suggested the ever practical Hestia Clearwater.

"But I don't want a boyfriend. I haven't got _time_ for a boyfriend."

"Then _don't_ get a boyfriend," said Lily.

"But _what if he snogs before I do?"_

Most of the others sighed, but Donna sat down on the bed. "Then snog someone," she advised. "Grab a boy, throw him in a closet, and lose your shirt."

"You _will _feel better," Mary agreed sagely.

Lily rolled her eyes. "You people give _terrible_ advice. Getting a disease from some dodgy Quidditch player in a broom closet is _not_ a good way to 'beat' your ex-boyfriend."

"I never specified a Quidditch player," Donna defended herself.

"No," said Mary. "But it _was_ implicit."

"Yes," mused Marlene. "A Quidditch player would definitely be best."

"Yes," Hestia assented.

Lily sighed. "You lot are all barking."

(Torn and Frayed)

"Detention, Mr. Black," said McGonagall sternly, just as the bell signifying the end of class rang out.

"Fine with me," snapped Sirius. He picked up his book bag and was out of the classroom before the rest of his classmates were out of their seats. James, Remus, and Peter hurried after him.

"Padfoot!" huffed Remus, as they caught up. "What was _that_ about?"

"What was _what_ about?" countered Sirius moodily.

"Being an arse to McGonagall! It's one thing to get a detention for messing around, but you were just being a swot. Bloody irresponsible, too—you're lucky all she gave you was detention after swearing at her like that..."

"Are you done, _Mum_?" barked Sirius. "'Cause I have a free period now, and I'd rather like a cigarette." With that, he took off down the hallway. The other three Marauders might have been stunned, had such moodiness from their fourth friend not become something of a regular occurrence over the last three weeks. So, instead of offering exclamations of surprise, the three wizards remained quiet for several seconds, until James moved his forefinger to the tip of his nose and said what they were all thinking.

"Nose goes!"

"Nose goes!" echoed Remus, mirroring James's gesture only half a second before Peter could.

"Damn it!" swore Wormtail. "No fair. Do over."

"I don't think so," said James, folding his arms. "You lost. You have to go talk to him."

"But _you're_ his best mate," Peter pointed out.

"But," James replied, "_I_ am in the painful and complex process of quitting smoking. It would be harmful for me to join him now... I might pick it back up."

"But," Peter went on, "Moony is _so_ much better at talking to people!"

"That hardly matters," said Remus indignantly. "The rules of 'Nose Goes' are simple and finite. _You_ lost. You have to go."

"I say we take a vote," pressed Peter.

"Fine," said James. "I vote for Wormtail."

"Seconded," said Remus.

"_Damn it_," said Peter. "Fine. But you lot are carrying my books back to the Common Room." He held out his book bag and waited expectantly for one of the other two to grab it. The two Marauders eyed it wearily. Then...

"Nose goes!" said James.

"_Damn it,"_ swore Remus.

(Silver Train)

"You're distant tonight," Luke pointed out softly. He sat with his girlfriend in the library late one evening in mid-March. Lily might have considered such a comment insightful, were it not for the fact that she had been "distant" for at least a week, and this was the first time he had mentioned it.

Stacks of books formed a wall between the sixth and seventh year, as both were positively consumed with homework. Luke, of course, had N.E.W.T.s approaching, and Lily's teachers seemed to be overcompensating with their sixth year classes, as though their lack of standardized testing (O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s) meant they ought to have five times the amount of regular work. As a result, Lily thought she probably would have been somewhat disconnected with her boyfriend that evening, even if the circumstances had been different (even if she had no dull, reproachful feeling in the pit of her stomach in desperate need of identification).

"Just busy," she murmured, not looking up from her Transfiguration homework. Luke cleared a space in the wall of books and touched her hand (he'd been doing that—touching her—so much more lately, and she still hadn't grown used to his sudden physicality).

"Can we talk for a moment?" the Ravenclaw asked kindly.

Lily set down her quill and nodded. She looked up at her boyfriend expectantly, waiting for a renewal of their earlier conversation about Luke's father. She was therefore surprised when Luke took tighter hold of her hand and said earnestly: "Thank-you."

"You're welcome. What for?"

Luke hesitated. "I know that there are… probably some things that you would like to say to me, but you haven't. You've been there for me, and I—er—I'm grateful."

"Oh."

"And I suppose there's a conversation that you'd like to have, and... I'm ready to listen now."

Lily knew better than that, though. If Luke had any idea what conversation she wanted to hold, he would not have invited it so readily. As for "being ready for it," Lily guessed—accurately—that he meant another conversation all together: a discussion of all that had transpired between Luke and Lily and Logan that weekend four weeks prior. It was moderately encouraging that Luke had not expected all of that to disappear permanently, and so, instead of telling him what was _really_ on her mind, and instead of lying completely (claiming nothing was wrong at all), Lily bluntly told him: "I overheard you talking with your brother that morning."

Luke's face became pale.

"Logan mentioned making you an offer," she continued steadily. "And he asked if you'd thought about it. You said 'no,' and he mentioned needing an extra wand." Lily waited for some kind of input, even a reprimand for eavesdropping, but none came. "What does all of that mean? What did Logan offer?"

For a brief time, the Ravenclaw remained silent. Then he spoke quite calmly: "Logan wanted my help with some kind of job in London. He's been doing work for some company there, and he asked if I'd like to make some money, that's all."

He believed it, too. Lily had never noticed how easy Luke Harper was read until she had actually started trying. His round brown eyes betrayed him every time, and now, he was undoubtedly telling the truth—that is, he was relating what he believed (albeit forcibly). So, instead of pointing out how many ways Logan Harper's lie could be interpreted, Lily asked in a soft voice: "Are you going to do it?"

Luke did not hesitate in shaking his head this time. "Logan's my brother... and I think that—I know that he _is_ mixed up in something. It's not his fault, I'm sure of it, but Logan... Logan was always rebellious, and I don't want to be involved in that."

Lily nodded slowly.

"I want," Luke continued, "to be here with _you_. I want you to know that I'm not a bad person, Lily. I want you to look at me like you used to. I know I was wrong before... I was unkind to you, and you were right. Logan, he influences me, because he's my brother. He's very easy to believe, but I know I wasn't objective, and you were only trying to do what was right." He paused, then resumed: "Ever since my dad died, _you_ have been here for me, and I've been able to consider some things. I've been able to see things from your perspective. I truly am sorry for the way things went, and I'm so grateful for how you have been here for these last weeks."

He squeezed her hand, and Lily was once again struck by the unfamiliarity of the gesture. His hands were warm and soft, but they were different somehow. They sent no thrill up Lily's arm. Her heart beat remained steady. The heat did not rise in her face. She felt nothing. As all of this occurred to her, Lily remained silent, causing Luke to prompt gently and earnestly: "Can you forgive me, Flower?"

She couldn't honestly say "no," either. She wasn't angry. She didn't feel _anything_; just apathy, with the slightest flavor of sympathy. Lily met his eye (_nothing_), and then withdrew her hand, picking up her quill to resume her school work. "Of course," she said briskly.

(Beast of Burden)

Mary had once told her that prostitutes didn't kiss on the lips.

So that was _one_ difference, Donna gratefully reflected, tiptoeing into the girls' dormitory late one Saturday night. And she didn't get money, so there was another.

Donna closed the bathroom door and grabbed her tooth brush, running cold water over the bristles and hoping no one would wake.

Kissing or no kissing, she sort of _felt_ like a tart, slipping out like that. Charlie was using her for... something, and she was using him for... something else. Of course, Donna imagined that if she _were_ actually a "professional," she wouldn't feel that strange churning in the pit of her stomach whenever she caught sight of Cassidy Gilmartin—Charlie's curly-haired, freckly girlfriend.

Girls like Cassidy frustrated Donna to no end. They were the sort that cared more about lip gloss than spellwork and boys than their own futures... like Mary, except Mary sort of grew on a person, if you were forced to share a dormitory with her for six years. Anyway, Mary wasn't all together _stupid_ like Cassidy. Mary would have guessed (or assumed) that her boyfriend was slagging around with someone else after more than a month of lame excuses and downright _silly_ alibis. Cassidy, on the other hand, had no sodding clue.

It occurred to Donna as she finished brushing her teeth, that she had just been defending _Mary Macdonald_ in her head. Inexcusable. She was definitely going soft. She grabbed a towel and tried to shake her mind free of that kind of nonsense.

Charlie Plex was just a boy, and Donna Shacklebolt meant as little to him as he meant to her. Probably less.

If anything, Cassidy ought to be grateful. Her boyfriend was certainly in a better mood now that he had an occasional (_more than occasional_) shag, and he probably found it easier when she wanted to "talk," considering he had someone on the side, who not only _preferred_ a good shag to a soppy conversation about feelings, but actually _demanded_ that their relationship include solely the former.

Stripping off her clothes, Donna turned on the tap and stepped under the hot water. _Merlin_, it felt wonderful. Donna had found over the years that you couldn't be exactly miserable about anything in a hot shower, and she had ended every day with one for weeks.

Not that Donna was miserable. Far from it. All of the stress—the pressures of being top in at least two classes so she might have a better chance at getting Head Girl, the endless Quidditch obligations, the letters from home indicating her younger brother had nearly driven away _another_ housekeeper, the newspaper articles about dead aurors and the knowledge that any day, Kingsley might join their number—all of it melted for a short amount of time. No, melted wasn't the word. More like... burned up. Her little dramas burst into flames and she felt nothing, knew nothing, and God, what a release. Like flying or running, only better...

Surely that was worth _one_ little stress in the very back of her mind, Donna thought, as the water made her tight curls heavy and long. Surely that was worth the strange feeling that bothered her when faced with the sight of Charlie and Cassidy (neither jealousy nor guilt, she swore). Surely she deserved that much.

Yes.

The aroma of peach shampoo and soap filed the shower in the steam. For a few indeterminable moments, the entire world faded.

"Donna?"

Donna turned off the water. It was Lily's voice, raspy from sleep.

"Er... yeah?"

Donna grabbed her towel, wrapped it around her torso, and pulled aside the curtain that veiled the shower.

"Donna, honey, it's three in the morning," croaked Lily, squinting in the alien light of the bathroom. She held a glass of water, undoubtedly the purpose of her excursion. "Did you just get in?"

"Quidditch ran late," said Donna lamely, and then realizing how little sense that excuse made (it could hardly have run till three in the morning, after all), she added: "And then I had homework."

_And then I snuck out to shag this prat named Charlie._

She almost said it, too.

"Oh. Okay." Lily swallowed her water. "Make sure Ira doesn't get trapped in here." And the redhead trudged back into the dormitory. Donna glanced about for Lily's cat, Ira, and found him seated in a corner. Sighing, the witch followed her friend's footsteps out into the dorm, switching off the lights and leaving the door open behind her.

(It's All Over Now)

Halfway through her library-less sentence, Alice had received no word on the arrival of _Progress in Potions, Volume 14_, and she was striving to make do with every other Potions book that Lily, Hestia, or anyone else might scrounge up for her. Still, it was difficult without direct access.

She sat in the Common Room one evening with a stack of books Marlene Price had dropped off, trying to find a particular date and failing miserably.

"'_Twenty-Two Things You didn't Know About Potions_,' by Robard Stirlop," said a voice suddenly, causing the witch to jump. She exhaled, as Frank Longbottom dropped the book of that title atop a pre-existing stack. Off Alice's questioning look, he added: "That _is_ the book you asked for, right?"

"It's the book I asked Remus Lupin for, yes," she replied.

"I know. He got tied up with something and asked me to drop it off. Sorry." He shrugged and started to leave.

"Wait. Frank."

The Head Boy paused. Alice set aside her books. "You—er—you want to sit down for a minute... maybe?"

"Er... okay."

He took a chair a safe distance away, closer to the fire.

"Listen," Alice began unsteadily, "I was rude to you... back when you asked to talk with me."

"That was over a month ago, Al..."

"No, I know, but... I don't always act quickly, in case you haven't noticed. Anyway, there's no reason we can't... talk about anything you might need to say. What happened with us was months ago, and I think we've both moved on, and... I mean, it's not a big deal anymore, is it?"

It was rhetorical, and he understood that, much to Alice's great relief. "Actually," he said, "to tell the truth, I don't even remember what I wanted to say to you... it was... I mean, it was late, and... anyway, I understand why you wouldn't want to talk."

"No, but I shouldn't have just snapped at you like that," she replied.

They were both quiet. "I guess," Frank finally went on, "if there was something I want to say, it would probably just... it would probably just be an apology."

"Oh."

"I don't suppose I ever did that... properly. I mean—that night I told you, I suppose I said the words 'I'm sorry,' but... I hadn't put you in a position to listen, so..." Frank flushed and did not quite meet her eye. "I'm really sorry, Alice. I made, y'know, mistakes, and I don't know if I ever let you know that none of it was ever about _you_. They were _my_ mistakes, m-my fault—not yours."

Alice nodded slowly. "That's... thank-you. But I couldn't have been perfect, Frank. There had to be a reason..."

"Of course there was a reason! The reason was that I was an idiot. B-but, Alice, you never were anything _except_ perfect. Really." He met her eye. Her heart skipped a beat, and her stomach flipped nervously. "And even though I got—mixed up... for a bit there... I only ever _really_ wanted y-you."

Alice averted her eyes this time. "Maybe I'm not ready to have this conversation after all," she muttered, as much to herself as to Frank.

"Oh, I'm not trying to—I mean, I just... I just wanted to explain a little that... that nothing was your fault. And that I'm so, so, _so_ sorry for what I put you through. And if it's any comfort, I put me through it, too."

"It... it is a little comfort," she admitted. Frank smiled.

"Alice," he began presently, "We're both going into the Auror program hopefully... and... I want to be your friend. But if you can't..."

"I don't think I can," Alice interrupted. "I mean, I wish I... but I can't."

"No, of course." He got to his feet. "You can't always get what you want, right?"

"Frank..."

"I see you got your book after all," he said suddenly, glancing at one of the volumes on the table. Alice looked over to see a chestnut colored leather book, with gold letters emblazoned across the front. _Progress in Potions, Volume 14._ Her brown eyes grew very wide.

"_Progress in..._ Where did that come from? I didn't ask anyone to bring it! It hasn't arrived in the library yet... how did...?" She picked it up. "No—there's no Hogwarts library label... and it doesn't say it belongs to anyone..." She looked incredulously up at Frank. "It was sitting here when I came down an hour ago... I didn't even notice the title, because... but... who do you think it belongs to?"

Frank shrugged (he was still smiling). "But whoever it was left it out—I doubt they'll mind if you use it, right?"

"It's brand new," breathed Alice, examining the book lovingly. "I can't believe it. And Professor Slughorn specifically recommended this series for my research, and... Agrippa, this is just..." Maybe it was the exhaustion of weeks of intense schoolwork, hours of studying, and the general stress of her existence at the moment, but Alice suddenly found herself overcome by emotion at the sight of that bloody book. She didn't cry, but she came pretty damn near it, as she realized that even with everything going so terribly wrong, this one little piece of her chaotic puzzle had fallen flawlessly into place. "...Perfect."

Remembering she wasn't alone, Alice looked up at Frank again. He was grinning. "'Glad you got what you needed," he said. "I'll—be seeing you."

(Gimme Shelter)

At seven o'clock, Sirius knew perfectly well how late he was.

After ditching Herbology, he had stopped by the kitchens for a private supper, where the house elves had been more than happy to oblige; shortly after that, he ran into Chelsea Burgought, one thing led to another and... well, now he was running late. The moon would be up in less than half an hour, and James had positively shouted through the two-way mirror for him to hurry back to the Common Room.

He was running late, and he knew perfectly well that he hadn't time for a detour if he wanted the group to make it down to the Willow before Remus made his monthly transformation, but God help him if he was going to let his git of a brother get away with talking like that.

Regulus Black hung upside down, courtesy of a well-placed _levicorpus_, wearing a scowl on his young face. It was nothing to the pure anger that emanated from his elder brother, however.

"What the hell is your problem?"

"_My_ problem?" retorted Sirius viciously; "You're hanging around with Thornfinn Rowle and Roland Urquhart now? If you're after death eater wanna-bes, aren't there any around capable of rational thought?"

"_Let me down, Sirius!"_

The older Black obliged; Regulus crashed to the ground, landing in a heap. Pushing himself up, he turned reproachful grey eyes on his brother. "I didn't think it _mattered_ to you, _Sirius_. I'm not your brother, remember? You made that _very_ clear!" He drew his wand in anticipation of another attack. "I don't see how this is any of your business, or why you should even care!"

"I don't care about _you_," snapped Sirius. "I just don't care for people who keep my last name acting like they own Hogwarts just because they have an arrogant, inbred family tree."

Regulus smirked. "You can't get over it, can you? You just _can't_ get over the _guilt_ that you're the product of the same family I am... you have the _same_ blood, same parents, same heritage, same history... you're as much of a pureblood as I am, Sirius. We even look alike." There was victory on his face. "'Difference is, I'm not a coward and a blood traitor... oh... and I'm not practically _broke_, either. _I'm_ not relying on charity."

Sirius jabbed his wand before Regulus could defend himself; the latter fell flat on his back, and though his leer remained, it was mixed with the evident discomfort of having his hands bound behind his back.

"_I'm_ the coward, Regulus? At least I'm not afraid to stand up to my Mummy."

"You _broke her heart_."

Sirius snorted. "She hasn't a heart to break."

"Well, now I know where _you_ get it."

"Clever. It's a good thing you're around to pick up the pieces of Mum's shattered world since I went away. I bet you're a _real_ good house elf of a lackey."

"Say what you want," murmured Regulus through gritted teeth. "You're on the losing side, Sirius. It'll get you killed one day."

"Probably," Sirius agreed, sneering. "I just hope it gets you killed first." He flicked his wand, and Regulus was released from the spell. The Slytherin did not get to his feet at once, but he sat up and glared.

"It doesn't do anyone any good being a blood traitor, Sirius," he said, and it almost sounded like a warning. "'Just look at our uncle, if you want proof. Mum always said he was too weak to..."

"_Shut up_," interrupted Sirius, readying his wand. "You keep your filthy, sniveling mouth _shut, _or I'll do it for you."

"I'm not afraid of you anymore, Sirius."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I haven't got time for this. If I ever hear you talking like that with Urquhart and Rowle again, you'll get worse than a bruised rib."

"I haven't _got_ a bruised rib."

"Well in that case..." Sirius waved his wand, and Regulus flew against the corridor wall with a great deal of force.

A few minutes later, Sirius arrived at the Gryffindor Common Room to see—among others—a cross James and Peter.

"Finally," said the former. "Where were...?" Noticing Sirius's expression, he broke off and changed his question and tone: "What happened?"

"Nothing," replied Sirius lightly. "Apparently I'm a coward and a blood traitor, but... you know... all in a day's work."

"Who was it?" asked James.

"Regulus."

James nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "You know," he began, "I think that would make a nice shirt: 'Coward and Blood Traitor.' Catchy, y'know? A nice bold black print on maybe a grey background... and we could sell matching caps. 'Coward and Blood Traitor and Proud.'"

"It _does_ have a certain ring to it," agreed Peter.

Sirius smiled weakly. "You two are idiots."

"Says _you_." James grinned. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll need a cloak. Coming?"

They followed him up the stairs into the boys' dormitory.

(Little By Little)

For better or for worse, the Marauders never ceased to amaze Lily.

For instance, _how _had Sirius and James, in second year, managed to convince Clinton Bagworth that he had contracted a rare disease and was only days from his death bed? Or, how, in fourth year, had the four boys removed every book, quill, shelf, and article of furniture from the library and transferred them overnight—in a perfect replica—to the room across the hallway? Or, how—in the midst of the fifth year Quidditch final—had they managed to silence every single fan of the opposition with a spell so tricky it took nearly an hour to undo?

These were mysteries indeed, but no mystery compared to that which occurred on March 27th every year.

James Potter's birthday.

How was it that though every single student in the school was buzzing about it for weeks, teachers never seemed to catch wind of it? Between loud-mouthed Hufflepuffs and conniving Slytherins and tattling prefects, how in the name of Merlin did they keep it a secret? Did the teachers know but deem it better not to interfere?

And how was it that though the event was always elaborate and extravagant, the Marauders themselves were never seen _planning_ it? No, indeed, March 26th might have been any other day of the year for them. The wizards lounged around the Common Room, paid half attention in class, snacked on crisps and pumpkin juice throughout the day, attended Quidditch practice in the evening (where applicable), and otherwise gave no indication that the following evening would be one of chaotic revelry.

A few days before the date—a convenient Saturday—Lily privately reflected on these mysteries while walking to lunch with Donna, Mary, and Marlene. They had just overheard a few fifth year girls whispering about how they _hoped_ they would be invited, and it struck Lily as odd that people should be clambering so. Of course, her wonder might simply be a result of the fact that the party's inevitable location—Gryffindor Common Room—insured her an invitation, while those select few of other houses had to be surreptitiously slipped the password just hours before the event. The whole thing was very mysterious.

"How do they even _know_ there's going to be a party?" Lily mused. "The Marauders haven't breathed a word about it themselves—they're always so enigmatic about the whole business."

"There'll be a party," Mary replied confidently. "There's _always_ a party. Lily, dear, where's the boyfriend?"

Luke's absence from the group was something of an anomaly. Of late, he had been with Lily constantly—a significant feat, considering their difference in houses and years. Yet, at the end of every class, he was standing outside her classroom door, waiting to carry her bags to the next meal or class. He had started sitting at Gryffindor table daily, too, and if Lily was anywhere in the castle other than Gryffindor Tower or the lavatory, he was by her side.

"No idea," said Lily honestly. "I didn't see him outside Charms. Maybe he got hung up after class."

"You sort of get used to having him around," Donna interjected dryly. "Like a puppy."

"Apt metaphor," agreed Marlene.

"Quiet," ordered Lily. "That's mean."

"But true," Mary chimed in.

"You don't see me making fun of _your_ boyfriends," said Lily shortly. "Oh... _that's_ right... haven't got any."

"Ouch, someone's in a bad mood," said Donna. Lily at once felt guilty.

"Sorry," she grumbled.

"Don't apologize," Marlene told her. "We were being cruel first. Five galleons Luke's waiting at Gryffindor table."

Fortunately for Marlene, no one took the bet, because Luke Harper was not in the Great Hall when the girls arrived. He did not turn up for about twenty minutes, actually, and when—on Lily's inquiry—he said nothing was wrong, she could tell he was lying. "I'll tell you later," he murmured, and Lily dropped it.

As it turned out, however, Lily learned for herself before Luke had any opportunity to tell her. She, Luke, and her friends were making their way out of the Great Hall, when Mary startled them with the exclamation: "Is that that dreamy auror who was here at the beginning of the year?"

It was.

The auror Lathe's unmistakable electric blue eyes were fixed upon Professor McGonagall, as the pair stood in a corner of the Entrance Hall, speaking in confidential tones. Lily looked at once to Luke, who muttered: "I'll explain later."

"Do you think he's found something else about what happened in September?" asked Marlene anxiously.

"Probably," said Luke quickly.

"I thought he was off that case," Donna vaguely contributed. She did not seem very concerned with the matter, however, as she added: "I'm off to the library for my free period. Coming, Lily?"

"Er..." Lily met Luke's eye. "I'll be along in a minute."

"_We, _meanwhile, have Care of Magical Creatures," grumbled Marlene. "C'mon Mary, _you_ still haven't answered the last three questions of the homework."

"Oi—right! Thanks."

Mary and Marlene skipped off, and Lily turned to Luke. "Not here," he pleaded, before leading her out of the busy Entrance Hall and into an unused classroom.

"Was that why you were late?" Lily asked, the moment they were alone. "Did Lathe ask to talk to you?"

Luke nodded. "He wanted to ask me a few questions about Logan. It was nothing big—he just wanted to know if I had heard from Luke lately."

"And have you?" asked Lily, voicing another question that had been bothering her for some time.

"Not since Valentine's Day, I swear."

Lily nodded.

"I think he'll be gone by tomorrow," said Luke, referring to Lathe again. "I told him I hadn't seen Logan in a month, and I haven't any idea where he is now, and..."

"Wait—you _told_ Lathe?" Lily interrupted, surprised.

"Of course. Lily, he's from _the Ministry_; you can't lie to someone like that."

It was the strangest thing; if Luke had told her that he had lied to Lathe, she would have been angry, because he was withholding vital information. And yet, hearing this declaration—that he had told all, because, after all, Lathe was from _the Ministry_—she felt the oddest, sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, which (and she couldn't be sure) seemed to be disappointment.

Luke ignored or misinterpreted her silence, and continued with a sigh:  
"It will be over with soon. I can move past this." He met her eye, but didn't take her hand. "We both can, right?"

Lily didn't answer, but instead asked: "Did Lathe say why he came _here_? To Hogwarts, looking?"

"To see me, apparently," replied Luke. "They traced Logan to Hogsmeade and believed I might have had contact." Lily nodded. "Listen, Flower, I should go. I have Arithmancy..."

"Right. Go on, then."

Luke left the room, and Lily took a moment to collect her scattered thoughts before following. Lathe and McGonagall were no longer in the Entrance Hall, but she had not long to wonder about their location. As she made her way to the library a few minutes later, a skinny Hufflepuff accosted the prefect with a request to pay a visit to Professor McGonagall's office at once.

A million undesirable scenarios running though her mind, Lily changed course to her head of house's office, only to find upon arrival not Professor McGonagall, but Lathe.

"Miss Evans—er—hi," the auror said uncomfortably, setting down a thick stack of parchment on the desk.

"Did _you_ want to see me then?" asked Lily, lingering near the door. Lathe nodded, and she came further into the room. He was leaning against the front of the desk and picked up a mug of something that Lily guessed was coffee.

"You seem to be _involved_ a lot, don't you, Evans?" Lathe observed, almost amused.

"It's my curse," replied Lily uncertainly. What did he mean 'involved?' How much did he know about her involvement with Logan Harper? "Er—was there... something in particular...?"

"Yes. I'm sorry." Lathe became very businesslike, setting down the coffee. "I don't want to keep you in suspense or scare you or anything. I just have a few words about your..." He searched for a word, and Lily offered:

"Luke?"

Lathe nodded.

"I heard you already questioned him."

"About his brother, Logan, yes," said Lathe, then, remembering himself: "I'm sorry, Miss Evans, have a seat." Lily took the offered chair. "Luke Harper," the auror resumed presently, "informed me that the two of you saw his brother Logan last month."

Lily felt extremely guilty for the brief wave of panic that struck her. She didn't _want_ Luke to lie (or omit), but she realized now that she had somewhat expected that he would—at least regarding _her_ involvement—and she felt extremely cowardly for assuming that. Even still, Luke _might_ have given her a heads up. The sixth year nodded and asked—in what she hoped was a casual, somewhat joking tone: "Am I in trouble?"

"Not really," Lathe admitted, matching her relaxed attitude. "Mr. Harper said that you met his brother on February 14th briefly, and the two of you conversed, and then that you returned to the castle." _So Luke _had_ omitted._ "Is that correct?"

Lily hesitated. "Er... essentially."

"Essentially?" He raised one eyebrow, and she nodded. "What did Logan Harper discuss with you?" She was about to respond, when Lathe quickly cut her off: "This feels like an interrogation, I'm sorry. But, Miss Evans, you have to know that this is very—important, for lack of a better word. Locating Logan Harper is a top priority in my department right now, and if you have any information, it is of the utmost importance that you tell it to me."

"I don't have any idea where he is," Lily told him honestly. "And I thought you only wanted him to _testify_ about something?"

Lathe smiled at Lily's knowing expression. "_That_ wasn't my idea," he told her, sounding a bit annoyed. "The _Minister_ has hired a new overseer for the auror department. This overseer—a beaurocrat if there ever was one, but that's neither here nor there—she thought it might encourage friends or relatives who had an idea of certain known death eaters' locations to come forward... if they thought they wasn't going to be arrested, just questioned."

"Then Logan Harper _is_ a known death eater?" asked Lily. Not that _she_ hadn't known (his visit had eradicated hopeful suspicion to the contrary), but it was encouraging to know that the Ministry had a clue, too. Lathe, however, did not respond at once. Instead, he turned to the desk and picked up the stack of parchment he had been holding before. It was packed inside a folder, which Lathe handed to Lily and indicated that she should look through.

Lily opened the front flap. Immediately, blinking up at her from a square photograph, clipped to the front of a slip of paper, were Logan Harper's dark eyes. He was younger in this picture than when Lily had seen him—this was probably taken several years before... perhaps just after his Hogwarts days—but his smug expression was familiar.

Logan's name and information occupied most of the first page. The second included the beginnings of a list of crimes for which Logan was "suspected." The use of the Imperius Curse topped the list, followed by theft, assault on Ministry workers, and transport and storage of dark and dangerous magic materials. The next page was worse.

Murder, torture, muggle-baiting...

He was directly implicated in the death of one of the three aurors reported in February, but that was far from the extent of it. A muggleborn found beaten in Diagon Alley, the torture and murder of two pro-muggle activists, a family in Dublin whose entire house was destroyed—all said to be part of his handiwork. These were stories she had read about in _The Prophet_, but they had always been attributed to the vague entity of _death eaters_... that she had saved the life of one wizard responsible...

After that, there were pictures, which Lily found herself morbidly drawn to see. Then she closed the file and handed it back to Lathe, asking: "It said he wasn't charged with anything yet. Don't you have proof?" Not because she doubted, just to be thorough...

"Part of my _superior's_ plan to draw them out," Lathe explained, rolling his eyes. "You can't charge a person with something and then say they haven't been charged, so even though we have all of this information, it stays buried until we find them."

"How _do_ you have all this information? These death eaters—they wear masks, and they don't leave many witnesses, do they?"

Lathe paused thoughtfully over the question, before replying: "Let's just say there's someone with a very dangerous job—and because of that person, we know things like this."

Lily leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "I saved his life," she said quietly. "Luke brought me to him, and he was bleeding to death—Logan was, because he'd been hit with a curse. I made a potion to help him clot, and I drugged him so that Luke could take him in..." That whole meeting unfolded in Lily's mind and on her tongue—every detail of her conversation with Logan, his injuries, the excuses he had evidently made to Luke, and her own argument with her boyfriend over these excuses. Lily concluded with the conversation she had overheard the next morning: "...Logan said he would 'need an extra wand' in a few months. He wanted Luke to help, but Luke said he wasn't going to be involved. Then Luke started for the door, and I left. Logan left the house sometime that afternoon, and I haven't heard anything since. I honestly believe Luke hasn't either... he's been a little wrapped up with his dad dying and... Anyway, that's all I know." She finished with a sigh.

Lathe had listened to her story in silence, and now that it came to an end, he remained deep in thought for several moments. Finally he asked: "How did you know Harper was wounded in the incident with the three aurors?"

"Well—he said he'd been hurt twenty-four hours before... and I read the newspaper. Two and two, I suppose." Lily shrugged.

"You really are clever," Lathe observed. "And thank-you. What you told me really is... invaluable."

Lily nodded slowly, rising from her chair. She did not make to leave, however. "You know," she began seriously, "you didn't have to trick me into telling you about what happened with Logan."

Interest flashed in Lathe's eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I would have told you everything even if you didn't show me that file," she explained, a bit resentfully. "Earlier in the year I told you about the Harpers, didn't I? I'm not a liar, and you didn't need to try and trick me. You should have trusted me."

Lathe frowned. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you were a liar, but I know sometimes there's doubt or guilt in situations like these, and—I thought you should know what kind of person Logan Harper is."

Lily bit her lip and nodded; "Is there anything else?"

"You can go," said Lathe, but as she started for the door, he added: "One more thing..." She paused. "That Luke of yours... he told me he had seen his brother, that the two of them had talked about his father's sickness, and that you had met him. That's _all_ he told me." Lily waited to see where this was going. "I showed Luke his brother's file, too."

She understood and nodded. "He's not heartless," Lily tried to explain, "He's just... he's easily influenced, and—the operating influence is often his brother. I think if Logan told him that it was all a lie, he would force himself to believe it no matter what."

"I'm not saying he's heartless," Lathe continued. "I'm saying be careful."

"Is Luke in trouble?" asked Lily.

"Not exactly," said the auror. "But we'll be keeping an eye out."

(Ruby Tuesday)

Alice was up very late Wednesday night, putting the finishing touches on her Potions term project. It wasn't due until Monday, but she would have plenty of homework on Thursday, Friday was not a day that _anyone_ should have to do homework, and she fully intended on attending James Potter's birthday party on Saturday and nursing one hell of a hang over on Sunday, so this was her best opportunity to finish

Smiling with sleepy satisfaction, Alice flicked her wand once over the long roll of parchment, removing stray drops and smears, so that her curvy handwriting appeared neat and tidy. She was looking over the dates on the accompanying timeline she had prepared, when the portrait hole opened, admitting Carlotta Meloni.

Alone in the Common Room, the two girls stared at each other for a moment, as though each was afraid that the other might eat her. Carlotta spoke first.

"Hi." (Awkwardly).

"Hi."

Carlotta slowly started across the room, not breaking eye contact with the seventh year. "You're up late."

"Homework," explained Alice. "You?"

"Ravenclaw prefect."

"_Of_ course."

They were both silent, and as Carlotta reached the staircase up to the dormitory, Alice thought that the insanely uncomfortable moment had passed. However, Carlotta did not ascend the stair, instead pausing and turning again.

"You know, I don't... typically apologize," she began.

"Because you're a heartless bitch," Alice concluded for her.

"Please, just let me finish," Carlotta asked sincerely. Alice sighed and crossed her arms expectantly. "I don't make apologies, because I don't believe in them. I don't believe in regrets or mistakes. What happens, happens, and I think that other people's inability to handle that is _their_ problem, not mine."

"Again, heartless bitch."

"Please just wait. The—the thing is, I don't really apologize for much, because I feel like if it doesn't mean anything to me, it shouldn't mean anything to anyone else either. And I've always been sort of... opposed to monogamy and relationships and the whole... _established_ thing, so striking relationships didn't bother me because... because I didn't believe in them in the first place." She sighed and brushed her perfect curtain of dark brown hair from her eyes. "But with Frank, I really—I really did want something with him. And I was jealous of you, and I haven't been jealous of a girl in a really, _really_ long time. And it—it meant something to me, Frank did. It hurt me when I saw him with you, and it hurt me when I was hon—honest enough with myself to realize that Frank didn't love me. So, because it hurt me, I can under—I mean, I know it hurt you, too. And if you felt anything like I did, then—then I know that you deserve my apology. So—here it is. I'm sorry—I'm sorry for hurting you, and for trying to ruin your relationship, and for trying to convince a boy who's in love with you that he's not."

Carlotta ended her speech, and folded her hands behind her back, as though patiently awaiting her sentence. Alice wore an expression drenched with irony.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but you succeeded in all of that," said the older witch coolly. "Frank and I broke up. Months ago. Your little apology—while _flattering_—is more than a little late, and I'm so far beyond caring about any of what happened between you and Frank or me and Frank or... whatever, that saying 'I forgive you' would be meaningless. I don't even care anymore."

Carlotta's eyebrows shot up. "You don't _care_?" she asked with a scornful smile. "You don't care about any of it? How can you _not_ care? Frank Longbottom doesn't _look_ at me. He doesn't talk to me, or acknowledge my existence—and it's not like he's being mean, he just... he just _doesn't_ feel anything for me, and despite all that, _I_—the heartless bitch—care about him. And yet he looks at you all the time, would do _anything_ to make you happy—including staying out of your way—and couldn't be anymore obviously in love with you if he tried, and you _don't care_?"

"Boys who are in love don't cheat," snapped Alice.

Carlotta laughed. "Speaking as the girl boys cheat _with_, I can tell you with _certainty_ that's not true. I mean, sometimes it is—never in _my_ experience, but I've heard stories... but for the most part, blokes our age don't think with their _brains_." She placed one hand on the banister, as if preparing to head upstairs, but before she went, the sixth year added: "You don't have to forgive me, but I _am_ sorry."

Then she was gone, and Alice exhaled heavily, sitting back on the sofa. She picked up the as-of-yet unclaimed _Progress in Potions, Volume 14_, and ran her hands over the smooth leather cover. The satisfaction of having finished her potions project had been replaced by the knowledge that another assignment was left undone.

(All Down the Line)

"I'm just saying," Lily was just saying as she walked to breakfast the morning after her meeting with Lathe, "that it would have been nice to have a heads up. You know—somewhere in between the 'he should be gone tomorrow' and 'I've got Arithmancy,' I would have been very appreciative if you'd slipped in: 'Lathe might be calling you up to McGonagall's office to question you about my brother, so—y'know—be ready for that!'"

Luke looked horrified. "He questioned you? I told him not to involve you..."

"You're a seventeen-year-old Hogwarts student who harbored a criminal—why exactly did you think you had any power over a top Ministry investigative auror?"

It was a well-known fact that Lily did not function before eight a.m. It was approximately two minutes till eight, and she was not pleased.

"I can't believe he interrogated you!" Luke continued, outraged. "I can't believe he involved you with this!"

"I was already involved," Lily pointed out.

"What did he ask you? What did you say to him?"

"The truth," she replied. "Not to be confused with 'a sketchy overview, leaving out major details,' which is what _you_ told him."

"I left out some offensive comments and the fact that he was injured," said Luke. "Neither of those seriously hinders the Ministry."

"You also left out the fact that he has another job planned."

Luke stopped walking. "Lily, you didn't...?"

"You saw his file," said Lily sharply, also halting. "How can you possibly defend that?"

"He's not _charged_ with anything," Luke countered. "He was just suspected. I know my brother, and I know the Ministry, and I know which one I can trust."

They reached the Great Hall. "Maybe you should sit at Ravenclaw table this morning," said Lily coolly.

"_Flower_," pleaded Luke, but she brushed past him to her table without a word. He didn't pursue, instead following her instructions and slumping towards his housemates at the other table. No sooner had Lily taken a seat, then she was joined by Carlotta Meloni, looking flawless and lively as ever.

"Good morning," she chirped.

"'Morning," replied Lily.

"No Harper this morning? I've noticed he's been about quite a bit lately."

"No Harper this morning," Lily confirmed dully.

"Did you two row?"

Lily glared across the table at Carlotta, whose brown eyes grew wide. "I _swear_ I didn't shag him. He's delicious and all, but I am _done_ with the boyfriends of my roommates. It's mad, how crazy you lot get... I don't know why Marlene was so bothered... Miles and I were both beyond drunk at the time, and we didn't even shag. Just snogged for a few minutes—half an hour at _most_... and anyway, she's got Adam Bloody McKinnon, who, if you ask _me_..."

"Carlotta, honey," interrupted Lily, wearily. "No one is angry with you for making out with Miles. No more justifications are necessary. Can we move on, and can I eat my breakfast?"

Carlotta merely shrugged.

(Need)

"_I can't get no... Satisfaction_..."

Some muggle's (whose name she could not quite remember) voice met Alice's ears as she entered Gryffindor tower at a few minutes after five on Saturday. The room was crowded and warm, with people swaying to the music or mingling in just about every inch of the room. The smells of firewhiskey, butterbeer, and smoke prevailed, but there was a great deal of food laid out too, and—throwing down her empty book bag in a corner—Alice made for the nearest table.

"Hey, Alice!" called a voice over the blaring noise, and she turned to see Adam McKinnon approaching. He wore a _Hate Potion_ t-shirt (now _there_ was a band that Alice knew by name) and held a suspicious goblet. "_I_ am about to get very drunk," he announced cheerfully, "so before I forget, Ms. Sevoy—the librarian from hell—told me to tell you that the book you ordered has arrived, and even though your banishment lasts until tomorrow, you may pick it up at any time."

Alice snorted, rolling her eyes. "Thanks, but I don't even need it anymore. I found a copy somewhere else. Where'd you get that drink?"

"Here, I'll show you."

He started to lead the way through the crowd, and Alice continued: "That reminds me—you don't happen to be missing a copy of _Progress in Potions, Volume 14_, do you? I found it in the Common Room, and I've asked just about everyone if its theirs, but no one's claimed it."

"What was that title again?" asked Adam, dividing a dancing couple in their trek across the room.

"_Progress in Potions, Volume 14."_

"That's what I thought... yeah, I think that's Frank's."

"_Frank's_? No, I don't think so..."

"Maybe not," said Adam with a shrug. "But he just got a copy of it last week... ordered it from somewhere, I think. It came by post—I was sitting with him at the time. I remember the title, because I was making fun of him for ordering probably the most _boring_ book in history, and..."

Alice had stopped listening.

--

Sirius was well on his way towards unconsciousness before the fireworks had even started.

Grabbing another goblet of amber colored firewhiskey, he emptied its contents in a matter of seconds and moved on through the room. He spotted a pretty blond somewhere near the turntable and started in that direction, only to be intercepted by Remus, Peter, and James.

"Prongs, mate," slurred Sirius, clapping his hand on James's shoulder. "N'joyin' your party?"

"Well _you _clearly are," replied the other, who held a goblet himself. "Where are you headed?" Sirius pointed at the blond. "Ah... the ironically named Chastity Cristaline."

Smirking, Sirius took Peter's half empty cup and emptied it as well. "Liquid courage," he explained. "N-now if you'll s'cuse me..."

"Courage isn't your problem," Remus pointed out. "Maybe you should slow down."

"If ya can still see me, _clearly_ I'm not goin' quick 'nuff. Gent-men..." He nodded and slipped away. James swallowed the remainder of his drink, while the other two exchanged looks. Remus cleared his throat, and James looked at them.

"What?"

Remus raised his eyebrows.

"No," said James. "It's my birthday. It's a party. He's allowed to get wasted."

"It's been an _hour_," said Remus.

"But he's about to get lucky! We can't go all intervention on him _now_."

"Prongs..."

"I say we vote," said James. "I vote we let him be."

"I vote we talk to him," said Remus. They both looked at Peter.

"And _I_ vote," he began, "that... we should... definitely... without a doubt... take the course of action that... would mean we might... not... want to... do anything that would _not_..."

"Peter."

"I'm with Prongs."

"_Damn it_," swore Remus, while James punched the air. "_Fine_, but we're talking with him tomorrow." He turned and departed.

James turned to Peter. "Like _hell_ we are—the hangover he's going to have? We're waiting till Monday at the _earliest_."

Peter laughed. "I'm going to go refill," he said, indicating to the empty goblet. "Be back in a minute. Want anything?"

"Yeah, I'll have another," said James. When Peter was gone, and the other Marauder looked across the room, to where Sirius was laughing loudly with the blond girl. James sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. He wouldn't have admitted it, but Remus was right—ignoring this problem wouldn't make it go away.

* * *

"I thought I might find you here," said Lily quietly, approaching Luke's library table and taking the vacant seat across from him. "I was looking for you in the Common Room. I gave you the password..."

"Didn't feel much like going to a party," murmured Luke.

Lily nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean." Feeling hollow and deceitful, she reached out and placed her hand on top of his (_nothing_), because the pain etched on his handsome face was just too much to ignore. "I'm sorry if I've been... unresponsive for the last few days. It's just been really difficult since Lathe left. I've been doing a lot of thinking, and..." She stopped suddenly, because in Luke's eyes she noticed tears. "Luke, what's wrong?"

The Ravenclaw breathed heavily and unevenly. "I've had a letter from home. They—er—they read my dad's will." He withdrew his hand from Lily's, opening it to reveal a large ring, engraved with a crest that Lily supposed must have been the Harper family's. "It's supposed to go to the oldest son, but Dad left it to me... I don't know why... two older brothers, but he left it to me—why... why do you think he would do that, Lily?"

Lily shook her head to indicate she didn't know.

"I just don't understand it," he went on shakily. "I just—I can't..." He broke off, his shoulders beginning to shake and the tears in his eyes slipping out, and Lily once again took his hand in her own.

* * *

"BLACK! BLACK! BLACK!" dozens of people chanted, and even the Ravenclaws present did not seem to be cheering for Sirius's opponent, their housemate Gregory Shale. Sirius was drunker, but he seemed to be getting more punches in, as the two brawled in the middle of a circle of onlookers, cheering and whooping at the spectacle.

Just as Sirius gained dominance and landed a particularly good hit to Shale's nose, the Ravenclaw pushed him over Sirius tumbled onto his back, and Shale's elbow smashed with force against Sirius's eye.

Sirius was struggling against Shale's grip, when suddenly the two boys were ripped apart, the Ravenclaw flying towards one group of spectators, while Sirius only rolled over once. James appeared, wand outstretched and a furious expression on his eyes. "Break it up!" Remus could be heard shouting, and Peter went to tell a groaning Gregory Shale to leave.

James, meanwhile, pulled Sirius to his feet, threw one of his friend's arms around his shoulders, and dragged him away from the group. As the other guests resumed the party's other entertainments (fireworks, food, alcohol, and a number of Zonko's products, to name a few), James hauled Sirius all the way up to their dormitory. Practically throwing him on the bed, James drew his wand and conjured a bag of ice, which he wordlessly handed to Sirius.

Padfoot placed it on his swelling eye; his expression was bitter.

"This has to stop," snapped James, pacing. "I said I'd give you time before you had to talk to me about whatever is bothering you, but this is ridiculous. I meant a couple of days, not a month, okay? All this brooding ends _now_... you're drinking too much, starting fights with random Ravenclaws at _my_ birthday party... smoking all the time, getting with every witch in sight, and being a _downright pain in the ass!_ If you don't slow down, you're going to have more detentions than _I_ do_, _and—news alert—any more detentions than _me_, and you get kicked out! So whatever the hell is bothering you, you're just going to have to snap out of it, because..."

"Professor Black is dying," said Sirius.

James froze. "What?"

"My uncle's dying—he's got a couple months at the most."

At that moment, Remus and Peter burst into the dormitory. Peter was laughing. "You two should have _seen_ him—Shale was _furious_... I've never..." Remus—who had noticed their two friends' expressions—elbowed him in the ribs, and Peter stopped suddenly. "What's wrong?"

* * *

"You _sure_ you would-unt rather be at ya birthday?" asked Sirius, taking another drink from the large bottle of firewhiskey, before handing it along to James. Prongs followed the suit and shook his head.

"Crowded and noisy—the Astronomy Tower is _much_ better." James handed the bottle along to Remus.

"You know," observed Moony—thoughtful even in intoxication, "This prolly isn't the bes' of places to be drinkin... there's like... heights... and towers... and pointy-—things that we could... like… y'know... hit."

He handed the bottle to Peter, who laughed.

"I w-w-w-wonder what Jregory... no... Gregory Sh—Sh—Shale is do-doing," he slurred, with a long swig of firewhiskey. "H-h-_he_ was _hacked off_..."

Wormtail returned the bottle to Remus, who also began to laugh. "Really was a laugh... h-his face was posit-iv-ively p-purple!" He swallowed another gulp, and as the liquid burned the young werewolf's throat, he gave the bottle over to James again.

"Why did-ya even _start_ fighting?" asked James, shaking his head. "_Lunatic_."

He drank and gave the bottle to Sirius, who was laughing himself. "I—I really have no idea! Git said somethin'... haven't a clue what it was... set me right off, though!"

The four boys—seated and slouching against an open wall of the Astronomy Tower—laughed at this, while Sirius drank. The black sky stretched cloudless overhead, and the Marauders—unaffected by the chilly air—watched it for some time.

"Almos' a new moon," Remus pointed out. "It's a good time for me."

"Hmm," hummed Sirius. "'Wish it were that simple... knowin' how ever-ya-thing is gonna be just 'cos of the moon."

Remus snorted. "Han' me the bottle, ya prat." Sirius complied. "Yeah, dess-ined for a life of pover—poverty and i-i-isolation." He drank deeply. "Tha's simple for ya."

"Hey, _I'm_ destinated for poverty too!" argued Sirius petulantly. "I got—was—got _disowned. _No... more... fortune." He grabbed the bottle back and drank.

"Well _I_ vener—er—never had any galleons to _begin_ with," said Peter, taking the bottle from Sirius. "_I_ were—was _borned_ poor."

"You're all bloody planks," said James irritably. "I'm sodding _rich_—ya think I'm-a let ya _starve_, Moony? Same with ya other two swots. Ya can live in one-o my six millions houses, s'long as I don' have to see ya too much."

"Oh, _Prons,"_ sighed Sirius, laying his head on James's shoulder. "Ya _care_."

"_Ergh—gerroff me!_"

Sirius laughed, pulling his head up and leaning it against the wall behind him instead.

"Anyway," James continued eventually; "y'_know_ you won' be poverty...er... in poverty. 'Cos I'm rich. An' as for your 'is-o-lation,' Mr. Moony... _we_... are the Mar'ders. An' even though Padfoot's a lairy headcase, an' Wormtail's a soddin' lightweight, an' _you_ get all sen-a-men-al 'bout the moon, Moony, an' _I _am too good for the lot o' ya—none-uv-us... is-a-_ever_... goin' to be... _isolated_. Now gimme that bottle, mate."

Peter gave him the bottle. They sat in silence, until, some time later, Wormtail began to chuckle.

"What?" asked Remus.

"P-P-Padfoot's eye," said Peter. "It's s-s-still purple!"

And for whatever reason, they all laughed at that.

* * *

"Frank Longbottom, you stop right there!"

Frank Longbottom stopped right there ("there" being a spot somewhere along the seventh floor corridor, not far from the portrait of the Fat Lady). He turned to see Alice Griffiths approaching, bright eyed and flushed.

"Did I do something wrong?" asked Frank, who—though unqualified for the term "drunk"— had consumed a goblet of firewhiskey (or two), and was consequently a little slower in thought than usual.

Alice, who was—alcoholically speaking—in a similar position, scowled as she caught up with the Head Boy. She had a book in hand (_Progress in Potions, Volume 14)_, which she at once thrust in Frank's face.

"This is yours," she declared.

Frank cleared his throat. "N-no it's not."

"Adam McKinnon told me you ordered one and got it in the post," Alice continued. "You ordered this book, didn't you? Don't lie!"

"I'm not!"

"You are!"

"I'm not!"

"You _are!_"

Frank sighed. "Fine, I bought it, but I don't want it."

"Why not?" demanded Alice.

"I have no use for it."

"Then why did you buy it?"

Frank just looked at her, as if to say "I think you know the answer to that." Alice frowned, and turning, the Head Boy continued down the corridor. After a moment's deliberation, Alice skipped after him.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Head offices."

"Why?"

"Work."

"You left James Potter's birthday party to work?"

"Well, James Potter left ages ago, so I reckon it's alright."

Alice huffed. "Why did you buy the book?"

He didn't respond, descending the staircase.

"_Frank_."

No reply.

"Why did you buy the book?"

"I just felt like it."

"You did _not_. Why did you buy it?"

"Just because."

"That's not an answer!"

"Is too."

"Why did you buy it?"

"None of your business."

"It is _too_ my business! I've been using the book all week!"

"Well, I don't mind."

"Frank! Frank, why did you buy this book?"

"I just did."

"No, you don't just _buy_ a book! You have to have a reason!"

"Well, I had one."

"And what was it?"

They reached the floor of the Head offices, and Frank took off down the corridor, followed by an irate Alice. He entered the room, and she did too. One wall of the office was almost completely covered by shelves, divided into little slots, tagged with labels like: "Quidditch Pitch Schedule," or "Point Docking Documentation." Frank grabbed a stack of parchment from the table that ran along the wall of the small room and began to slip papers into different slots. Alice folded her arms.

"Francis Algernon Longbottom!" she cried. He stopped, set down the parchment, and turned to face her.

"Yes, Alice Geraldine Griffiths?"

She softened. "Why did you buy that book?"

Frank sighed. "You weren't supposed to find out."

"Why did you buy it?"

"Stupid Adam McKinnon."

"Why did you buy it?"

"I didn't buy it to apologize."

"But why _did_ you buy it?"

"For you, of course," said Frank, leaning against the table. And, of course, she had already known that.

"Why did you do it that way? All secretive?" she asked. "Why didn't you just give it to me like a _normal_ person."

"Would you have taken it?" he replied, smiling weakly.

"Not at first," Alice admitted. "But I was getting pretty desperate. I would've taken it eventually... especially if you didn't tell me that you bought it specifically _for_ me."

Frank nodded. "I know that, but—you wouldn't have been happy about it."

"What?"

"I just..." He hesitated, not meeting her eye. "I just wanted you to have something go your way—something that made you happy. Everything's been going against you, and I haven't seen you happy a lot lately, and I—I just wanted you to be happy about something. And I didn't tell you it was me, because I thought it wouldn't make you as happy, and I—I didn't want you to think I was trying to... like... I dunno, win you back or make amends or something. 'Cause that's not what it was about. I swear."

Alice stared. She bit her lip and stared, and then she set down the book and stared some more.

"Oh, c'mon, Al," pleaded Frank, "Don't get rid of the book just because it's from me. It's just a book, and I _know_ you needed it, and..."

"Frank."

"...Look, if you want to throw it off the Astronomy Tower when you're done, _fine_, but it's just pointless for you _not_ to use it now..."

"_Frank_."

"...And yes, you have every right to hate me forever, but keeping the book won't change that. It won't mean your indebted to me, and if you like, I can do a memory charm so you don't even have to have it as a _reminder_ that I exist..."

"_Frank_," sighed Alice, stepping right up to him. He started at their sudden proximity.

"What?"

"Will you please shut up?"

"Er—w-why?"

"Because," she said impatiently, "you're ruining probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me with a lot of senseless chattering."

Whatever response he had for that died on his lips, as she pressed her own lips against them.

* * *

**A/N:** AGH! Okay. Chapter end. Something to think about: which apology did you like the best? Eloquent Luke, stammering but sincere Frank, or blunt Carlotta?

**Xintiandi** guessed the OC (Lathe). Cupcakes with sprinkles to ya...

Love to the anonymous reviewers: **Amarilla Grey **(there was a bit of Carlotta here! And I can tell you that she will be in competition with Lily soon-ish... but not for Luke), **helene** (I do my best to update every other week... sorry I can't make it more often, but these chapters are long :). I'll try to make the recaps more helpful), **XD** (thank _you_! Feedback is love!), **Untitled1494 **(lol, no problem about logging in—I almost never do... glad you're liking, and I hope you continue to :D), **Lindsay, Madeline, FoggyMoon, anonymous, **and **LEJP **(by the way—I love your penname... it just says it all).

I _promise_ Lily-James-ness in Chapter 19, although it too, will most likely be very Frank-and-Alice-y, because those two are graduating soon! The second part in this little mini series, it's called "April" with more Rolling Stones music.

Reviews are brie and French bread.

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	19. The Quaffle and the Snitch

**A/N:** I realize this was supposed to be another Stones chapter, but I got inspired with Bob Dylan, so he prevails instead.

Reasons I'm so late in updating: midterms; my BFF called me literally every time I got inspired to really get writing (a girl cannot say "no" to her BFF who lives 500 miles away); relationship/non-relationship drama; and just general chaos/upheaval in my life. Also, I got super inspired and wrote most of two chapters for this story... chapters (approximately) 24 and 28. I'm really excited about that part of the story (that's the summer holidays part... so much going on!). Lol, so _those_ updates should be nice and quick! Now I just have to get my head in the game about this part of the story.

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo-Ro. And I also want to disclaim a kind of muggle-y joke that James makes, because I have no idea how the magic economy functions and if they have such things s "copyrights," but he DID take three years of muggle studies, so I'm letting it slide.

**Recap: **So, Lily wants to break up with Luke, because Luke's brother is a suspected death eater, and Luke was kind of deceitful about the whole thing. But then his dad dies, and Lily figures she'd be a total jerk to ditch him then. A stressed out and kind of depressed Donna has been hooking up with Charlie Plex, who has a girlfriend. Somehow, Mary knows. Frank proves himself adorable, and Alice kisses him. Sirius's uncle—Professor Black—is dying, but he didn't tell Sirius, which pisses Sirius off. Snape and his housemates are recruited for the Death Eaters by alumnus Lucius Malfoy, who suggests _they _might be doing some recruiting sometime soon. At his birthday party (in January), James gets drunk in the Astronomy Tower with Reg Cattermole—a former victim of his—and the two bond.

No longer called 'April,' because _this_ title just made my little shipper heart beat happily.

Chapter 19- "The Quaffle and the Snitch"

Or

"Going, Going, Gone"

_Friday, April 30__th__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook, _

_Newspaper article declared a manhunt for Logan Harper and half a dozen others._

_Bloody Donna. _

_Be over, month_.

_-Lily_

Unsatisfied, Lily reread her latest journal entry. The ink had not yet dried, and it glistened in the white light of her illuminated wand. Really? That was it? That was all she had to write for the day?

The short non-paragraph resembled a dozen or so other non-paragraphs littering the last four pages of her notebook—a pretty brown dragon-hide book her mother had bought for her in Diagon Alley on her last half-birthday (she always spent half-birthdays with her parents—well, her Mum, now—since she was in school for her actual birthday). All the recent entries were similarly unsatisfactory: dull little updates that gave a few vague facts, but lacked soul entirely.

Picking up her quill and dipping it in the inkwell on the windowsill beside her, Lily tried again.

_Friday, April 30__th__, 1976 (continued)_

Then her hand hesitated over the page, and that was all she wrote... no inspiration, no flow of words from mind to page... nothing. With a great sigh, Lily allowed her eyes to wander from the mostly blank page of her notebook. She peered out the window at the cloudy, moon-less night sky, and then across the green lawns of Hogwarts, and then towards Hagrid's hut near the Forbidden Forest. It was a quiet night, but the kind that made Lily feel so small—like, she was there, on the window seat of the sleeping girls' dormitory, while other (big, important) things were happening far away.

Another sigh, and then Lily forcibly returned her focus to the page. There had to be _something_ else to write...

But there wasn't.

In search of inspiration, Lily flipped to the page before and read the last two entries there.

_Friday, April 23__rd__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook,_

_Went to Slughorn's. No comment._

_-Lily_

And:

_Wednesday, April 28__th__, 1976_

_Well, I got my copy of _Hogwarts, a History _back._

_-Lily_

She snorted. Far from inspiring, those just depressed her.

Instead, she flipped back a few pages to find the last _real_ entry she had... the last detailed description of everything she was thinking and feeling and dreaming...

It took a moment to locate the exact one—it was a March date... the 26th.

_Friday, March 26__th__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook,_

_Tomorrow commemorates the day that James Potter entered this world, and in celebration of that dramatic event, everyone will get pissed in the Common Room to a soundtrack of hook driven rock and Godric Gryffindor crying out from his grave. _

_Actually, it will probably be a lot of fun for the _normal_ people out there... the ones whose boyfriend's brothers aren't raging psychopaths, whose souls aren't collapsing in upon themselves like a dying hippogriff, and whose short, previously acceptable lives have not been ravaged by drama of a mostly unavoidable nature_.

Lily didn't read the rest of the lengthy entry. The memory of the evening it had been penned returned to her; she had sat there on that same window seat, with her wand propped up on the sill just as it was now, with an extra strong _Lumos_ spell to compensate for the new moon. And, after she had finished that entry (it was nearly four pages long), she had put away her quill and ink and felt empty—cathartically so. It was a nice feeling... she hadn't felt that way for ages. Not since... well, not since March 26th.

April was almost over now. In a few hours, it would be May, and they would be that much closer to the summer holidays. Even that spurred mixed emotions. Of course, nothing seemed to be _wholly_ pleasant these days; no prospect of some happy event went completely unmarred by an unhappy undercurrent. Yes, that summed up the last month very well: unhappy undercurrents.

Yet another sigh, and Lily had half decided to put away her quill and ink (try again tomorrow), when, flipping through the pages, her eyes fell on the next entry in the notebook. April 1st—the first in a month's worth of abysmal excuses for reports. She remembered writing that, too... how annoyed she had been because for the first time in... well, ever... she hadn't known how to write. Subsequent nights had been as bad or worse, until Lily had given up trying to think of anything more to say and surrendered to forced snippets.

_Thursday, April 1__st__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook_,

_I had wheat toast and jam for breakfast this morning. Unusually excellent._

_It rained. The snow's all gone now, and it's beginning to look honestly like spring_. _Nothing much happened today._

_-Lily_

And though she was sure more had transpired that day than was recorded, that was the limit of her creativity. Toast and rain. Breakfast and the weather.

Pathetic.

* * *

(One Too Many Mornings)

* * *

_Thursday, April 1__st__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook_,

_I had wheat toast and jam for breakfast this morning. Unusually excellent.. _

_It rained. The snow's all gone now, and it's beginning to look honestly like spring_. _Nothing much happened today._

_-Lily_

* * *

Half running down the Charms corridor, Donna Shacklebolt made a mental checklist.

Checklists—mental or otherwise—were rather her specialty: they put chaos into order, told what was finished and what had to be done, and they made no allowances for laziness or procrastination. There was nothing dishonest in a checklist... even when the checklist went something like this:

_Two socks, two shoes, all my clothes, all buttoned, book bag, Charms book, quill, ink, parchment for notes, wristwatch, earrings, hairclip... no hairclip... left it on his wardrobe... he can always say its his roommate's..._

Stopping in front of a suit of armor, Donna examined her convex reflection, just to make sure her clip-less hair wasn't a dead giveaway as to why she was late for Charms.

Merlin, she was late for Charms!

Practically flying towards the classroom, Donna stumbled in, exactly eight minutes after the bell, and everyone in the sixth year class turned to look at the late arrival. Donna fixed her absolutely most frightening expression on her face, and her peers were silent. Even Professor Flitwick was too stunned to offer a snarky remark about her tardiness.

"Miss Shacklebolt!" he squeaked disbelievingly. What he meant was: "_You're_ _late_? _This has never happened before! Did someone die?"_

"Sorry I'm late," said Donna, in a tone that suggested: "_If you dock so much as one point, I will hex your rather pointed ears off._"

"Have a seat, then," said Flitwick, pointing to a vacant chair in the front of the room. Donna wordlessly complied; her desk-mate was a pokey Hufflepuff she did not know, but that did not bother her until Flitwick announced they would be partnering up to work on what he called _Inanimatus Conjurus_—more specifically, conjuring ropes.

Donna's eyes shot around the room, locating Lily near the back; she shared a desk with Mary. Rather than be forced to work (or worse, talk) with someone new, Donna rose—while everyone else began to practice—and crossed the room to her two housemates.

"Switch partners with me, Mary," Donna half asked, half ordered.

Mary smirked. "Why-ever were you late, Donna dear?"

The fact that Mary Macdonald mysteriously knew exactly why she was late bothered Donna immensely, but the fact that she had known for almost a month and had not told a soul surprised Donna even more. Mary had never been known to be reliable when it came to keeping secrets—in fact, she was known for telling everything she knew to everyone she encountered. Donna would have been quite grateful that her roommate seemed to have made this one exception, were it not for the fact that the tiny brunette kept dropping unsubtle hints.

"Seriously, Don," said Lily, distracted while reading over the incantation for the spell they were to perform. "You skipped out on lunch early and then showed up late for class... neither particularly Donna-esque habits."

"I had homework," Donna lied, brushing it away with a wave of her hand. "Mary, trade partners with me."

"Who's your partner?" Mary wanted to know.

"I dunno—some Hufflepuff who looks like he's part mouse."

"_Mean_," chided Lily out of habit; Mary stood on her toes to see Donna's apparently mousy partner.

"Oi, that's Reg Cattermole," she said, scowling at Donna. "He's a nice bloke."

"Lovely. So you won't mind being partners with him." Donna smiled, falsely sweet. Mary rolled her heavily made-up eyes.

"Y'know, it wouldn't kill you to talk with people other than Lily, Slag," she said, but she picked up her book bag and crossed to Reg Cattermole anyway.

"What happened to the pot and the kettle?" Donna called after her, frowning. Lily finished the reading and drew her wand.

"You okay, Don?" she asked. "Something's going on with you that you aren't telling me."

"Of course I'm okay." But Donna couldn't meet her eye.

"_Don_..."

"Hey," interrupted the witch, "remember how the beauty of our relationship is that neither of us bothers the other about things they don't wish to discuss?"

"That was never part of our relationship. Why won't you talk to me?" Lily wanted to know. "It's not like you to be secretive."

"I'm not being secretive. There's nothing to talk about... and anyway it's none of your business."

"It _is_ my business when it makes you unusually bitchy."

Donna merely scowled. "Do you want to tie my wrists first, or shall I tie yours?" she asked in a businesslike tone. Sirius Black, who was sitting nearby with the other Marauders, let out a low whistle.

"I love this class," sighed the Marauder.

"Shove it, Black."

"Sure thing, Shack, only _please_ say you'll let me watch."

Lily sent Donna a look, before turning appealing eyes to James. "Haven't you got a leash or something for him?"

All four Marauders inexplicably laughed at this, and Lily, rather than question it, took advantage of their distraction. She held out her wrists and said: "Alright, you go first, Don."

It took Donna about fifteen minutes to get the spell just right, longer than usual, but not so much that Lily noticed anything unusual in _that_ respect... at least, if she did notice, she didn't comment. To Donna's even greater relief, besides a casual comment from Professor Flitwick, no one noticed that Charlie Plex did not come to class at all.

* * *

(Hazel)

* * *

_Friday, April 2__nd__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook,_

_Alice thinks she's a tart._

_Luke told me a joke when we were walking by the lake. I nearly died of shock, but it was funny, and I laughed. Then he told me it was a joke his dad used to tell... _

_I know, right?_

_-Lily_

* * *

"We need rules," Alice announced, tucking her rebelliously curly hair behind one ear and sitting up. "A code of conduct."

Frank laughed.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Nothing, nothing," replied the other. "Just—say 'code of conduct,' again."

"Code of cond—why are you laughing, Francis?"

"Because it's funny to hear you say 'code of conduct' when you're... like that."

Alice looked herself over. "Half-dressed?" she asked wryly, and Frank nodded. The witch sighed, folding her legs underneath her so that she was now kneeling amongst the sheets. With firm deliberation she fumbled about in search of sweater she had discarded earlier that afternoon.

"Are you getting dressed?" Frank asked unhappily.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you won't listen to me if I'm not."

"That's not true."

"Code of conduct," she said simply. He was laughing again. "_See_! I told you. Now where's that cardi?"

"Just because I'm laughing doesn't mean I'm not listening," said Frank, grabbing her hand and pulling her back down onto the pillows. "In fact, it might prove that I _am_ listening." Alice sighed, resigned, and pulled the blankets up to her collarbone, partially concealing her camisole-and-shorts clad body, as she rested her head on Frank's bare shoulder. "Now. What were you saying?"

"I don't remember," Alice admitted. "_Thanks_."

"Rules. Code of conduct."

"Oi, right." She tried to sit up again, but Frank wouldn't let her, so instead she rolled over onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow rather than her companion's shoulder. "Rules."

"I thought we already _had_ rules," Frank pointed out. "Remember? Like a week ago, you said you couldn't handle a relationship, so you said we had to stop, and then you said some other things, and then you jumped me."

"I don't remember that," dismissed Alice. "Anyway, _clearly_ those rules didn't work."

"Clearly," agreed Frank.

Alice toyed with the sheets, not meeting his eye. She spoke very rapidly: "I think we should be rational about this. The thing is... _before_, what _I _think went wrong, is that we were very... wrapped up in everything. We are _really_ young—I don't even turn eighteen until May—and to be so invested is just... it's just... well... it's difficult. And dangerous. For both of us..."

"You're letting your hair curl again—I like it. Not that I didn't like it straight, but I like it curly, too..."

"_Frank_."

"I'm listening! Dangerous for both us. Got it."

Alice sighed and regained her composure. "So," she went on, "I think a way that we can... avert... such a situation and avoid problems that... caused problems before..." (Frank made a face like he really didn't understand where she was going with this), "is to eliminate the problem factor. And before you say it, _yes_, I know I said 'problem' three times." Clearing her throat, Alice continued tensely: "That factor, I think, is exclusivity."

Frank frowned. "I'm fairly certain the problem was _non_-exclusivity where there was _supposed_ to be exclusivity, Ally."

"Exactly! And if there was no problem of exclusivity, there would have been nothing to worry about with _non-exclusivity_."

"Yes. There _would_ be something to worry about. _Non-exclusivity_."

Alice sat up. "I'm just saying we should take things slow."

Frank also sat up. "There's a difference between 'taking things slow' and non-exclusivity."

"Well, that's what I want," the witch continued firmly.

"No."

"_Frank!"_

He crossed his arms adamantly. "I don't want to do that."

"_Fine_," she huffed. "But it's that or nothing."

Frank was quiet for some time. "Fine," he said at last.

"Fine. Fine what?"

"Fine... non-exclusivity."

"Really?"

"Yes." But he didn't look pleased.

"Okay..." Thrown a little, Alice lay back down. Frank did not. "Don't you think it will be better without... you know... the pressure?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"No," said Frank. "But if it's what you want."

Alice exhaled heavily, sitting up again. "I'm not saying somewhere down the road we can't... but right now, I just feel... I just feel too close to where we were before." She watched her companion carefully, and when he was quiet, she prodded: "Does that make any sense?"

Frank met her eye. "Yes. It does." He smiled weakly, and she returned the gesture more convincingly. "But just to be clear," he continued, "you're not _testing _me, are you?"

"Of course not!"

* * *

"Great Agrippa, you're _testing _him!" exclaimed Lily, much later, as she sat with her seventh year friend in the latter's dormitory. A Friday night, Alice's roommates had gone out to socialize, but Lily and Alice maintained the window seat in the seventh year dorms, a bottle of firewhiskey and rather a lot of potato crisps and strawberries laid out between them.

"Of course not!" Alice protested. "I wish people would stop saying that."

"Non-exclusivity?" echoed Lily skeptically. "That's 'crazy-girl' code for: 'this is a test. Don't muck it up, or I'll castrate you.'"

"_Lily_."

"Well then what's the point?" asked Lily. "Is there someone else you're interested in?"

"No," admitted Alice. "No one in _particular_. I just think it would be best if Frank and I _both_ kept our options open. That way, neither of us gets hurt if he starts to realize he has a thing for _Carlotta Meloni _or_ Prudence Daly... _or if I want to date someone else."

Lily frowned. "Are you planning on—y'know—_being_ _with_ other people?"

It took a moment for Alice to realize what her friend was saying. "Oh! Oh, no," she said swiftly, tossing a crisp in her mouth. "I mean—for one thing, it would be... I mean, I was with Frank for _years_, and I wouldn't be comfortable with..."

"Oi, I don't need details!" laughed Lily, selecting a strawberry from the bowl.

"But you see my point, don't you?" the older witch asked, once they had stopped laughing. "It's just so much more logical to keep things... casual."

"And physical," joked Lily.

"Well, of course."

They both laughed again, before Lily added: "As long as _you_ know what you're doing, Honey. It seems to me like this is an open invitation for trouble."

"I don't see that," said Alice, taking a drink from the bottle they shared. "As far as _I'm_ concerned, this is a way to avoid trouble. I just—feel more in control of myself this way."

Lily shrugged. "And you know what the poets say—control is love."

"I detect sarcasm."

"I dunno. Just... be careful. I mean, no one could be happier than I was when you told me you and Frank were... sort of together again. But things like this could get complicated, and someone might get hurt."

"Trust me," said Alice confidently. "I'm not going to get hurt."

Lily raised her eyebrows, taking a sip as well. "I wasn't just talking about you."

Alice frowned petulantly. "Am I tart?" she whined.

"_No_," insisted Lily, handing her the bottle. "Really, Al. If you're happy, I'm happy. And you are happy—right?"

"Very."

"And Frank? 'Cause, you know, he's my mate, too... unfortunate mistakes aside."

"Yes," said Alice slowly. "I think he's happy. Relatively."

Lily nodded. "Well then—what more could you ask for?"

What more, indeed.

* * *

(It Ain't Me Babe)

* * *

_Wednesday, April 7__th__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook,_

_Rain again. Sirius Black's birthday.. _

_Luke kissed me after Herbology. We sort of made out. I'm his girlfriend—that shouldn't be weird, right?_

_-Lily_

* * *

All his kisses seemed the same now. Soft, cautious (or if not cautious, controlled), unassuming... Luke. The old Luke, only the innocence now seemed strangely affected.

Lily dismally reflected on this as she walked with her boyfriend into the Great Hall for supper. They didn't hold hands, but he followed her to Gryffindor table, and they sat down together. At once, a slice of chocolate cake appeared on their previously empty golden plates.

"What's this about?" Luke wanted to know.

Lily smiled at the cake—a delectable looking slice, with lots of fudge icing. "Sirius Black's birthday," she explained. "It's today... that's probably what this is about. I wonder how they convinced the House Elves to arrange it, though." The prefect picked up a fork and took a bite. It tasted even more delicious than it looked.

"Skipping supper?" asked Luke.

"Life is short," replied Lily. She glanced down the table to where the Marauders sat, laughing and joking easily. Catching James Potter's eye, Lily nodded her appreciation, and James grinned in reply. Lily supposed she ought not to have been surprised when—halfway through the meal—a dozen house elves entered the hall and announced that they would be acting out important events "from Mr. Black's life," which included, among other things, the discovery of the Polyjuice Potion, the slaying of a dragon, and the invention of magic.

--

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," marveled Sirius.

James snorted. "Padfoot, you've already seen one before. As a matter of fact, you've already _flown_ on one before... mine. Y'know—the broom you steal from me at least twice a week... the one you nearly _destroyed_ last month when..."

"Don't be dramatic," said Sirius. "I was able to rescue it before Filch found the goat. And anyway, this is different. This is _my_ Nimbus 1500."

James grinned, exchanging a look with Remus that Sirius missed entirely, so busy was he examining the freshly unwrapped broomstick that lay on his bed in the boys' dormitory.

"It's about time you got one," noted Peter, smirking. "Watching you race Prongs with that ancient Nimbus 1001 of yours is getting pathetic."

Sirius glared. "Careful there, _Cleansweep Five._"

Remus and James laughed appreciatively. Sirius picked up the Nimbus, and all four Marauders sat down on his bed, examining the present with the greatest of interest.

"Best of all," Sirius glowingly observed after some time, "I won't have to fly the broom my evil wench of a mother and git of dad bought for me in second year. This is untainted." Abruptly, he sighed. "I should thank him, shouldn't I?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Remus at once. "And before you ask, _no_,a note will _not_ do."

"You know me too well," grumbled Sirius. They were all silent. "I don't want to face it," he vaguely continued. "Any of it."

"But," said James, "don't you think it will be worse if you don't?"

He was right, and Sirius knew it perfectly well. So, fifteen minutes later, he was knocking on Professor Black's office door, half hoping he wouldn't be there, half hoping he would.

He was.

"Got your present then, did you?" asked Black when he opened the door. There was a slight smile on his tired face. "Sorry it didn't arrive until tonight—owl post is damn unreliable sometimes."

"Thank-you," said Sirius soberly. "It was really... er—great."

"I thought you might like to fly it for the big Quidditch final against Slytherin," said Black, a twinkle in his grey eyes. "Although I am, myself, a Slytherin at heart, I might find my loyalties flexible for this particular match."

Sirius grinned. They were both quiet, and then he said seriously: "I'm sorry I shouted at you. It wasn't fair."

"I shouldn't have kept my condition from you," replied Black.

Sirius nodded. "I would have done the same thing, though."

Black opened the door wider. "Would you like a cup of tea? I suppose you and your mates have something planned for your birthday, but..."

"Eh, I've got plenty of time before lights out," said Sirius, shrugging. Professor Black laughed.

"Who exactly do you think your kidding, Sirius? _Lights out_, indeed." Sirius also laughed, following his uncle into the office. "Excellent. Now you can tell me all about how you invented the Polyjuice Potion..."

"Or slew a dragon..."

"Oh, yes, mustn't forget that..."

* * *

(This Wheel's on Fire)

* * *

_Monday, April 12__th__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook,_

_Listened to the new album from The Hobgoblins. Eh._

_-Lily_

* * *

Evan Rosier and Regulus Black were both dark haired, good-looking sorts, fifth and fourth years respectively. Rosier was taller and thicker, but Regulus had a shrewder look about him, so that if he were to choose between the two, Snape would have picked Black without hesitation. Of course, there were other motives for that, too. For one thing, his older brother would be _furious_...

Not that it mattered. They both had the name, and—judging by the fact that they had both answered Mulciber's semi-enigmatic owl and showed up—they both had the inclination. The two younger students waited for one of the two older (Snape and Mulciber) to speak; Rosier looked nervous; Black did not, but they both seemed keenly aware that their presence there in the deserted dungeon classroom was a matter of significance. _They _had been asked to come there, while others had not.

"We've been asked to find a few wizards," began Mulciber, "whom we believe have potential."

"Asked by whom?" Regulus Black wanted to know at once. Mulciber looked angry at the interruption, but Snape spoke up. After all, it had been _he_ that suggested Regulus in the first place.

"I think you know the answer to that, Black," he said calmly.

"_You_," demanded Rosier skeptically, "are in contact with _him_? I don't believe it. My father is one of them. Nick I can understand, but you expect me to believe that a half-blood like _you_..."

"That's enough!" snapped Mulciber, as Snape drew his wand. The former stepped close to Rosier. "Snape has proved himself, which is more than anyone can say for you... everyone knows about you and that little Hufflepuff blood traitor..."

Rosier flushed. "We were through ages ago."

"Good." A smile flashed across the sixth year's face. "Lucius Malfoy has been in contact with a few of us for months... training, gathering information... they want to build a—ah, group, here at Hogwarts. Your father, Rosier, has also been in contact."

"My father? He would have told me something..."

"No, he wouldn't have," said Snape. "Because there are rules about that sort of thing. There are a lot of rules, and one of them is that you have to keep your mouth shut. We don't want a lot of idiotic children running around bragging to anyone who will listen."

"If you go through with this," continued Mulciber, "we'll all have our chance at fame and glory. But that's not what this is about now. _Now_, we have to keep quiet. Only discuss this thing with people we know we can trust, which—in your case—is _no one_. No owls to Dear Daddy, Rosier, because anyone could intercept that. No taunting your blood-traitor brother, Black. Nothing."

Regulus and Rosier both nodded.

"Good. That's all."

"That's all?" echoed Regulus.

"We'll talk to you when we know more," said Mulciber.

"I want to talk to Malfoy myself," the young Black told them. "I want to know that this is... real. Because I want in, and I don't want to have everything I do interpreted through you two. It's not that I don't trust you, but if I'm going to be tested, I want to be tested by someone who..."

"Someone who _what_?" demanded Snape.

"Someone who has the mark," finished Regulus boldly. Mulciber's eyes grew wide.

"You know about the mark?"

Regulus nodded.

"That's something else you shouldn't be talking about," said Snape. "But as soon as we know that you _are _serious, you'll talk to Malfoy too."

"In the mean time," Mulciber went on, "You'll do what we tell you. You won't mention this to anyone, and you'll act as if nothing's changed."

"_Has_ something changed?" asked Regulus.

Mulciber smirked. "_Everything _has changed."

* * *

(It Hurts Me Too)

* * *

_Wednesday, April 14__th__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook,_

_Skipped breakfast. Skipped lunch. Supper didn't taste right. Bad day. _

_-Lily_

_P.S. Frank Longbottom. Oh, what can be said?_

* * *

"And, lastly," said Frank to the prefects (a mix of bored and absorbed) gathered in the small Head student office, "if I could remind you all to _please_ remember to put the nature of the infraction on your point-deduction documentation. Otherwise, we have to add the points back. Any quest—yes, Aubrey?"

Bertram Aubrey puffed up his chest, with all his fifth year, prefect self-importance, and asked: "Is it true that there's to be a new rule banning the use of any magic in the corridors?"

"There's no rule like that _now_, which is all that concerns us," chipped in Marissa Higgs, the intimidating six-foot-something Head Girl. "Are there any questions of _relevance?_" Silence. "Excellent. See you all next week."

Most of the prefects began to file out, while Marissa Higgs dropped a few scrolls of parchment off on the desk before following them. Lily Evans, with a farewell to Severus Snape at the door, hung back.

"Alright there, Lily?" asked Frank, who was himself filing away some papers on the shelves.

"Oh, yes," replied the redhead absently, stepping closer. "Remus Lupin wanted me to tell you he's sorry he couldn't make it tonight. He's home visiting his mother—she's ill again."

Frank nodded. "I supposed as much. 'Seems like he's missed several meetings because of that... poor witch, his mum. Hope she's not _too_ badly off."

"Remus doesn't like to talk about it," said Lily with a shrug. "It's got to be difficult, though."

"Hmm, rather." Frank pulled a spare slip of parchment from the desk, as well as an inkwell. "Haven't got a quill on you, have you, Lily? I've been meaning to restock in here, but..."

"What? Oh, yes." Lily shuffled about in her book bag before locating a long eagle feather and handing it to the Head boy. "What's that?" she asked vaguely.

"A letter to Dumbledore," said Frank, scribbling away. "I was hoping we could move the next Hogsmeade trip from May fifteenth to the eighth."

"Why?"

Frank blushed. "It's supposed to rain on the fourteenth," he said, not quite meeting her eye. "Filch always whines that the students track mud inside the castle."

Lily raised her eyebrows skeptically. "That's diligent of you," she noted. "'Didn't know you kept up with the weather forecasts a _month _in advance."

"It's in _The Prophet_," replied Frank, a bit too hastily. "As long as the Ministry takes the time to release it that far in advance, someone ought to pay attention to it. And anyway, as Head Boy, it's really my responsibility to pay attention to that sort of thing."

Lily nodded. "I suppose so."

Frank quickly finished his note and returned the quill to Lily, who, responding to the Head Boy's _"Thanks,"_ bid him goodbye and left the office. She returned less than a minute later.

"Alright, I was going to let it drop, but I decided not to," she said, folding her arms. "What's the real reason you want to change the date?"

"That _is_ the real reason." But he was blushing again.

"You're a rubbish liar, Frank Longbottom."

Frank scowled, unable to vanquish the flush of color to his cheeks. "It's stupid," he mumbled. "Honestly, I..."

"Well now I'm curious," complained Lily. "C'mon. You can tell _me_."

"Really, it's nothing." Frank truly looked as though this was something he would much rather not discuss, and so Lily relented.

"Fine. But I _will_ investigate." She turned to leave again, but paused on the door, comprehension dawning on her. "Wait a minute," said the prefect, wheeling back. "Alice's birthday is May 8th."

Frank sighed. "Don't tell her, please?"

"That her birthday is May 8th? Frank, dear, I think she's caught on to that one."

"That I changed the date of the Hogsmeade weekend," Frank clarified. "She'd think... well... I just would rather you didn't. Please?"

"'Course, if that's what you want," said Lily, shrugging. "Though I think it's a little late in the game to be coy."

"I'm not being coy... I just—she might be offended. She's awful touchy about me doing anything nice for her these days." The Head Boy looked tense, as though he wasn't quite sure how much Lily knew of his current relationship with Alice.

In an attempt to put his mind at rest, Lily queried: "Even though you're sort of together again?"

"_Sort of_ together," emphasized Frank. Lily nodded understandingly.

"Non-exclusive," she elaborated, and Frank, too, nodded. "Well, alright. But I think it's sweet you want to take Alice to Hogsmeade on her birthday."

Frank looked doubtful. "Well, who knows about that?" he said. "I mean, with this... _casual_ situation, she's being very careful—not that I blame her—but she might just as well want to go with someone else. The whole _non-exclusive _business, you know. Even still, she'd like to spend the day in the Village, don't you think?" Lily was silent; she was staring at Frank very strangely. "What? You think she wouldn't? I just..."

"No, it's not _that_," said Lily quickly. "Frank, it's the sweetest thing I've ever heard." She closed the distance between them and hugged the bewildered Head Boy.

"I—er..." stammered Frank, when she pulled back. He was saved a response, however, as a new voice interrupted.

"Lily?"

She turned to see Luke waiting by the door; apparently, he had come to collect her from the prefect's meeting. It was a part of the extremely dutiful attentiveness that he had been showing for the past few weeks.

"Oh, hi, Luke, I'll be right there," said Lily briskly. She turned to Frank again. "I am routing for you _completely_," she assured him. "Good luck."

Frank smiled. "Er... thanks, Lily."

Out in the corridor—once Luke had insistently taken her book bag and slung it over his own shoulder—the Ravenclaw inquired of girlfriend: "What was that all about?"

"Just boring couple stuff," said Lily.

"Er—what do you mean?"

"Frank and Alice," she explained. Luke, much to her surprise, looked relieved. "You were jealous?" she asked, annoyed.

"A little," said Luke; he, apparently, found it amusing. "I don't know. It was reflex, I suppose."

"It was _Frank_," Lily replied stiffly. "We've been mates forever."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"It's fine."

She was quiet, though he chatted on, until they reached Gryffindor Tower. "You don't have to go in," said Luke, as they stood a short distance from the portrait of the Fat Lady. "We could go for a walk. It's a full moon tonight."

"It's almost curfew," said Lily softly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright."

She stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek, but Luke turned his head and took her lips with his. He deepened the kiss almost at once, his warm lips moving fervently against hers—which seemed to be on automatic-pilot. Soon, she pulled back.

"Goodnight, Luke."

"I love you, Flower."

Then he was gone, and Lily was left with the unbearably familiar sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. For the first time, in her mind, she acknowledged what she had subconsciously known for a long time.

_I don't love you_, she thought, and, more importantly: _I'm never going to_.

"Quite a looker, that one," said the Fat Lady, as she approached the portrait.

"Runespoor," said Lily dully. The portrait swung open, and the prefect entered the Common Room. Of course, she had no way of knowing about the wizard (on his way down to meet a dog and a rat near the Whomping Willow), who had witnessed the scene from beneath an Invisibility Cloak. What's more, she had no way of knowing the horrible sinking feeling _he_ experienced as he strode away.

* * *

(Dirge)

* * *

_Thursday, April 15__th__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook,_

_More rain. Nothing much happened today._

_-Lily_

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking?" snapped Donna, slapping away Charlie Plex's wandering hand angrily. "Your sodding girlfriend was _right_ there!"

Charlie smirked. "So now when you pull me into deserted classrooms, you _do_ want to talk?" he taunted. "What happened to the rules, Shacklebolt? Shagging, not blabbing, and all that?"

"Part of the _rules_," retorted a furious Donna, "are that you keep your bloody hands off me unless _I_ say otherwise. And I'm fairly certain that I didn't ask you to feel me up in the middle of the corridor with your bloody girlfriend ten feet away!"

"Oh, what do you care if Cassidy was right there?" sighed Charlie, sitting down in a desk. "It makes no difference to _us _whether or not I've got a girlfriend."

"First of all, never say the word 'us' in reference to you and I _again_," ordered Donna hotly. "Second of all, in case you haven't noticed, the Hogwarts population at large is not very forgiving to girls who shag other girls' boyfriends, and I'd rather not be the subject of fifth year gossip."

"Fine." Charlie shrugged. "Just as well—I was thinking about breaking this off soon anyway."

Donna snorted. "A slag like you? Go without a shag? Unlikely."

"Yeah, but I think Cassidy's going to cave about the shagging thing pretty soon," said the Ravenclaw casually. "And then I won't need you anymore, will I?" He smiled cruelly. Donna rolled her eyes.

"Oh, no, the absence of Charlie Plex—_whatever_ will I do?" she sarcastically lamented, starting for the door. "You're an arse, you know."

Charlie rose quickly, crossing the room and holding the door closed before she could open it. "Am I?" he asked, tilting his head to one side. "Or do you kind of like that?"

Donna's amber eyes narrowed. "I like literally _one_ thing about you." They stood very close, his lips only inches from hers.

"And what's that?" asked Charlie.

"That I don't care about you at all."

Charlie sniggered. "I love that about you—the _bitchiness_." He kissed her, rotating so that her back was against the door, his body pressed tightly against her. When they broke apart, he muttered against her lips: "Y'know, I wouldn't really have broken things off with you."

"I know." He moved to kiss her again, but Donna pushed his shoulders back, giving herself some more room. "No," she said calmly. "I don't want you right now." Turning, she opened the door and slipped out of the empty classroom, and as she walked away, she felt in control again.

In control... powerful...

Awful.

* * *

(Day of the Locusts)

* * *

_Friday, April 16__th__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook,_

_Well, fuck._

_-Lily_

* * *

"Reg," greeted James Potter enthusiastically, leaning against the library table occupied by Hufflepuff Reginald Cattermole. "Can I join you?" Reginald nodded, moving some books out of the way; James threw his book bag across the table and sat down, crossing his arms over his bag and resting his chin atop them. "What're you up to, then, Kitty Cat?"

"Herbology," replied the Hufflepuff in his low, gravelly voice. "I'm starting the Hornwort essay." His blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are _you_ doing in the library? I've never seen you here before."

"I don't come here often," admitted James. "At least—not during the day. Why are you doing the Hornwort essay? That's not due till the first Monday of May. Shouldn't you wait until the first _Sunday_ of May to start that?"

Reg looked confused. "But that's the day before it's due."

"Exactly."

"You're _really _at the top of the year, are you?"

"That's what they tell me," said James with a shrug. "Do they have food here?"

"In the library?"

"Mhm."

"I don't think so."

"I _knew_ there was a reason I didn't come here."

Shaking his head amusedly, Reg attempted to return to his homework. James, on the other hand, did not move. He sat quietly for a moment and then exhaled conspicuously. Reg looked up. "Aren't you going to do your homework?" he asked.

"Theoretically, that's why I'm here," grumbled James. "But in reality, I'm just bored."

"Where are the other Marauders?"

"Abandoning me." James sat up a little, still slumped over the table but with his chin in the palm of his hand, his elbow propped up against the table. "Remus went home to visit his Mum, Sirius is lunching with his uncle, and Pete's got detention, because someone _claims_ they saw him turning Mrs. Norris pink, though _I_ don't think they have much evidence. So, I thought I might check out the whole library scene... see what all the fuss is about. Are there always this many books?"

"Um... usually."

"_Weird_." James picked up a quill—one of Reginald's—and began to twirl it between his fingers. "So, Kitty Cat, you still seeing that fifth year skirt?"

Reginald let out a great, dramatic sigh. "Greta and I broke up."

"Ah, I'm sorry." Sitting up straight, James added: "If it's any comfort, I thought she always smelled like cheese. What happened with her, then? Did she fall in love with a mouse?"

"I called it off," said Reg seriously. "She was pressuring me."

James temporarily stopped all of his fidgeting. "_Come again_?"

"She was pressuring me," Reg repeated.

"To get intimate?" asked James, matching the solemn tone of his companion.

"Worse," confessed Reginald, shaking his head. "She wanted me to take Divination."

It was fortunate that the librarian Ms. Sevoy was occupied at the other end of the library, for she would surely have reprimanded James for the bark of laughter that he could not contain. Several prefects studying at a table nearby, however, turned to glare at him, and the Quidditch Captain made a face at them. "I'm sorry," he said to Reginald, running a hand through his hair, the amusement not quite gone from his face. "It's really not funny. I mean—it _is_, but I shouldn't laugh. But honestly, you made the right decision, mate. Divination is a load of dung. Anyway... no worries about the bird: it's like my dear old mum always says: 'don't chase the quaffle if you see the snitch.'"

Reg frowned. "But that doesn't make sense."

"Sure it does."

"But... a _chaser_ chases the quaffle. A seeker chases the snitch... they're two different positions... a chaser isn't even allowed to catch the snitch. He'd be disqualified!"

James opened his mouth to explain but decided against it. "That's true, Cat. Very true. I'll have to tell mum next time I see her."

"I'm surprised you didn't catch that—being a Quidditch Captain."

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" Reginald promised that he wouldn't. "Oh, there's something else. So..."

But James was cut off by some the sound of snickering, which made both wizards look up. A broad shouldered, seventh year Ravenclaw by the name of Adrian Edgecombe, was standing nearby with some of his friends.

"Slumming it, Potter?" sneered Adrian.

Reginald glowed red and looked away, but James rolled his eyes. "Only since I started talking to you, Adriana."

A few of Adrian's friends looked indignant, but Adrian merely snorted. "I didn't know you were hanging around with Hufflepuffs now. Especially rodents like Cattermole. Thinking of making a new Marauder, are you? Or perhaps you could get him on the Quidditch team? That's how you choose chasers, isn't it? Your mates?"

"Actually, I just draw names out of a hat," retorted James. "And the funny thing is, we're _still_ better than Ravenclaw."

"That was a dirty trick at the last match, and you know it."

"Your chasers are mediocre and your keeping is a joke, Andrea. Get over it."

Adrian's face flushed with anger, as James turned away, leaning over his table again. "Enjoy your fifteen minutes, Cattermole. He'll have you up by a _levicorpus_ by next week."

"Get out of here," ordered James dangerously, but Adrian had three friends with him and felt this advantage keenly.

"Really, Potter, for someone from an old family, you really have no standards, do you? And I don't just mean Cattermole... the riffraff you hang around—Pettigrew, Lupin..."

With a crash, James's book bag fell to the ground as the wizard stood up and whipped around so quickly, he knocked over his chair. The chair, however, had not even hit the ground before the Marauder's wand was drawn and poised at Adrian Edgecombe, who, for the first time, looked legitimately afraid.

"You wouldn't dare," he said, not too confidently (because James had a reputation of doing things that sane people would not). "Ms. Sevoy is right over there, and my friends would hex you till..."

"I'm not afraid of your friends, Angelina," replied James, smirking. "And even if they could do anything to me, I bet I could take your ears off first." Adrian noticeably gulped.

"Put your wand down, Potter," he croaked, "or they'll curse the stuffing out of you."

"Have at it," invited James.

Adrian's three friends drew their wands but hesitated. "What are you waiting for?" demanded the compromised leader.

"Ms. Sevoy is right there," mumbled one of them.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake..."

But before anything could happen, a new voice—in a loud whisper—cut in. "James, _Edgecombe_, what are you doing?"

James turned smilingly on the new arrival. "Hullo, Head Boy."

Frank Longbottom folded his arms. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," said Adrian quickly. "Potter was simply showing me a new... wand technique. Isn't that right, Potter?"

James shook his head. "No," he said plainly. "I was about to curse you, and then you told your friends to curse me. Hex 'the stuffing out of me,' I believe were your exact words. Personally, I was looking forward to it."

Adrian glared, but James positively beamed in reply. Frank sighed. "Wands down, everyone," he instructed wearily, and the wizards all complied. "_Really_, what were you thinking? Madam Sevoy is right on the other side of the shelves."

"But, Head Boy," protested James, returning his wand to the pocket of his robes, "wouldn't it be worth it to see Antonia here with no ears?"

"You're just lucky Longbottom came along, Potter," snarled Adrian.

Frank rolled his eyes. "I didn't intervene to protect _him_, Edgecombe. Alright break it up then. I suppose you lot have something to do in the library other than get into house rows..." He said this with a particular look at the Ravenclaws, who, glaring at the two Gryffindors and one Hufflepuff, resentfully moved to another part of the library.

"Grateful as I am for the compliment, Head Boy," said James, righting the chair, "you ought to have let me hex him. He deserved it."

"First of all, if you'd hexed him, I would have had to dock points," Frank pointed out. "And second of all, why do you feel compelled to call me 'Head Boy?'"

"Because it sounds cool, and it says so on your shiny badge."

Frank sighed. "I hope one day _you're_ head boy so that people can take the mickey out of _you_ for it." The two Gryffindors looked at each other, and then laughed.

"Right, okay," scoffed James. "When that happens, feel free to mock me." He picked up his overturned book bag and looked to Reginald. "Alright there, Kitty Cat?"

"Fine," said Reg. "I can't believe you almost dueled in the library!"

"Keep it down, you two," warned Frank. "Those prefects at the next table look like they're about to go savage on you."

"Sure thing, Head Boy," James whispered in reply, saluting as he spoke. "Oi, by the way, Slughorn's having a little get-together next Friday. Will you be attending, or will I see you at the Toadies?"

"I _have_ to go to Slughorn's," muttered Frank grimly. "Do you know how many shameless brown-nosing opportunities there will be? And what with N.E.W.T.s coming up, I'm nervous enough about getting into the auror program..."

"Alright, alright. Steal some food and stop by after though, yeah?"

"Alright."

"My best to Alice." Frank blushed a little as he waved and returned to his business in the bookshelves. James sat down and turned to Reg again. "Anyway, where were we?"

"What does Adrian Edgecombe have against you anyway?" asked the Hufflepuff curiously. James shrugged.

"Eh, who knows? Jealous of my stunning good-looks... oh, and his girlfriend might've left him for me, but... don't look at me all doe-eyed, Kitty Cat, it wasn't _my_ fault. Jacqueline fancied me, but she was dating Edgecombe, and I didn't really fancy her, so I told her I wouldn't snog a bird with a boyfriend, and she broke up with him."

"Jacqueline DuPont?"

"Mhm."

"Why didn't you fancy Jacqueline DuPont?"

James hesitated. "Like I said—don't chase the quaffle if you see the snitch."

"But..."

"Yes, I know, chasers chase the quaffle; seekers chase the snitch." James grinned. "So what does Adriatic have against _you_?"

Reginald scowled. "I tripped over his shoe in second year. He's practiced the hexes he learns in Defense on me ever since."

"That _prick!"_

"So did you," the Hufflepuff pointed out.

"Ouch, Cat." James thought about it. "Alright, fair, but _I'm_ reformed. And as a gesture of good faith, I'm inviting you to the Toadies."

"The _what's?"_

James stared disbelievingly. "You've never heard of the Toadies?" Reginald shook his head. "Kitty Cat, I officially love you. In fact, I might even come up with a new nickname for you, on account of how much I love you. Well, probably not, I'm fairly attached to 'Kitty Cat,' but even still..."

"What are the Toadies?"

"A party," explained James, "Whenever Slughorn has one of his big, elitist, 'look at how many friends I have' parties, the Marauders throw an antithesis party in one of the empty classrooms."

Reg looked confused. "Why?"

"Because it's fun, because we'd rather hang out with people who aren't invited to Slug Club, and because it's an excuse to drink too much. I can't believe you've never heard of these... they're legendary. _Epic_."

"Well, how would I? I've never been invited before."

"Right, but... I mean, didn't you ever wonder how it was that Mundungus Fletcher got so smashed he tried to swan dive off the Quidditch pitch?"

"Mundungus Fletcher tried to swan dive off the Quidditch pitch?"

"Apparently not... well, didn't you ever wonder what Stephanie Belby could have done to start that Ravenclaw-Slytherin feud back in fourth year?"

"When did Ravenclaw and Slytherin feud?"

"_Really_, Reggie? But—c'mon, you must've wondered about Liam Lyle's black eye that wouldn't heal? Or the butterbeer flood on the fifth floor corridor? Or that one Monday when half our year didn't show up to classes because they were still hung over from the Saturday before?"

Reginald's expression remained blank. James considered him thoughtfully. "You do _go_ to this school, right?"

"I'm not very social," Reg admitted. "I had my first firewhiskey in January, and apparently that's about a year after everyone else."

"A year after the late bloomers," James modified. "But no worries. We'll get you caught up."

"I don't want to be caught up. I don't want to swan dive off the Quidditch pitch, or have a black eye that won't go away, or cause a feud between Ravenclaw and Slytherin."

"Well, don't fret about the last one... I have high regard for you, Reg, but I just don't see you doing what Stephanie Belby did." He shuddered. "Anyway, no one will force you to get sloshed, and there's bound to be other things to do besides drink... I'm not sure _what_, but there's bound to be." Reginald still looked skeptical, so James added: "Marauders' honor. I promise. Plus, there'll be birds... loads and loads of 'em."

The Hufflepuff hesitated, and then asked: "Will Lily Evans be there?"

James's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Lily Evans? Great Merlin, what is it about that girl? No, I don't reckon so. She's a Sluggy. Hey, I thought you were more of the Mary Macdonald persuasion..."

Reginald blushed. "Mary's really nice... I _do_ like her, but Lily's..."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," sighed James, rolling his eyes. "Everyone loves Evans. It's that whole damn perpetual sunshine thing she has happening. Uncanny. She's got a boyfriend, though. Anyway, you in for the Toadies?"

"I supposes s..."

"Brill." James slumped over his bag once again. "So, Kitty Cat... tell me, are you allowed to _borrow_ these books...?"

* * *

The slamming of the girls' dormitory door caused Lily to sit up with a start, pulling apart the curtains around her four poster bed. Donna stormed into the room, geared up from Quidditch practice. She threw her broomstick on the floor and went directly into the bathroom.

"Don?" asked Lily, following her friend. They were alone in the dormitory, as it was still relatively early, and Lily had only retreated there to hide from Luke. "Is something wrong? Did something happen at practice?"

In the bathroom, Donna was splashing water over her mud speckled face. "No," she snapped. "Nothing's wrong. I'm _absolutely dandy! _Can't you tell?!" She ripped off her arm guards, throwing them in a corner, before slipping past Lily back into the dorm.

"What happened?" Lily demanded, following again.

"I couldn't get the sodding play right," said the other; she tore out the elastic that held her curly hair and God only knew where it landed. Her boots fell with a violent thud near a bed, and when Donna opened the drawer of her dresser, she nearly pulled it out all together. "We ran it fifteen times, and I fucked it up every time! Then Potter shouted, and I shouted, and it was raining, and we wasted half an hour, and I _still_ couldn't get the fucking play!"

"Don, honey, it's alright... you'll get it tomorrow. Calm down."

"I will _not_ fucking calm down!" shouted Donna. She closed the drawer with a slam and knocked off several items from the bureau. "I have _never_ been that slow to learn a play! I was like a sodding second year! Oh, _yeah_, and on top of that, I got an _A_ on the Ancient Runes assignment. An _A!_ How the hell am I supposed to get Head Girl with "acceptable" _marks?!_"

Lily was quiet, while Donna angrily threw the things she had knocked over back onto the bureau. "You'll be okay," she said soothingly. "No one is better in Ancient Runes than you. And you'll get the Quidditch play, too. You just need to calm down and breathe, okay? I _know_ you—if you just calm down, you'll be fine."

"You don't know anything," snapped Donna. "You have no idea what you're talking about. How could you? You've been so wrapped up in your perfect little relationship with your perfect little puppy boyfriend, you have _no idea_ what's going on with me!"

Lily overcame her surprise at the turn of the conversation to retort: "That's not fair, Donna, and you know it! I've _tried_! _You_ won't tell me what's going on with you!"

"Well, I'm sorry I don't fancy spilling every detail of my life with you!"

Lily knew she shouldn't rile her friend up even more, because Donna never backed down in a confrontation, but she couldn't help it. "Fine, but don't bitch at me for not knowing!"

"Fine!" Donna threw the clothes she had just collected onto the floor and folded her arms across her chest. "You want to know what's going on with me?! I'll tell you! I'm sleeping with Charlie Plex!"

Thrown, Lily tried to gather her thoughts: "Charlie Pl—from the...?"

"Yes! From the party at Christmas! Charlie Plex from Ravenclaw! Charlie Plex with the girlfriend!"

"Donna, I..."

"_Don't!_ Alright? _Don't. _I don't want to hear it! I don't want to hear how _you_ think it's wrong, and _you_ know what's best for _everyone_, and _you're_ just so sodding perfect, that you think you can tell me what to do!"

"Donna, I haven't said _anything!_"

"You don't have to!" cried the other. "I know _exactly_ what you want to say! You'll look at me all soppy and understanding, and then say something sympathetic—oh _I'm sorry, Don..._" Her voice dripping with saccharine sarcasm, "and you just feel _so_ badly for me and my decisions, and thinking all along: _oh_,_ if_ _only she could be as perfect as me!_ Perfect, virginal Lily Evans that _everyone just loves! _And that's why I haven't told you, Lily, because I know perfectly well how you see the world, and if anyone doesn't fit into that sugar-coated fairytale, then it's just too damn bad!" She stopped to catch her breath.

"Where is this all coming from?" demanded Lily.

"It's the truth, isn't it?" spat Donna.

They stood in silence, staring at each other across the dormitory. Then Lily shook her head. "I don't have to put up with this," she said coldly.

"No, of course not! How _dare_ I encroach upon your happy little thoughts! How dare I throw this on you, when you could be off petting with your sweet little Prince Charming...?"

"Whatever the hell is wrong with you, stop taking it out on me!" snapped Lily. "You have _no idea what you're talking about, _Donna Shacklebolt! You haven't a sodding _clue_ about me or Luke or anything, so don't act like you do!"

"Oh... right... _sorry_." Donna crossed her arms across her chest, challenging Lily with her posture. "Harper's _daddy_ died. How sodding tragic. Y'know, people die. You move on—_I_ did. But I bet you're just the perfect girlfriend, holding his hand and feeling _so_ martyred and virtuous for it. Merlin, I wish I were as good as you!"

Lily fell silent, a million unspeakable emotions bringing her blood to a boil. Donna appeared to suddenly realize that she had overstepped a boundary, but that passed quickly from her expression; she looked sullen in a moment, as though determined not to redact anything... to let Lily retort as she would. She regretted it when she saw the anger flashing in her friend's eyes.

"Fine," said Lily. "Y'know what, you're so furious with me for not knowing what's going on in _your _life... when was the last time _you_ asked anyone else how _they _were doing? Because, if you troubled yourself to do that once in a while, you might be surprised to find that you're not the only one who has shit going on. So don't stand there all self-important about the fact that you're slagging around with some prick, okay?"

"Oh, _I'm sorry_!" barked Donna, riled again and laughing harshly. "Something's wrong in your life? Did you lose an eyelash? Did sodding Harper forget to walk you to Charms?"

The color rose to Lily's face, and her eyes flashed dangerously again. "You're right," she said, precariously quiet. "Because your being rubbish at Quidditch is _so _much more important. Get over yourself, Shacklebolt, and in the mean time, stay away from _me_."

* * *

(Mr. Tambourine Man)

* * *

_Saturday, April 17__th__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook,_

_Today was awful, with undertones of okay._

_Rained all day again, except for a little while in the evening. _

_-Lily_

_

* * *

_

Donna wasn't really talking to anyone. She spent Saturday practicing the play that she had failed to master during Quidditch practice the day before, until the Slytherins arrived at the pitch around three for their own practice. Then, she retreated to the dormitory and spoke to no one.

It became immediately apparent to Marlene that something was wrong between Lily and Donna, but Lily didn't want to talk about it, and Donna didn't want to talk at all, so she had only to speculate.

"Is something wrong, Flower?"

Even Luke had noticed that something was off with his girlfriend. They went for a walk around the grounds just after supper, and when he took her hand, she was once again conscious of feeling nothing.

"No," she lied. "Tired, that's all." But she rather wanted to cry, an urge which only heightened as he kissed her "goodnight" and told her he loved her by the portrait of the Fat Lady. Something seemed to be bubbling up inside of her, like anger or fear or something else entirely, and she didn't trust herself to too many words, lest the pressure become too great and burst. Luke had disappeared from sight before Lily moved.

"Such a gentleman," sighed the Fat Lady. "Password, dear?'

But Lily didn't give the password. "Not yet," she said. "I'm going for a walk." She heard the lady in the picture's warning about the impending curfew but paid it little heed. Now was not the time for curfews.

Walking very quickly and with no idea of where she was going, Lily felt the pressure building inside of her, so that when she finally stopped in the courtyard, her hands were shaking with some strange passion. The chilly spring air on her hot face cooled her but did not calm her. A wave of listlessness overcame her, and Lily sat down on the ledge surrounding the circular elevated garden in the center of the courtyard. And then she cried.

For Luke or Donna or both, she had no clear notion, but it was suddenly too much. She wanted to get up and run, and yet she sensed the futility of it all. She just didn't know what to do with herself, and it was becoming too much to stand. And that was how James Potter found her, quite by honest accident, nearly ten minutes later.

"Evans," he said dumbly, startled by the disheveled, sobbing redhead before him. "Are you okay? What happened?" Automatically and with no devised aim, James started towards her, but Lily—inhaling sharply—held out a hand to stop him.

"No, please," she said—somewhere between a sob and a snap. "_Please_, don't. I can't handle this now. I can't handle your pushing and your prodding... I can't handle an argument, or a conversation, or whatever the hell it is we always seem to end up doing, so _please, please, please_ just leave me alone!" She spoke with such ardor and desperation that any sensible person would have left the poor girl alone at once.

James was not always a sensible person.

As Lily dissolved in another spate of tears, he sat down beside her. Any sensible person would have let her cry it out...silently waited for her to say anything she wanted to say, but—well, you get the idea.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, not even bothering to keep his tone even. He understood the sympathy and ache he felt, by why he should suddenly feel so irrationally furious—why he should suddenly want to hex something or someone very much (particularly Luke Harper... he had a feeling that git Ravenclaw was in some way responsible) –that was beyond him. James didn't question it. He simply waited for Lily's breathing to steady enough so that she could speak.

"I don't _know_ what's wrong with me," she admitted, sniffing and furiously wiping the tears from her face (she was aware, if only slightly, of being utterly embarrassed). "Everything's just so..." she covered her face with one hand, "_fucked up_."

"What happened?" James asked, bewildered.

"Nothing!" said Lily shrilly. "Nothing happened, I'm just... well I mean, I'm in the worst, most _dishonest_ possible relationship, one of my best mates inexplicablyhates me, and there's a bloody _war _going on that no one seems to be able to do anything significant about! But, really, everything's fine! _Perfect_, actually, according to Donna! _Perfect Lily Evans with perfect little life and her perfect little boyfriend and_—y'know, when _I_ have problems, I don't feel compelled to kill someone, or _screw_ the first bloke that moves, so maybe she should just shut the hell up, because at least I have _healthy _ways of dealing with all the horrible things going on!"

"Like crying alone in the courtyard?" asked James.

"You're on _thin ice_, Potter," growled Lily, waving a threatening finger at him. James sighed, kneading his folded hands compulsively. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and asked: "So what's this about Donna?"

"I dunno," Lily sighed. "She blew up at me in the dormitory yesterday... I don't even know why she was angry. She keeps glaring at me and hasn't spoken a word to me since."

"It probably isn't you," said James. "She's been in an _awful_ mood."

"Oh, I know that," said Lily. "But she won't tell me what's wrong, and she—oh, Merlin, this sounds stupid—but she really hurt me with everything she said... I don't know. It was probably the straw that broke the dragon's back, I suppose, but I—I need my friend. I need her to be here for me, and I want to be there for her, but... Agrippa, it's only been one day," she moaned. "I'm pathetic."

"_Evans_."

They sat in silence for a while, before Lily tiredly went on: "I don't know what to do anymore." Her face twisted into a funny expression, like she was holding back more tears.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm so confused," she muttered. She brushed her thick red hair from her face, folding it sloppily behind one ear to better reveal her paler-than-usual face. Her cheeks were splotchy, her weary green eyes shining in the dim light of the stars and far away torches, but she had stopped crying completely. "...About everything. And I just feel so helpless." She sniffed. "It's like I'm watching myself go through these motions—like it's not me. I feel so... artificial, but I haven't the heart to be genuine, because then I'm selfish. And I'm not sure which is better—lying or being selfish." She coughed. "Do you know what I mean?"

James chose not to answer that question. "Lily, what's this all about?" he asked. She looked at him strangely. She had never heard his voice like that—that soft—and she wondered if there was something wrong with her ears. And he had called her "Lily." Then, without knowing precisely why, Lily told him exactly what it was all about.

She started at the beginning, with Luke and Logan Harper on Valentine's Day, traveled unsteadily through that night, through Lathe's visit, the file on Logan, Luke's father's death, the dozens of times she had tried to end things only to be thwarted by her own or exterior forces, through Donna's outburst the day before, and Luke's kisses goodnight, and finally, her current location—confused and stuck. James listened silently; Lily didn't dare look at him, but if she had, she would have seen a veritable cocktail of emotions playing on his face, none of which he concealed very successfully.

Finally she finished her story; she no longer seemed tempted to cry. Her voice had become stony, calm, and almost (it was the strangest thing) bored. "And that's why I'm here," she concluded dryly. "The damsel in distress you see before you."

James couldn't help himself; a slight smile crept up on his lips as Lily met his eye for the first time since she began her tale.

"What?"

"Evans," said James, shaking his head in amusement, "there's nothing damsel-in-distress _about _you. You _drugged_ _a death eater_. No, better yet, you drugged him, right after you _stopped him from bleeding to death_. You've stuck with a bloke because his dad died, even though he has family members that want to kill you, and I'm pretty sure you've done it all without missing a homework deadline. There is _nothing_ damsel-in-distress about you… except that you're technically a skirt, and you're... technically... distressed."

Lily laughed in spite of herself. "Well thank-you for that anyway."

He nodded, and they were both quiet again, until he continued: "So what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," replied Lily. "I'm not sure what there is to be done. What's right is wrong, and vice-versa. "

"What does Harper say about all of this?"

Lily snorted. "He says 'I love you, Flower.'" James clearly didn't understand her reference, so she explained: "I don't have anything to gain from Luke. That sounds horrible—what I mean is: I don't _want_ him to comfort me or help me or talk me through this. I'm with him because he needs _me_ right now, and I can't just abandon him. But I don't want anything from him. I wish I did! He's... he's the ideal, y'know? I _wish _I could just... but I can't. _I_ _feel nothing for him_, and it's... awful."

James supposed he ought to feel guilty for the somersaults his stomach seemed to be performing, but he just couldn't manage it. Nonetheless, he managed to keep from his voice all indications that this was in any way pleasing to him. It wasn't difficult, because he honestly hated seeing Lily like this.

"Snaps, you have to think about _you_ too."

"No, I don't," said Lily stubbornly. "I'm just being stupid right now. This whole thing is stupid. I can do this—at least, I... I thought I could. James, haven't you ever had to break up with someone? See that look in there eyes... how you've let them down and hurt them... and everyone's let Luke down. I can't _do_ that."

"So... what? You're going to stay with him forever?" asked James, a little harsher than he intended.

Lily exhaled heavily. "To tell the truth, I was sort of hoping we would kind of drift apart sometime at the end of term, when he finished school..." She chuckled bitterly. "Okay, I know that's a terrible thing to say."

James mussed his disorderly hair even more and sat up straight. Lily unconsciously imitated his posture. "Okay, I'm going to tell you what I think, Snaps, and you're not going to like it."

"Fire at will."

"I don't think you're staying with Luke for Luke. I think you're staying with Luke for you."

"Oh yes," said Lily sarcastically. "Because I'm a masochist who thrives on loveless relationships. Spot on, Potter. Really."

"What I mean," James pressed, "is that you're afraid to break things off with him, because of how it will make _you_ feel."

"I see; so, I'm on a righteous selfless kick. Thank-you. I always love your input."

"Don't willfully misinterpret me," James replied crossly. "I'm not saying you're doing it because you like the idea of being selfless or even because you're afraid of being selfish... I'm saying you're doing it because you don't want to feel like you've hurt someone—even though hurting them is probably what's best for both of you in the long run."

Lily frowned; she didn't answer at first, and when she did, her response surprised James considerably: "You're right."

"Now, see, I knew you were going to—wait... what?"

"You're right," she repeated. "Mostly. Part of me thinks he really can't take it, but... every day passes, and he gets more absorbed with me and less absorbed in his dad or his brother, and part of me realizes that I should end this quickly. But I am afraid of hurting him any more, and I feel—responsible for him."

"Of course, you realize that the longer you wait..."

"...The worse it will get, yes." More silence, then: "I can't believe I just told you all of that."

"I'm still processing the fact myself."

"I really shouldn't have done it," Lily added, trying to regret it. "It's just been so horrible, keeping this inside like I was. But..." She tried to be practical, "telling you was irresponsible."

"I'm not going to tell anyone," sighed James.

"Not even the Logan Harper part?"

He shook his head. "You told it all to Lathe already anyway, right? So even if it... bothered me, I wouldn't... anyway, you told me in confidence. Presumably."

Lily felt a little uncomfortable hearing that she had told James Potter anything "in confidence" (though she knew he was quite correct). She did not know how to respond, so instead the witch said: "What were you doing out here anyway? Checking up on what a prefect was doing out past curfew with that map of yours?"

"It's not past curfew," said James. "And I wasn't even using the map."

"So it was simply fate," observed Lily mirthlessly. "But you don't believe in that, do you?"

"No, I guess not."

Lily frowned, lost in thought. James wondered vaguely if she was thinking about Luke or Donna, if she was weighing the pros and cons of breaking things off with Harper, or if she was simply pondering the potentially negative consequences of having confided all of this in James Potter. As a result, the Quidditch Captain was appropriately puzzled when she resurrected the conversation with: "But what about ghosts?"

James blinked. "_Come again_?"

"Ghosts."

"No, I heard that part, but I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

"Oh, right." She realized that he had not been privy to the inside of her head for the last few minutes and could not be held responsible for that information. "If you don't believe in fate or higher powers or souls or anything, how do you explain ghosts? Their bodies are dead and in the ground—they have to be _something_, don't they?"

James arched his eyebrows. Was she really talking about ghosts? _Now_? "I—um—yeah, they are something..." He gathered his thoughts. "But I always thought they were sort of like the pictures... imprints, you know? Not _really _sentient, but—y'know—good imitations."

Lily chewed her lip in dissatisfaction. "Oh," was all she said. "Um..." She rubbed her dry but splotched cheeks: "I guess I should probably get back inside. I think it's going to start raining again." But James was on his feet before she was.

"C'mon..." he nodded towards the archway that would bring them in. "I'll walk you."

"You don't have to," Lily noted, falling into step with him anyway. "You've already—I mean, listening to me and everything..."

"Well what was I supposed to do?" James half joked; "You asked me to leave, and I couldn't very well do what you wanted, could I?"

"It might set a bad precedent," agreed Lily.

"Exactly."

Even the vaguely somber undercurrent in the conversation did not eradicate the oddity of their now bantering conversation, James reflected, as they talked not uneasily on the way to Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady was dozing when the pair arrived at the portrait.

"I'm headed down to the kitchens," said James. "So I'll leave you here."

"Oh. You didn't have to..." But Lily stopped in response to the look that her housemate sent her. "Thank-you," she substituted instead. "For all of it."

James shrugged. "Well, I'm rather fantastic," he admitted. Lily shook her head and rolled her eyes, smiling slightly (but genuinely, he thought) nonetheless. "And, Lily," he added before she turned to wake the Fat Lady, "Shack will come around. You're like the only mate she has—she's not thick enough to just drop that because she's in a foul mood."

In the warm torchlight, James's eyes seemed to have more gold in them. It gave him a very sincere look, Lily thought... or at least, that's how she explained it in her mind. The redhead nodded mutely, and then—appreciating that she ought to say something—added: "Right. Thank-you."

James, in turn, nodded and turned to depart. His heartbeat seemed quicker than usual as he walked, stopping in an empty classroom several floors below. There, he pulled the Marauders' Map and his wand from the pocket of his robes.

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good."

The _Lily Evans_ dot was in the Common Room with the _Marlene Price, Adam McKinnon,_ and _Mary Macdonald_ dots.

"_But you don't believe in that, do you?_" she had asked him about fate. He had agreed, but now he wasn't quite so sure. He believed, from a great deal of experience, in luck—was fate so very different? After all, if things had gone slightly differently... if he had pulled the map out earlier that evening, he would have spotted Lily Evans on the map, and he would have chosen the other courtyard for his... errand. That reminded him...

James returned the map to his pocket of his robes and pulled from the pocket of his slacks an intact cigarette—Sirius's, that he had nicked. He dropped it in a rubbish bin on his way down to the kitchens.

* * *

(Odds and Ends)

* * *

_Sunday, April 18__th__, 1976 (Easter Sunday)_

_Spring holidays start tomorrow. Hardly anyone goes home for those, though, and Slughorn is having a reception for Celestina Warbeck on Friday that I might actually attend. I've neglected him terrifically lately._

_Happy (ahem) Easter. _

_-Lily_

* * *

"I'm _so_ sorry, Luke."

The look in his dark eyes was so much worse than even Lily had been expecting, as she finished her shabbily delivered little speech and held back tears with all of her strength.

"There's nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?" asked the seventh year helplessly. She almost wished he would try, but she shook her head, and he nodded mutely. "I guess maybe I shouldn't be surprised."

"I care about you so much," she went on, "so I would like to be there for you if you should need... _anything_. But being _with_ you is—it's just not right anymore."

"Because of what happened with Logan?" asked Luke.

"Y-yes." This wasn't the absolute truth; there were so many reasons that it wasn't right, Logan being one in a crowd. In fact, trying to remember the last time that it had been truly _right_ between them brought her so far back that she stopped looking. But it was easiest just to say ascribe it to Logan.

Luke nodded again. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the cheek, whispering in her ear: "I really do love you, Flower." Then he walked hastily away.

Lily watched him go and, in contrast, took a long time to walk the short distance to the portrait to Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady was scowling at her and probably uttered some reprimand that Lily did not register.

"Asphodel."

In response to the password, the portrait swung open, and Lily, a little numb, slipped inside.

* * *

_P.S. I broke up with Luke_

* * *

(The Wicked Messenger)

* * *

_Tuesday, April 20__th__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook,_

_I actually wish we had classes this week. It would make things easier to have that distraction, especially since the lack of anything useful to do compels the school gossips to work harder than usual at spreading rumors, and I am suddenly a subject of interest. _

_Spent the afternoon in the library with Sev. Haven't seen Luke._

_-Lily_

* * *

"Lupin's back, I see," observed Severus Snape, as he sat with Lily Evans at her favorite corner table in the Hogwarts Library. The Marauder in question had just left the shelves with several books tucked under his arm, and though he looked pale and tired, his appearance had improved marginally since just the day before.

"Mmmm," replied Lily, forcibly nonchalant. Even when Marauder-bashing with Snape had not been disagreeable to her, Lily had never approved of her Slytherin friend's intense suspicion and distrust of Remus Lupin. Now more than ever it grated on her nerves.

"Odd that he goes home so much," Snape went on skeptically. Lily could feel his black eyes on her.

"Yes, odd."

"And he always looks ill. I wonder if whatever his mother has is catching."

"Possibly."

"He doesn't speak about it to you, does he?"

"No."

"And those idiot friends of his are always sneaking..."

"Sev," interrupted Lily curtly, looking up from the page of her book at last. "I'm not in the mood. I've heard your theories, and I'm _not in the mood_."

Severus was wise enough to drop it.

* * *

(4th Time Around)

_

* * *

Wednesday, April 21__st__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook,_

_I'm not sure what this writing slump is about, but it's rotten. _

'_Can't think of anything to write. _

_Damn it._

_Goodnight, I guess._

_-Lily_

* * *

"Lily?"

Tearing her eyes away from the dark, star-studded sky and the window through which she saw it, the redhead saw Carlotta Meloni rising from her bed, confusion on her—even now, at three in the morning—impeccable face.

"Oh, hi," Lily whispered in return, so as not to wake her other, sleeping roommates.

"You're still up," noted the brunette hoarsely, crossing the dormitory. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh... yeah." Lily shrugged. "Sound as a pound."

"Have you just—just been sitting there since everyone went to bed?"

"No..." Well, technically, yes. "I mean, I—I read a little." She indicated to the long forgotten _Pickwick Papers_ at her feet on the window bench. To Carlotta's arched eyebrows, she added: "I've had a bit of trouble sleeping, that's all."

"Oh." Carlotta, smoothing her little satin nightdress, hesitated before sitting down on the vacant portion of the window-seat. Lily—in an oversized Miles Davis t-shirt and plaid pajama trousers—tried not to feel self-conscious. "I heard—I heard that you and Luke Harper split up."

"Yeah."

"You're not much of a crier then, are you?"

Lily shrugged again.

"What I mean," Carlotta went on, "is that I haven't seen you binging on sweets or listening to sad records—isn't that what girls usually do?"

"I wouldn't know." They were silent, then Lily continued: "You can go back to sleep, y'know. I'm fine. Really."

"Are you _sure_?"

"_Yes_."

Carlotta sighed and got to her feet again. She paused, however, before returning to bed: "Listen, Lily," she said quietly, "I know we're not the best of mates, and that we have... had our differences this year. But if you need to talk to anyone..."

"I'm _fine_," Lily repeated. "But thank-you."

Nodding, the brunette made a detour to the loo for a glass of water. Lily had left the window seat when she returned to her bed.

* * *

(A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall)

* * *

_Friday, April 23__rd__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook,_

_Went to Slughorn's. No comment._

_-Lily_

* * *

"No Snape tonight?" inquired Mary of her friend, as Lily joined her for a butterbeer near the edge of the decorated hall formerly known as Slughorn's chambers. Mary was a regular at Slughorn's parties, not because she was in any way a member of the Slug Club or ever garnered an invitation from the Potions Master himself, but because the "And Guest" stipulation on various wizards' invitations always found a way of applying to her. This particular event—a reception for singer Celestina Warbeck—was no exception.

"He has the flu," explained Lily dully; Severus was, traditionally, her Slug Club companion. Donna had only begun to receive invitations in third year, and she was always far more interested in the special guests than Lily was. This evening, Donna had yet to make an appearance—uncharacteristic and shocking, for she typically employed every possible opportunity for "face time" with teachers. Even were it otherwise, Lily was not on fantastic terms with Miss Shacklebolt, leaving her exceptionally glad that Mary, Frank, and Alice had all accepted their invitations.

"Or maybe Snape's attending the Toadies," suggested Mary wryly.

Lily snorted. "Right. That's likely. I'm sure he's palling around with Potter and Black as we speak."

The Marauders—sometimes including, sometimes excluding Remus—fount it amusing to throw an anti-party at the exact same time as Slughorn's get-togethers. They had called it the "Toad Club" when it began in fourth year, but it was since abbreviated simply to "The Toadies." Those invited were primarily the Mundungus Fletchers and Devang Patils of the school: the un-ambitious, mildly disreputable crowd, whose names Slughorn probably didn't know and yet were quite likely to be a bit more fun in a party than the Anitole Gudgeons of Hogwarts, whose Slug Club attendance rate was flawless. As for Lily, she attended the occasional suppers and more formal parties—like tonight—because, quite frankly, she liked Slughorn. Sure, he was a bit full of himself and something of an elitist, but he had shown interest in Lily before anyone else at Hogwarts had. He had fostered her talent in Potions and done everything he could to help her academically; she could not help but be grateful.

"Speaking of the Toadies," Mary continued, adjusting the seam of her magenta dress robes, which she wore to great effect. "I'm thinking of skipping out of here soon myself."

"Please, don't," begged Lily. "I've got to stay until at least nine, and I don't think I can do it by myself. Anyway, won't your date care if you leave early?"

"Who, Gus? Nah, I don't expect so." She shook her long, shiny brown hair carelessly. "You should have brought a date yourself, you know."

"Five days after breaking up with Luke?" Lily replied. "Yeah, that'd be brill."

"Hmm, you might be right. How are you with that, by the way?"

"Fine, I suppose."

Mary didn't looked convinced.

"I'm fine, Mary. _Really_," Lily promised. "Of course, I could say otherwise if it means you'll stay to keep me company..."

"But—But Frank and Alice are here!"

The two seventh years were, indeed, present, standing across the hall and conversing with an ancient wizard carrying a cane. "They're here to chat up aurors, the kiss-ups," Lily told her. "And I know for a fact they're going to the Toadies before the singing starts."

"Well, I'll stay for a song or two," relented Mary. "But I'd kill for a good old fashioned ale right now, and they're not _serving_ sixteen-year-olds here, so I'm going to the Toadies tonight, and you can't stop me."

"'Wouldn't dream of it, dear. You're a life-saver."

"You know it. Oi—look, Donna's shown up."

Lily looked to where her friend indicated and saw that Mary was right. In dark violet dress, Donna looked really lovely—and older, too—as she spoke with a Ravenclaw boy Lily recognized from Ancient Runes. Well, "spoke" in a loose sense: the Ravenclaw seemed to be doing most of the talking.

"_Joy_," grumbled the redhead, folding her arms. "Well, at least she hasn't brought anyone with her." Mary caught the Charlie Plex reference and rolled her eyes.

"Ginger, why don't you just talk to her? Yes, I know it's entirely her fault, but she's _Donna_, and, let's face it, you're practically the only mate she's got."

"If it's entirely her fault, why can't _she_ come talk to _me_?" Lily wanted to know. "And why are you siding with her?"

"I'm not," Mary insisted. "But if you're not mates with her, who, exactly, is going to reign in that pillar of psycho?"

"You might be right," allowed the prefect.

"I am. She kicked your cat off her bed yesterday."

"She _always_ kicks Ira off her bed," Lily pointed out.

"Yes," allowed Mary, "but yesterday she _literally_ kicked him."

"Poor Ira. Why must Donna take her issues out on innocent creatures?"

"Exactly. Also, if you could ask her if she's the one using my hairbrush, I would appreciate it, because the bristles have gone wonky."

"That's completely unrelated, Mare."

"_Talk to her_," Mary sang.

"Fine."

But before Lily could fulfill her promise, Professor Slughorn appeared, looking quite pleased with himself. "Lily!" he gushed. "There's someone I would very much like for you to meet."

"Oh," spoke up Mary quickly, "Can it wait ten minutes? There was something Lily was going to d..."

"_Mary_," bit Lily, rolling her eyes. "That can _wait_."

"My _hairbrush_!" Mary replied through gritted teeth. Lily kicked her surreptitiously, then smiled sweetly to the Potions Master. "So sorry, Professor. Of course I'd be happy to meet anyone that you would want to introduce..." But it would be a lie for her to say that some of her agreeableness to the situation was not related to her reluctance to speak with Donna. That changed when Slughorn spoke again.

"Very good, very good. Do you see that witch over there?"

He indicated to a tall, thin woman with spiky black hair and a bizarre hat that Lily supposed was what people called "chic." Nonetheless, there was something about the woman—her thin, darkly painted lips and slim nose, her large violet eyes and formidable expression—that was very familiar. Before Lily could place the name, however, Slughorn continued: "Dorthea Grey..."

Lily stopped dead in her tracks. "That's Dorthea Grey?" she gasped. "The _Prophet_ columnist? She's—she's _brilliant!_"

"I was aware you thought so," gloated Slughorn. "Yes, she was a student of mine some years ago. A Ravenclaw—top of her year in Arithmancy... received seven O's on her O.W.L.s. She's an old friend of dear Celestina's..."

Lily only half-listened to Slughorn's monologue; she was suddenly very self-conscious of her own appearance. She'd only come to the party as a courtesy to her Potions professor and, as a result, had done nothing special with her hair or makeup. Her dress was short—not an evening formal at all—and she'd worn flats for convenience. And bloody hell, _she was going to meet Dorthea Sodding Grey_.

* * *

"The Portable Room" as the Marauders called it, was the largest of the unused classrooms at Hogwarts. Because the place moved around the castle so often, it was not practical for holding lessons, and it had been exceptionally difficult to charm onto the Marauders' Map. However, since the four wizards had managed to plot the room (wherever it happened to be), it had become a favorite for Marauder parties, such as the infamous Toadie Events. Tonight, the Portable Room happened to be in a tower off the sixth floor, and, complete with magically magnified music, sound concealing charms, firewhiskey and ale in abundance, and about seventy people, the event ought to have been everything James Potter could look for on a Friday evening.

Except, what he _was_ looking for happened to be missing.

"Hey, Prongs!" shouted Sirius, appearing at his best friend's side, with two darkly tinted bottles in hand. He presented one to James and continued: "Meghan McCormack is looking for you."

"Meghan McCormack?" questioned James. "Did we invite her?"

"Who cares? The bird's _fit_," slurred Sirius, who had evidently had a few. "Sandy blond hair, freckles... _preeettty_ little green eyes. Hufflepuff. Quidditch Player. Need I go on?"

"Yeah, she sounds perfect for _you_," James replied, smirking.

"Nah, I prefer brunettes."

"Oh, like you care."

Sirius thought about it. "You're right. Really don't. But Sheila Vane is looking _mighty, _and I mean _mighty_, nice tonight, so I'm-a-gonna-go work _that_ out."

Sirius departed, presumably to "work that out" with Sheila Vane, and James laughed, as he watched his friend go. He glanced across the room to the tomboyish but pretty witch near the drink table, swaying noncommittally to the music. The girl—Meghan McCormack—smiled invitingly when she noticed James looking at her, and the Gryffindor crossed the chamber towards her.

"Not a bad party for something named after an ugly, warty reptile," teased the Hufflepuff, smiling.

Toads were amphibians, but James didn't correct her.

Instead, he said with a faux-modest shrug. "We do our best. Though, I think there must be something seriously wrong, because you're standing next to a _stocked_ table, and you don't have a drink in your hand." He turned and grabbed a goblet of strawberry colored liquid. "I think they might've put some punch in the vodka for color, but don't worry, there's _barely_ any aftertaste."

Meghan smirked, but shook her head. "I don't drink," she informed him cheerfully.

"Dry?" James pretended to look disappointed. "Damn it. You're not going to laugh at _any_ of my jokes _now_."

Contrarily, Meghan let out a sweet, tinkling little laugh. "You're just going to have to try harder, I guess." But James had the feeling that this was not the case. Far from it. He glanced across the room and noticed Remus and Peter laughing about something or other amongst themselves, and he realized that—as good as his chances clearly were with Meghan McCormack—he would rather be over there with his mates.

"Well, Meghan," he said as winsomely as possible, "I'm sort of the host of the little Toadie bash, so I should make the rounds. But it was good talking to you—y'know—enjoy the music. Don't do anything I wouldn't..."

Meghan's smile faltered, as she gathered that she was being rejected. "Oh. Okay. Thanks for inviting me."

"'Course, any time."

Setting down the punch concoction on the table, James hastened through the crowd to the two available Marauders.

"Moony, Wormtail," he greeted as he took another swig of his own drink.

"Prongs," replied Peter. "We saw you talking to Meghan McCormack." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Nothing's going to happen there tonight," said James evasively.

"Why not?" Remus wanted to know.

James shrugged. "I dunno," he said honestly, "She's just... not what I'm looking for tonight."

* * *

"So, if you had to estimate, how many aurors would you say we buttered up to tonight?" Alice asked, swinging her arms as she strolled down the seventh floor corridor with Frank Longbottom.

He took her free hand—the other carried her strappy black shoes—and replied: "The right side of fifteen, if I had to estimate."

"Sounds about right," agreed the witch. "It sort of makes you wonder who exactly is on duty tonight, if all those aurors could be bothered to come to a reception for _Celestina Warbeck_."

"Well, now they weren't all _active_ aurors... some of them have since retired into the bureaucracy."

"It's good to know we have _that_ to look forward to," Alice laughed. More seriously she added: "You don't think we'll ever be like that, do you?"

"Like what?"

"Like those stuffy old aurors—out of touch, out of shape... incapable of making eye contact with me because their attention was so focused on my neckline..."

"I was wondering if you noticed that... swear to Merlin, I almost hexed Appius Crouch... slimy old slag."

"Well, it's probably better that you didn't," sighed Alice. "It wouldn't have done either of us any good. In fact, it would have done us both a great deal of _harm_."

"Even still..."

Alice smiled and then sighed. "I just hate to think that in forty years, I might be spiteful and self-important."

"_Ally_," scoffed Frank. "You won't be like that in _two hundred_ years. You haven't got a spiteful or self-important bone in your body."

"Oh I know," Alice replied, forcefully light. "It's the major organs I'm worried about. Anyway... I know they're not all like that, the aurors. Alastor Moody's no teenager, and he's brilliant."

"Exactly. It's the one's who take Friday evenings in times like these to relive the glory days at Hogwarts that you have to worry about."

"Right. You're right. I know. I just... I guess I just wish there was another way to fight sometimes..."

He looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, it's not that I'm second-guessing the aurors. I want that—I want that more than anything. But it seems like there ought to be something else to do, too. Apart from the system... Y'know?"

Frank nodded. "'Course, it'll be better still if they just catch Voldemort quickly, before it gets worse."

"And it _will_ get worse, won't it?" asked Alice softly. Frank held her hand a little tighter, but he did not reply. They were both quiet for some time. "Frank, can I ask you something?" she continued presently, pausing in her step and turning to face the wizard beside her.

"Yeah, of course."

Alice toyed with the buckle on her removed shoes. "Why—um—why didn't you ask me to this party? As your—y'know, date, I mean." Frank opened his mouth to reply, but she interrupted: "And _don't_ say it's because you knew Slughorn would invite me anyway, because that's never stopped you before."

"Al... you said it yourself: it's not like before. We're not... I mean, we're only _sort of _together. I thought you—you might want to keep your options open, that's all."

"Are you trying to use my words against me?" asked Alice suspiciously. Frank shook his head. "Promise?" He nodded. "But going to Slughorn's parties... there's nothing wrong with _that_."

Frank frowned. "I guess I'm just not sure where the line is."

"And that's fair," allowed Alice, brow furrowed thoughtfully. "I haven't been very clear. That's my fault. But I, um... I enjoy spending time with you. Clearly. And I also... enjoy _spending time with you_..." She cleared her throat, and Frank smiled; "So... I guess, for _me_, and... and I don't want you to do anything you're not... comfortable with, but for me, I want to be with you, but I don't... I don't want there to be... restrictive definitions."

"Definitions..." echoed Frank. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Mhm. Okay."

"Promise?"

He nodded.

Alice suddenly smiled, taking a meaningful step closer and fiddling with the collar of the wizard's robes. "So—Frank," she continued; "Want to go, uh, _spend some time together_ upstairs?"

Frank chuckled. "I think I could be persuaded..."

Laughing, Alice led the way to the portrait of the Fat Lady, but paused before she could give the password. She turned to her companion and asked earnestly: "You are _happy_, right, Frank?"

Frank did not answer at once. Instead, he leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. When he drew back, he said: "Almost completely." Then, to the Fat Lady, he added: "Hellebore," and the portrait swung open.

* * *

"_Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?_

_It's left me for a spell..."_

Celestina Warbeck, a very pretty black woman in sparkly gold robes, crooned her latest single to a mostly attentive crowd in Slughorn's chambers, while Lily, doing her very best to shrug off the disappointments of the evening, moved through said crowd, until, at last, she reached her destination: a distant corner occupied by Donna Shacklebolt.

"Hi," the redhead began in an awkward undertone.

Donna seemed taken aback by this new development—the arrival of Lily—and it showed in her voice. "Hi..."

There was an awkward silence, and to fill it, Lily joked: "Mary wants me to make sure you're not the one using her hairbrush." Donna didn't really smile, so the redhead cleared her throat and resumed seriously: "Listen... We should talk." It occurred to her that she had begun her break-up with Luke with nearly identical words. "About the other day..." No response... "I—I said some things that I didn't mean... um... and I'm sorry."

"Okay."

Lily waited for something else, but nothing came. "Donna..." she sighed.

"What?" Donna demanded more loudly, so that a few wizards nearby glared in their direction. Quieter, she went on: "I know what you're doing, Lily. You're apologizing and hoping everything is just going to blow over, even though you don't think you were in the wrong."

"Well... _was _I?" asked Lily impatiently. "I don't remember doing anything particularly offensive to warrant that kind of... attack, for lack of a better word. Did I strangle your owl in my sleep or something? _Merlin_..."

Donna rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "No, Lily, you didn't do anything wrong. I lashed out, and you happened to be there. Are you happy now?"

"No, I'm _not_. Don, what do you _want _from me?"

"_Nothing!" _replied the other in an impassioned whisper. "I don't want anything from you, for Agrippa's sake, _okay?"_

"_Where have you gone?_

_You've left me for a spell..."_

"Well, you're kind of driving everyone mad the way you are right now," muttered Lily, "so whatever this is _really _about, you'd better just come out and say it now. C'mon, Donna, what's wrong? Is it sodding _Charlie Plex_, because I don't care about that! I'm not your mum; I don't tell you what to do. And if you feel like I do, then tell me. Talk to me! We're mates, aren't we?" Donna was silent, and Lily realized that though she had thought it a rhetorical question, she was actually expecting an answer. "_Aren't_ we?"

"Well _are _we?" retorted Donna. "I mean, why did we even ever become friends? Can you remember?"

Lily could not honestly say that she did just then. It had simply happened... "I dunno. We just became friends... sometime in second year. But what's that got to do with anything?"

"Lily, face it, we have nothing in common," said Donna sullenly.

"Don, we don't have to be identical twins to be mates..."

"I'm not talking about identical twins. Lily, we have _nothing_ in common except a dormitory. You're cheerful and optimistic, and everyone likes you, and I—I don't have anything to do with that. And if we hadn't been sorted to the same house, we wouldn't be friends now. Don't deny it, Lily, you can't honestly say we would be."

"I don't _know_, but I don't see what difference that makes. We have fun together. That's what's important. We enjoy each other's company, don't we? _Donna_."

"I just don't see the point," evaded Donna, eyes trained on Celestina Warbeck and not Lily. "Next year we'll finish Hogwarts, go out separate ways, and, honestly, probably never see each other again."

"Oh, _stop it_, Donna," ordered the other. "I know what you're doing, too, y'know. You _always_ do this... something upsets you, and you deal with it by pushing people out of your life. But you can't do that to me—we live in the same dormitory, for God's sake."

"There! You even admit it. The reason we're friends is because we share a dorm!"

"Donna, you're being stupid. That's not what I said at all, and can you please just _tell me what's really bothering you_?"

An elderly wizard in avocado green robes turned to glare at the pair. "_Really_, girls," he muttered. "It's _quite_ rude."

Donna opened her mouth to utter a surly apology, but before she could, Lily grabbed the sleeve of her violet robes and dragged her out of the hall, to the empty corridor outside. There, Lily folded her arms and crossly awaited an explanation. Donna rolled her eyes.

"Did it ever occur to you, Lily, that maybe I just _don't_ want to talk about it to you? And no, I don't mean that I secretly _do _want to talk about it but I'm scared, and I don't mean that I just don't know how to say it: I mean that I just _do not want to talk about it with you_."

"Well why not?"

"_Because I hate confiding things in you, when you give nothing back_."

Lily stared.

"Wait—_what_?"

"You think I'm cold," said Donna, now determined to get this all out, "but you're so bloody emotionless sometimes."

Lily could have flat out laughed at the irony of that. "Me? Are you _joking_?"

"Well what exactly do you show people, Lily?" Donna continued defiantly. "You're either happy and nice, or you're angry. But you broke up with your boyfriend a week ago, and have you even cried once? And why did you do it? Because not one of your supposed best friends had any idea that you were planning on it or that you were having problems! _Were _you? Or did you just not fancy him anymore? Either way, two months after his dad died, you just up and decided to call it quits! And when your dad died..."

"_Donna."_

But she ignored the warning and pressed loudly on: "...All you ever said was 'I'm fine.' Like he was just gone, and you weren't going to get hung up on it!"

Not thinking, Lily raised her arm and smacked the other witch square across the face. But neither the resounding, satisfying _smack_ sound nor Donna's evident discomfort as she grudgingly rubbed the side of her face did anything to quell Lily's anger. She didn't care what was really bothering Donna anymore, what the subtext was, or why this whole stupid thing had started. She didn't care about any of it; there were certain things that no one—friend or otherwise—was allowed to say, and that was one of them.

"You're completely heartless, Donna Shacklebolt. Don't talk to me."

Without turning back once, Lily walked briskly down the corridor, disappearing onto the staircase. When Donna returned to the dormitory later that night, Lily was already safely in her own bed, wrapped in her blankets, pretending to sleep.

* * *

(All I Really Want to Do)

* * *

_Wednesday, April 28__th__, 1976_

_Well, I got my copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ back._

_-Lily_

* * *

"And can anyone tell me who it was that first organized a working theory about the connection between corporeal Patronus forms and the caster's character?"

In response to Professor Black's questions, a dozen enthusiastic hands shot up. He hesitated, pacing across the front of the classroom, and then called on Marlene.

"Titus Tigris!" she said very quickly. Black grinned and nodded, pulling a foil-wrapped chocolate from his pocket and tossing it to the blond, who jumped to her feet to catch the sweet.

"And, Miss Price, can you tell me where Titus got his nickname?"

"Um..." Marlene frowned. "From his Patronus?"

"Excellent." Black threw another chocolate in her direction, and Marlene caught that one as well. "Alright, who—let's see—who can tell me what other Patronus discovery our friend Titus is famous for... Miss Mumps?"

"Er..." began Shelley, "didn't he figure out that Patronus forms could change over time?"

"Very good, very good." He tossed her a red-foiled chocolate. "And—does anyone know what year that theory was published...? No one? Alright, give me a century... Mr. Atwater."

"Fourteenth?"

A chocolate sped through the air towards the Ravenclaw sixth year. "Does this have nuts?"

"No."

"Do you have any that _do_?"

"Oh, sit down, Atwater," said Black, causing the rest of the class to laugh. He pulled out another chocolate from his pocket, a little blue packaged one, and said: "Last question—okay. Um, let's think, got to get a good one. Oi, I know. _Who_ can tell me what the Patronus is used for _besides_ a protective agent?"

Lily's was one of five hands that rose—James's, Remus's, Sirius's, and a Ravenclaw girl's being the others—but as Lily already had three chocolates lined up on her desk, and James, Remus, and the Ravenclaw had a few as well, she was not surprised when Black nodded at Sirius.

"They work as a messenger, too," said Sirius, who was leaning casually back in his desk. "They're a form of communication."

But Black did not throw the sweet to his nephew right away. "And what's the difference between casting a messenger Patronus and a defensive Patronus?"

Sirius smirked, as if to say '_easy_.' "A messenger Patronus is cast non-verbally."

"Alright. And _who_...?"

"Crispin Hobday, 1734."

Professor Black smirked, too. "Alright, smart-aleck." He threw Sirius his chocolate, which the Marauder caught with relish. Then the bell rang, and the teacher had to call over the din of the rush: "Get started on those Patronus essays due Monday! Don't disregard it! It _will_ help you on your final..."

As she exited the classroom with Mary and Marlene, Lily noticed Donna move hastily ahead. Sighing irritably, Lily popped one of her chocolate treats in her mouth and started towards Potions. She was rounding a corner when she nearly collided with someone... someone who turned out to be Luke Harper.

Lily flushed a little, muttering an apology and calculating how many seconds it would take her to reach the staircase, when Luke said: "Hey, Lily. I was actually on my way to see you. Er—could I have a moment?" He looked meaningfully at Marlene and Mary, who, in turn, looked at Lily. She nodded.

"Go on, I'll meet you there."

Further examination of her ex-boyfriend indicated that Luke at least appeared fine. He was a little pale, but otherwise, no complaint could be made about his ever-infallible good-looks.

"So—uh—how are you?" Lily asked, once they were relatively alone.

"I suppose I have been better before," replied Luke. "But don't worry, I'm not about to do anything awkward."

"Oh, I wasn't worried," she lied quickly.

Luke nodded and reached into his school bag, pulling out a brown leather-bound book. "I was actually just returning this. It's yours, I believe."

Lily took the book and recognized it as one that she had leant to the Ravenclaw weeks and weeks ago. "Oh," she said, surprised. "Thank-you. I completely forgot. Thank-you."

"Not at all. I'm just sorry I took so long returning it." He sighed. "Well, I should probably... I have Transfiguration in a few minutes, so..."

"Yeah, of course. Am I in your way? Sorry."

"No, no, it's fine. It's fine, really." One clumsy little dance later, both witch and wizard were in a position to get where they needed to go. "Goodbye, then."

And as quickly as he had appeared, Luke was gone again, leaving Lily in the crowded corridor, clutching her book and potentially late for Potions.

Remembering this, Lily shook off her surprise at having been thus accosted and turned, hastening towards the Potions department. She reached the classroom just before the bell sounded and slipped into the vacant seat beside Marlene (Mary had taken a spot with a Hufflepuff).

"What did Luke want?" asked the blond curiously.

"Nothing—he was just returning a book." Lily indicated to the volume in question, which she now realized she was still clasping rather tightly. She slid it into her book bag and cleared her throat, hoping that Marlene would not continue the interrogation. She had no such luck.

"Sort of an odd time and place for that, don't you think?"

Lily merely shrugged. "I guess so."

"Did he look okay? Happy, healthy, all that?"

"Um... yeah. Sound as a pound."

Marlene watched her friend carefully. "Are _you_ okay, Lily?"

For what felt like the millionth time, Lily sighed and said: "I'm _fine_."

"But..."

"Really. Completely. Totally. _Fine_. Breaking up with Luke was the right decision, and I _am fine_. I don't know why everyone keeps assuming that I'm not, because I _am_. _Fine_." Marlene opened her mouth to reply, but, fortunately, Professor Slughorn arrived at that moment, and she was compelled to let it drop.

* * *

(Forever Young)

* * *

_Friday, April 30__th__, 1976_

_Dear Notebook, _

_Newspaper article declared a manhunt for Logan Harper and half a dozen others._

_Bloody Donna._

_Be over, month_.

_-Lily_

* * *

"Would you look at _that_..." muttered Sirius, eying the front page of _The Daily Prophet_ over breakfast Thursday morning. He slid the paper to James, who removed his concentration from his apple tart and bacon long enough to read the headline his best friend specified.

"_**Warrant for Arrest of Six Alleged Death Eaters**_**."**

"Apparently the Ministry had someone under cover with the death eaters," said Sirius. "They didn't say who, but the person gathered proof on some others. They arrested three, but the other three are on the run. Read the list."

And there, second, was a very familiar name.

James looked down the table in search of Lily Evans, but her eyes were already scanning Ravenclaw table, presumably for her ex-boyfriend. James followed her stare, finally locating Luke Harper sitting amongst his friends and eating his breakfast in silence. He did not seem happy, but he seemed no more distressed than he had the day before, or the day before that, or before that... No, his mildly somber mood must be due to the lack of Lily in his life. He _couldn't_ have read the paper yet...

The Quidditch Captain looked back at Lily, who appeared to have reached the same conclusion. She set down the paper—her lips pulled into a doleful grimace—and continued with her own breakfast of wheat-toast and jam.

* * *

"Shut up."

"What?"

"I said_ shut up_."

Grabbing a fistful of Charlie Plex's robes, Donna pulled him after her into the unused classroom on the first floor. She closed the door with his body, then pressed her lips violently against his. After a second, he reciprocated, his hands snaking around her waist and lower. She made to un-tuck his shirt.

"Wait—I've—we've got Charms..."

Donna stopped kissing long enough to meet his eye, her expression dry. "So you're telling me you'd rather go stare at Professor Flitwick then stay here with me?" she asked, confident of the answer. And Charlie did not disappoint.

He smirked and replied: "Whatever you say."

"That's right."

She slipped her arms underneath his robes, pushing them off Charlie's shoulders and in the process pressing herself closer against him. Her mouth moved to his neck. The Ravenclaw let out a low moan, and Donna smirked with satisfaction against the skin of his jaw.

Right there, right then, _she_ was in control.

Right.

In control.

* * *

"Er... Professor?"

Professor Black turned to see his nephew entering the otherwise empty Defense classroom. "'Evening, Sirius."

The younger wizard nodded in response. "I've had a letter from Andromeda," he continued. "She wanted me to give you part of it—just some updates on her daughter."

"Ah, Nymphadora," said Black, nodding and taking the parchment from Sirius's hands. "Thank you."

"'Course."

Black glanced at the page given to him. "She's a good witch, your cousin is." Sirius, confused, was about to agree, when his uncle unexpectedly continued: "She made the difficult choice, you know."

"Um... Yeah, I know," said Sirius, taken aback by the sudden, somber turn in the conversation.

Black sat down at his desk, thoughtfully turning the letter over in his hands but not reading it just yet. "She gave up her name and her family... just like you did," he continued in a strange, far away voice. "I don't—I don't think she realizes how brave that was. I never could do that."

"It was different for you," Sirius consoled. "Andromeda... she had Ted, and..."

"It wasn't any different," Black interrupted. "I had someone once, a long time ago... Wally, my parents—everyone objected, of course. I had to make a choice, and I chose the family. I made the other decision—the wrong decision."

Sirius approached his uncle's desk. "But you're not like them," he insisted. "You're not. You never have been."

"No, but that isn't an excuse." He smiled bitterly. "In fact, it might make it worse. All these years, everything I've seen, everything I've lived through, and I was never bold enough to do what you and your cousin could do before you were eighteen. I don't have children—the only way I live on is through a faded name on a tapestry. I'll be dead soon, and..."

"Please don't say that," interrupted Sirius. "It's bad enough without your talking about it."

Black sighed. "Of course, you're right. I should not have bothered you with this. I'm very sorry."

"You're not _like_ them. You _couldn't _be," said Sirius firmly. Black merely smiled and nodded. "You didn't give up the Black 'legacy,' but you're not a part of that, either. And if you _had_ given it up, I'd probably never have known you. And don't talk about dying like that—things happen. Healers are wrong all the time, and people come up with new potions, and..."

"Sirius..."

"You can't talk about it like it's a sure thing! _Nothing's _certain... not completely."

"I don't want you to have false hope..."

"It's not false hope. I'm being reasonable, here. You don't _know_ what's going to happen. It's _possible_ that you won't die... it's possible for something to happen, and... I'm not saying it's definite, but you can't just be resigned to it."

"I am resigned," said Black quietly. "But I'm not ready. Even now—even about this, I'm a coward."

"You're not. Just because you don't want to give up, that doesn't make you a coward."

"I think you might have more faith in me than I deserve." Black sighed. "Come along, let's not discuss these things."

"But..."

"No, Sirius." And there was a gravity in his quiet voice that obliged Sirius to comply. "Now," Black went on, more his cheerful self, "have you had your supper yet?"

"No..."

"Well, then, come along." The professor picked up his briefcase and passed his nephew on the way to the door. "You can walk with me—tell me all of Meda's news..."

Sirius hesitated, and then forced his face into a more lively expression. "Of course," he said, still a little stiffly, and then followed his uncle out into the corridor.

* * *

Lily's slight figure faced the wall opposite the door through which James had just entered, and even though he could not see her face, it was perfectly clear that she was furious. The redhead tore through a sheaf of parchment as though it were guilty of murdering a loved one, selected the sheet required, and viciously jammed the others into a space on the ceiling-high slotted shelf, knocking over a corked ink bottle in the process.

She paused, looking around the table in search of something.

"Need a quill?" asked James, causing Lily to jump. She shot a look over her shoulder at the newcomer, and then repositioned herself angled slightly towards him.

"No," she insisted stubbornly, before continuing her search of the desk.

James had not spent much time in the Head Student Offices, except when coming to collect Remus from a prefect meeting or else stealing something. As a result, he didn't think he had actually been to this room more than four or five times over the last nearly six years. It was long and rectangular, like the staff room except considerably smaller. The narrow table that ran along the wall opposite him supported the slotted shelf and was half covered in stacks of parchment, jars of ink, cups which ought to have contained quills, and books with titles like _The Prefect's Guide to Hogwarts_ or _The Complete Anthology of Hogwarts Rules_. James also thought he spotted Filch's less artfully bound volume of "Banned Items" (roughly two thirds of which could be found in James's trunk alone). Besides the desk, there was a table, long enough to seat a few dozen people—probably for prefect meetings. The walls were "decorated" with a calendar, a clock, a portrait or two, and schedules for various things. In the corner farthest from James was a green pin-striped sofa.

The Quidditch Captain took all of this in, while Lily continued her search for a quill, which she at last found buried behind _The Benevolent Authoritarian: a Guide to Gaining Respect and Control_. Thrusting the quill into the ink bottle with undue force, ink splattered through the air as her hand flew across the page.

"Is something wrong, Evans?" asked James. He leaned against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets.

"What do you want?" Lily replied curtly. James frowned.

"Um… to play Chaser for the National Team."

Lily cast an irritable sidelong glance at him. "I _mean_," she elaborated, continuing to write on the parchment, "can _I_ help you?"

"Um... not unless you know someone with connections to the National Team..."

"Potter..."

"What are you even doing here, Evans?" James interrupted. "It's eleven o'clock at night. Curfew, you know."

"I'm filling out a point deduction documentation form," said Lily; "Some Ravenclaws were dueling this afternoon."

"And that couldn't wait until morning?"

"I couldn't sleep, and what exactly are you doing here?

"I was on my way back to the Common Room and I saw you on the map. It's always a matter of curiosity for me when a prefect is out of bed after hours."

"I should deduct points," Lily reminded him. "So maybe you should leave." She returned her undivided attention to the task at hand. James ignored her and walked into the room.

"Is there a reason you're so cheerful this evening?"

"Is there a reason you're still here?" James raised his eyebrows, and Lily sighed. "I'm being a bitch, aren't I?"

James nodded. "Pretty much."

Lily set down the quill and pushed the paper to the side. "I'm sorry," she admitted. "I've had a bad day. No, I've had a bad week... scratch that, bad month."

"I take it you read the newspaper article about Logan Harper," said James, knowing the answer, and Lily nodded.

"I spoke with one of Luke's friends a lunch... Luke didn't show up at all. I can't believe I broke up with him—I'm such a _bitch_." Lily pushed herself up to sit on top of the table. James walked over and leaned against it.

"C'mon, you don't really think that," he coaxed. "If you were with Luke right now, how would you make it better?"

Lily thought about it. "I wouldn't," she said after a while. "Actually, I'd probably make it worse. Luke's probably sitting up with his mates, denying that his brother's guilty of anything... I don't think I could handle that."

"Well, there you go."

"Of course, it's stupid," allowed the witch. "I know I made the right choice. Breaking up with Luke was the right choice. It was the _right thing to do_."

"So would you say it was the right choice?" Lily glared. James grinned. "Aw, c'mon, Snaps, lighten up."

"It's just... everyone keeps asking me if I'm alright, and I'm just trying to convince them that I'm _fine_, but no one seems to believe me. But I am. I'm _fine_. I'm okay. Really."

"Really?" asked the other skeptically.

"Yes! _Really_. Why does no one believe me?"

"Well... maybe they're right."

"But they're not."

"But maybe they are.

"But they're not."

"But maybe they are."

"But they're _not_."

"But..."

"Potter."

James shrugged. "Fine. They're wrong. You're completely fine."

"Convincing," deadpanned Lily.

"All I'm saying is it wouldn't be _wrong_ for you to feel... upset."

"_I_ broke up with _him_. I'm not allowed to be upset."

"You're always allowed to be upset about break-ups. That's why they call them 'break ups' instead of... I dunno—a peaceful divergence of paths."

"A peaceful divergence of paths?"

"Copyright pending."

Lily laughed, and then they were both quiet for some time, as he watched her fingers fidget aimlessly with the feather quill, turning it over and around, twirling it between her index finger and thumb...

James shook himself and resumed with: "So is that what's keeping you up, filling out _point deduction documentation forms _at eleven p.m.? The Wizard Formerly Known as 'Prince Charming?'"

"It's part of it," Lily sighed. She didn't elaborate for nearly a minute, and then went on: "I met Dorthea Grey."

"Who? Oh—the _Prophet_ columnist?"

Lily nodded. "At Slughorn's last Friday."

"O—kay..."

"Professor Slughorn knew I was a fan, and she used to do foreign correspondent work, which is one of the things I'm interested in, so... he introduced me."

James waited for a point.

"And she was very helpful, and very polite, and she didn't seem at all annoyed with having to talk to a seventeen-year-old..."

"So what's the problem? Clearly, there _was_ a problem..."

Lily frowned at her hands, which were now folded in her lap. "She was so... cynical. I mean, I've agreed with practically everything that woman's written for the last four years, and she—she just admitted, straight out, that it was all about saying things nobody else had said... because by shocking people, you sell subscriptions."

James blinked. "Oh."

"...She said writing for _The Prophet _was all about making people uncomfortable with the world, but keeping them comfortable with themselves. The way she said it, it was so... so damn poetic, I could've cried. It's like finding out unicorns don't exist..."

"Unicorns _do_ exist..."

"Not for muggles," said Lily glumly. "I always thought she was so _brilliant,_ because she brought perspective to stories that other people ignored. She wasn't afraid to talk about the dark things; she always told the truth, I thought. Now it turns out she wasn't telling the truth, she was... exploiting it." She snorted bitterly. "I've wanted to be her since I was thirteen-years-old."

"Well," said James, "You were never going to be Dorthea Grey."

Lily scowled. "Gee, thanks."

"You don't write like she does," he continued. "I've heard the essays you read in class... you use better words. Nicer words, y'know? Dorthea Grey—she writes like a bloke... curt, direct. It's not bad or good or anything... but very different." He said it so matter-of-factly, that Lily stared at him for a good minute in wonder.

"You're being nice again," she accused at length. "Consistency, Potter."

James grinned. "What can I say? You bring out the worst in me." Lily smiled weakly. A brief silence, then: "Y'know—Bevin Birch cheats on his wife."

"Who's Bevin Birch?"

"Head Chaser for Puddlemore United," James explained. "He's married to the replacement Seeker of the Hollyhead Harpies. When I was fourteen, my dad took me back to meet some players after a match, so I could get my quaffle signed. And there was Bevin Birch, snogging some blond witch that wasn't the replacement Seeker for the Hollyhead Harpies." Lily still looked a little confused. "Puddlemore United is my favorite team. Bevin Birch plays the same position as I do..."

"So he was your hero," Lily concluded. "But then you found out he was an arse."

James shook his head. "He still _is_ my Quidditch hero. He's a brilliant chaser; why shouldn't he be? He's not a personal hero, or a marital hero, but the fact that he's a git behind the scenes doesn't change the thing that I admired about him in the first place, does it?"

Lily shrugged. "It does for me."

James watched her carefully. "Yeah..." She was right, too_._ "Listen, Snaps, I heard—I heard you and Shack had a row..." Lily didn't confirm it, but she didn't deny it either. "Do you think she'll come around?"

Lily shook her head. "She said I wasn't sad about my dad dying." James's eyes grew wide. "Yeah, there's no real coming back from that, is there?"

"No, I guess not. I'm sorry."

"I don't want to talk about it," Lily said decidedly. She picked up the quill once more and began, again, to twirl it between her fingers.

James remembered something. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, the Marauder withdrew a wrapped up cloth napkin, which he unfolded to reveal three cookies.

"Shortbread?" he offered. "Courtesy of Libby the house elf. She loves me." Lily eyed the shortbread suspiciously and then took a slab; still, she waited until James had taken a bite before she followed suit. "What? Did you think I was going to poison you?" he asked, laughing,

Lily, chewing on the cookie, shrugged. "Every teenage witch knows two universal rules: never except drinks from strange men at parties, unless you've seen the bottle it came from, and never except food from a Marauder unless he's tasted it too." She smirked. "Copyright pending."

"Touché."

She took a second bite of the cookie. "Speaking of parties, how was your Slug Club knock off?"

James scoffed. "The Toadies are not a Slug Club _knock off_. They're a... parody."

"Well, you ought to have named them better. Slugs and toads aren't related—toads are amphibians. Slugs are mollusks. Didn't you pay attention in Care of Magical Creatures?"

The Marauder couldn't help but grin, because—of course—she was right. "Pay attention to the lecture with all those fanged animals about? Why _would_ I?"

They ate the rest of the cookies in relative silence. When only the smallest corner of her shortbread remained, Lily spoke up again. "You never _did_ say what exactly you were doing the other night. Out in the courtyard..."

James hesitated. "I was going out for a cig."

"Oh. But I thought you..."

"I did," he said, wishing he didn't feel this annoying compulsion to set the record straight: "I didn't smoke it. But I was going to. But I didn't. Honestly."

"Okay." She considered her cookie. "Why not?"

"I—um—I dunno. Just changed my mind... didn't want to break a three month streak, I suppose."

Lily nodded. "Well, good for you. Too bad you couldn't kick the shortbread habit, yeah?"

"One step at a time there, Evans."

The witch smiled and finished her cookie. "Y'know," she said, "you can sit down if you like." For James still stood, leaning against the desk.

"Actually..." (He noted the time on the clock) "I should probably be getting back to the Common Room. I was supposed to... well... it's better if you didn't know. Plausible deniability, y'know..."

"Right." Lily nodded briskly. "Of course."

James did not move away at once, however. "Are you coming?" he asked.

The witch considered it, and then shook her head. "I don't think so. I should finish up here—point deduction documentation, y'know..."

"I'm pretty sure the points will be just as deductable tomorrow," James replied. "C'mon."

But Lily shook her head. "I'll be along soon. You go on." She slid down from the desk and turned once more to the parchment and quill she had neglected.

"Fine." More disappointed then he let on, James's hands found his pockets and he started for the door. He paused there, though, and turned back. "Listen, Evans..."

"Mhm?" She looked over her shoulder at the Marauder.

"I'm sorry that—people let you down... but they do that, y'know."

Lily chewed her lip. She didn't look too upset anymore. "Yeah, they do," she agreed. "But sometimes they surprise you for the better, too."

"Right, but how often does that happen?" asked James dryly. Lily smiled enigmatically, shrugging and returning to her prefect project.

"I dunno," she said, as much to the form in front of her as the Marauder behind her. "But it's happened to me twice in the last two weeks."

And that was the part of the conversation that James's brain replayed over and over again, far longer than he would ever have admitted to anyone, even Sirius.

* * *

Lily woke with a start. Stiff from over an hour of sleep on the window seat, she glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost midnight. She must have dozed off while rereading her notebook... It was almost May, and this cursed April was almost over.

She couldn't believe she'd cried in front of James Potter.

She couldn't believe she wasn't with Luke anymore.

She couldn't believe that Donna... no, she didn't want to think about that.

Glaring at Donna's bed, Lily closed the notebook and levitated it, with her quill and ink, to the desk. She glanced once more out the window at the vast, star-studded sky, and then rotated her feet around so that they touched the cold, wooden dormitory floor. April was almost over. As far as her notebook went, she could try again next month.

Moving as quietly as possible, Lily tiptoed to her bed and climbed in, pulling the blankets up to her chin. She had meant what she said to James... people did surprise her for the better sometimes; but she thought he was right, too. People were let-downs. She thought of Dorthea Grey, and Donna, and then she thought of Petunia and of Sev. Then, as her eyes grew heavy, she thought of Luke, and every insistent "_I'm fine,"_ she had declared that day, every time she'd thought of him but said nothing, every still raw emotion she had so masterfully concealed bled through, and a few tears slipped down her cheeks—just as they had consistently done for the last eleven nights.

But it was alright.

She could always stop crying tomorrow.

* * *

In the earliest hours of the first day of May, before dawn, and when the sky was still very dark, a cold wind whipped through the few green leaves beginning to sprout on Whomping Willow. The jade grasses of the Hogwarts lawn submitted to the breeze with a rushing sound, and Fang—Hagrid the groundskeeper's boarhound puppy—let out a pitiful whine.

Save for the wandering Filch and Mrs. Norris, the Hogwarts corridors were quiet and still, and at this time, before light broke, Alphard Black breathed his last and went peacefully to death.

* * *

**A/N: **I am super nervous about this chapter for some reason. _Please_ leave feedback... I'm honestly just not sure about it.

Love to the beautiful and anonymous reviewers: **hpfan, Jay, a fan, thatchesirecat, Gemz, Jennifer, Amarilla Grey****, Underbabe **(haha, Rachel from Glee! Did _not_ think of that! And it's way cool that you picked up on that line about the dangerous job, because it _is_ of significance, but no, it's not Sirius's uncle)**, popcorn, LastToFirst, 2Lazy2Login, marauderxforever, SelenaLupin, **and** LEJP **(thank you _so_ much!).

I am _so _sorry it took me this long to update! I will endeavor to do better for Chapter 20, as of now entitled "Moments" (as opposed to Chapter 6's "Conversations").

So, in the next update, canon!things abound (that is to say, things explicitly mentioned as transpiring in HP canon are referenced/occur). Mulciber takes a page out of Snape's book, Sirius fulfills one of his Chapter 13 prophecies for 1976, Snape fulfills the other half of his, Mary has some emotional stuff, and Lathe's back again, but in a new capacity. Luke's got a busy schedule, too.

Reviews are Spring Break!

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	20. Moments

**A/N:** Lol, apparently my use of "Agrippa" is just pissing people off. Apparently, not everyone spends as much time on hp-lexicon as I do =P. No, but seriously, the story behind "Agrippa" as a curse is just that I wanted a word that the entire group used... like a fad, almost? I don't know—my graduating class always had a wide variety of half-invented words or phrases in our vocabulary ("slore," "Ilys," many, many more...) that we collectively used, just because we spent so much time together. Also, I'm not entirely sure that "Agrippa" isn't ever used in the exclamatory context in the HP books themselves. So, anyway, what I'm trying to say is—sorry if this is confusing. I will try to be more sensitive. =P

**Disclaimer:** Copyright Jo-Ro.

**Before:** So, Snape attacks Marlene with the Cruciatus for various convoluted reasons too complex to explain here, but Marlene agrees not to turn in Snape (for various, convoluted reasons too complex to explain here) on the condition that he makes sure nothing happens to Marlene's friends. Lily helps save Luke's death eater brother, Logan, and then Logan runs off, but not before offering Luke some kind of job (which Luke refuses). Frank and Alice resume a tentative pseudo-relationship. Snape and Mulciber look to recruit some younger students for "the cause," including Regulus Black. Stressed out and guilt-ridden Donna fights majorly with Lily. Alphard Black dies.

Chapter 20- "Moments"

Or

"Helter Skelter"

Interpersonal relationships are primarily composed of moments and of conversations.

Moments are the things that we remember: the quiet looks to interpret or misinterpret, the smiles to analyze repeatedly later, the indescribable emotions contained within a touch or gesture. Moments are the things that pester and persist, because though thousands of words are devoted to conversational explanation, it's the moments that we trust. They are the things that you can see in your mind all those years later, when the conversations have faded into an oblivion of millions and millions of words.

(Blackbird)

Sirius was suddenly very cold.

The sun shone and the sky was a cheerful shade of blue, as billowing white clouds inched across it. The scene gave every appearance of being very warm, and yet Sirius felt cold.

A gentle breeze stirred the blades of the luscious green grass under foot, and it occurred to him that he was quite alone on the massive lawn. The breeze grew stronger, until it was a mild wind that beat at the great willow tree not far off. Its branches whistled and moaned, bending to and fro dramatically.

Inexplicably afraid of what he might see, Sirius turned to look behind him... no one. Nothing. He was quite alone.

The grass stretched out a short distance in that direction, and then it stopped, coming to the halt at the end of a cliff. Perhaps that explained the cold... he was at high altitude. No longer afraid, Sirius walked towards the cliff's edge. Down the grey and white rocky slope he peered, and he could make out the base far below. Dirt: a sea of sand-colored dirt sprawled out... he'd been hoping for water, for the ocean, but there was only the dirt.

Sirius straightened up again, then glanced down at his feet: he wore his simple black school shoes—in fact, he was still wearing his Hogwarts uniform, but it was colorless. There was no house symbol on his robes, and his tie was only black.

The whistling of the wind grew louder and more pronounced, more threatening; however, Sirius noticed that the longer he stared over the precipice, the shorter the distance between his position at the top and the sand at the bottom became, till at last, it could not have been more than fifty feet.

It was the strangest thing, but staring down there (and it didn't make him dizzy at all), he felt a compulsion to... to take a single step forward off the edge. That was all it would take, he realized: just one step. One insignificant movement—swiftly, easily, complacently executed, and he would be over the edge. How simple it would be; how powerful it made him feel... that control... he was alone. He was the only one that could do it.

And so, without thinking, he took the step.

At once, the world flipped upside down. Sirius felt himself falling, falling, falling, his heart pounding in his chest. He wondered what it would feel like to hit the ground, and as the wind filled his ears, he realized the incline had been deeper than he had supposed. He continued to fall for what seemed a very long time, the scenery rushing past him in a blur of color and sound: through the wind, he could hear voices—whispers and mutterings that he couldn't quite make out, until one voice—sharper and clearer than the rest—shouted: "Sirius!" And he hit the ground with a thump.

He was alive, lying on his back and breathing heavily; the ground beneath him wasn't rough, dry dirt, as he had thought, but cool grass. He must have been falling for a long time, because it was dark now. A large, white moon hung ominously overhead amidst grey, swirling clouds and a starless black sky. He was in no more pain than he might have been if he had simply tripped backwards from ground level, except in one place—his left eye. It throbbed terrifically, and Sirius didn't have any idea why. Nothing else really hurt too badly: just that area of his face.

He lay for several seconds, and—just when he had decided he ought to move—Sirius became conscious of something wet on the back of his head. Blood, perhaps (he had fallen so far). But the liquid slowly began to spread, trickling down to his neck, and he realized it was water.

The puddle, originating at the point of his head in contact with the ground, continued to grow. It had reached his fingertips before Sirius noticed that it was not just growing outward—the water was becoming deeper, too. He realized this, and the progression quickened; he would have to move, or the water level, which had now risen above the top of his hands would envelope him completely. He tried to sit up, to push himself out of the grass, but—and at the realization of it, fear shot through him like lightning—he couldn't. He was paralyzed, and the water was rising.

In a moment, it swallowed him. The ground beneath him had disappeared, and as he lingered near the surface, Sirius could still see the blurred moon glaring down at him.

Then, he felt some force tugging at his leg, and then his arm, and then sucking his whole body downward. He couldn't breathe, and he was being pulled further down, the light above surface growing fainter and fainter. He choked, repressed tears (why did his eye ache so?), and thrashed in vain at the water about him.

He was sinking. The pressure of the water grew, pushing in on him painfully. He opened his mouth to shout, and water flooded his lungs. His energy dwindled. The glimmer of the moon in the sky was all but gone, and he found his arms too heavy to fight the force that carried him downward.

He was going to die. He was going to drown in that great, dark blue emptiness. The water grew blacker as he was pulled deeper and deeper, the pressure on every inch of his body mounting. Into the darkness, he sank further and further...

Sirius Black woke with a start. He gasped for air, and though he knew he was safe in the confines of the Gryffindor sixth year boys' dormitory, he felt around his surroundings to be sure. His warm blankets still covered him, his wand remained safe underneath his pillow, the curtains were drawn... all was normal.

It was the fourth night in a row that he'd had that drowning dream. Sirius rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers, groaning at the discomfort of having been awoken so unpleasantly. A quick look at the alarm clock on his bedside told him it was just past three in the morning.

He sank back into his pillows.

Four nights in a row. Good God. This had to stop.

(Yesterday)

Alphard Black died on May 1st.

He went during the night: a quiet, peaceful death. Healer Holloway found him—he'd taken to checking on the Professor on weekends. Black lay in his bed, comfortable and still, as though sleeping. Defense Classes were canceled that week.

"Are you coming?" asked James quietly. The Quidditch Captain wore all black robes and a grim expression, but Sirius's back was to his best friend, and he saw none of this.

"No," he replied bitterly.

It was the Thursday after (the sixth), and the two boys were alone in the dormitory. "Padfoot," James tried once more. "He would want you to be there."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "And how the hell would you know _that_, Prongs? You barely knew him. He was just your _Professor_ _Black_."

"So what you're telling me," replied James, "is that your uncle would prefer that you _didn't_ go to his wake?"

Sirius turned on him. "Yes, James. That's what I'm telling you."

James sat down on the nearest bed. "I'm staying," he announced. "I'm not leaving you alone in the castle."

"I'm not alone in the castle, and _you're_ not staying." Sirius sighed. "Listen, James, just _go_. I want to be left alone... I'm tired of sympathy and a lot of people telling me how sorry they are... like they in any way understand it."

"Some of them do, Padfoot."

"No. They don't."

"A lot of people have lost family in the war. You know that."

"Yeah, how many of them lost the only family they had?"

"Sirius, you've got family. You've got Andromeda, you've got me, you've got..."

"I haven't got shit, Potter," said Sirius apathetically. "Now get out of here. Go 'pay your respects' in Hogsmeade with the rest of the school, and _leave me alone_."

"Padfoot, it might be good for you to go. To say goodbye."

"Say goodbye to what? A mound of cold flesh in a wooden box? I don't need to say goodbye. And if you're going to be a prick, just shut your door on the way out." He lit a cigarette.

James was quiet for a long time. "I'll leave the cloak and the map if you change your mind," he said at length, getting up from the bed and starting towards the exit. "And later, when you're beating yourself up for being such a git, punch yourself once from me, yeah?" He closed the door behind him.

* * *

The memorial in Hogsmeade was not, itself, Black's funeral. It was just a service, primarily for his students, though they were by no means the only ones to attend. When it was over with, the students followed their teacher's sleek black casket, as it was levitated up the high street towards a dark, horseless hearse.

Lily walked with Severus at the same trudging pace, her green eyes moist but her cheeks dry. The only sounds, seemingly in the whole village, were of many shuffling feet on the ground.

"What are you doing when you get back up to the castle?" Severus asked in a whisper, as Black's casket reached its destination. Lily looked at the Slytherin, surprised by speech at all; it seemed an eternity since she'd heard human voice (though in reality, it had barely been twenty minutes).

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "I hadn't thought about it."

"Have you finished the Charms assignment?" Severus pressed. "The last part was a bit..." He noticed Lily's expression. "B-but we can talk about it later."

"Yes," she replied shortly. "We can."

Severus slipped away when they reached the end of the walk, and Lily started towards Marlene and Mary. She noticed James, Remus and Peter keeping to themselves a short distance away, but Sirius was conspicuously absent.

"Everyone's headed over to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer," said Mary, when Lily approached them. "McGonagall's given permission. Are you coming?"

"I suppose so."

The crowd began to disperse, with the majority of Hogwarts students moving towards the Three Broomsticks. They were a quiet group, a black-cloaked mass pushing through the dreary street. The grey sky threatened rain, and a bitter wind caused everyone to clutch their cloaks a little tighter. Even the weather seemed to mourn.

Lily stared listlessly through the crowd at her classmates' grieving faces. Professor Black had been liked by just about everyone, and that he should leave so suddenly... it just wasn't fair. It wasn't right. And poor Sirius...

Her eyes landed on Severus, who had now joined his housemates. They were muttering amongst themselves—Sev, Mulciber, Avery, and Hester—and she wondered vaguely about their topic. She found Frank and Alice walking with some other seventh years and resisted the urge to find Donna (it would only make her angry, after all). She absentmindedly scanned the crowd outside the pub (a few tear-stained third years, several somber Ravenclaws) as she, Mary, and Marlene followed the throng indoors.

The small, bronze bell over the doorway jingled as Marlene pushed the closing door open for herself and her two friends; the warm air and colors of the pub were a sharp contrast to the cold of the street, and Lily hastened to close the door behind her. She turned, pushing gently against the door, so that just before it closed, she caught sight of the street outside.

Shopkeepers who had come out to observe were resuming their usual schedules; witches and wizards who had attended the service loitered around the edges of the street, talking somberly or else keeping quiet. Professor McGonagall and Hagrid the Gamekeeper were in council near the carriages that would transport the students back up to the school, and a large tabby cat walked along the sill of a shop window down the road.

And, for the briefest of moments, near an open window across the way, Lily glimpsed a pair of dark eyes, juxtaposed in a familiar face that she did not register until a fraction of a second later when the door clicked closed. Her heart quickened and—eyes wide with shock—Lily opened the door again at once. "Where are you going?" Marlene asked, but Lily was already out on the street.

* * *

"Frank, will you go ahead?" asked Alice, glancing towards the three Marauders some distance away. "I'll meet you inside..."

The Head Boy nodded, giving her hand a quick squeeze before entering the Three Broomsticks without her. Alice, meanwhile, pulled her cloak a little closer, and quickened her pace to catch up with James, Remus, and Peter, who were headed in the opposite direction. She was nearly toppled over completely by a harried Lily Evans, but reached the three wizards just as they broke away from the thicker part of the crowd.

"James... Remus... Peter, hold up a minute..."

They did. She looked between them. "How is he?" the seventh year asked softly.

"Not fantastic," replied Remus. "We're going back up to the castle to see him now. He refused to come down."

Alice nodded. "Listen, I know you're his best mates, but if you think it'll help any, come find me, and I'll talk to him too, yeah?"

Remus smiled weakly. "Thanks, Alice. We will."

The seventh year turned and walked slowly back, eventually disappearing into the Three Broomsticks. The Marauders then continued towards the carriages.

"I dunno," Peter said as they walked. "Padfoot asked me to get the firewhiskey... he'll be right sore that I didn't."

"There's a bottle in my trunk he hasn't found yet," said James. "And you shouldn't let Sirius boss you around, Wormtail." Remus rolled his eyes. "Moony, what d'you reckon? How long do we give him before we take serious action?"

Before Remus could respond, a new voice cut in. "James?"

The Marauders turned to see a lovely, dark haired witch approaching them. She had a long thin face, with familiarly grey eyes and a tall, willowy build. She wore a black cloak with a silver clasp, and the expression on her ivory toned face was mournful. James exhaled heavily.

"Andromeda," he replied, by way of greeting.

She smiled sadly. "He didn't come?"

James shook his head. "He's not... taking it well."

The witch, Andromeda Tonks (née Black), regarded the other two Marauders for the first time. "Remus. Peter."

"Hullo, Andromeda," said Remus, and Peter nodded.

Some years their elder, Andromeda's acquaintance with the Marauders was based primarily on her cousin, their fourth companion, rather than through Hogwarts. She had been a sixth year when the Marauders started, and—what's more—a member of Slytherin house, so their contact during their mutual years at the school was minimal. However, ever since Andromeda's marriage to a muggleborn wizard and her subsequent disownment by the Black family, Sirius had made frequent visits to his favorite cousin's house over the summer holidays, bringing with him James and sometimes Remus and Peter as well.

Now twenty-three, Andromeda was as beautiful as she had been at Hogwarts, but quite different. Her still slender figure was fuller, probably the result of having a child, and the angles of her face seemed softer, less intimidating. Her eyes—nearly identical to Sirius's—were just the same though. Whatever force had graced Sirius and Regulus Black with good-looks had affected Andromeda's branch of the family similarly. Not only was she quite pretty, but her two sisters were also well-known for their looks.

Speaking of which...

"Is it safe for you to be here?" asked James, looking about the crowd on the street.

"The family isn't here," Andromeda replied sadly. "They'll be at the proper funeral, so it would... that is, I don't think I will be attending that."

"Is Ted here? And your daughter?" Peter asked, to which Andromeda shook her head.

"Ted stayed home with Nymphadora. I thought she was a little young for this, and to tell the truth, I wasn't certain it would be entirely safe." Andromeda's expression became anxious. "But... how is he?"

There was no doubt she referred to Sirius. James frowned. "Angry, mostly."

"That sounds like Sirius," sighed the witch. "Could—could you take me to him?"

James looked at Remus, who seemed to think it was a good idea. "Of course," said the former, indicating to one of the carriages nearby. "We'll take you."

Andromeda stepped into the carriage, followed immediately by the three Marauders. As the door magically closed, and their vehicle at once started up the road, Remus felt compelled to fill the silence. "I'm so sorry about your uncle, Andromeda. He was the best Defense teacher we ever had."

"Everyone loved Uncle Alphard," agreed the witch evenly. "They couldn't help it, I suppose."

The party reached the castle shortly, and James led the way through the Entrance Hall towards the great marble staircase. It felt odd conducting a non-student—a former Slytherin no less—to Gryffindor Common Room, and yet, when Andromeda courteously offered to step away while he gave the password to the Fat Lady, he insisted that it was unnecessary and meant it.

"We'll let you alone with him first," volunteered Peter when they reached the staircase to the boys' dormitories.

"I'll just show you the door," said James. He walked ahead up the spiral stair, stopping at the highest level save one and knocking on the door there.

"_Fuck off_," came Sirius's muffled, surly reply.

Andromeda turned to James. "Thank-you," she whispered, more emotively. Then, pushing open the door, she stepped inside the dormitory.

--

Donna fell back onto the blue sheets, gasping for air and reveling in the blissful emptiness of her mind.

Every inch of her body seemed to burn, and she pulled the sheets up around her, partially as an unconscious gesture to cover herself, partially because the crisp cotton was cool by comparison. She couldn't think—her brain was mush, and her heart hadn't slowed to a normal rate yet, so all that she felt was comfortable, cathartic nothingness. If only she could always feel like this. If only she could always feel so...

"Hell," Charlie breathed from somewhere beside her. Suddenly the world returned in sharp focus, and Donna wanted to hex something.

Giving herself a moment or two to return to somewhat normal (physically speaking), Donna then sat up in the bed—sheets still clutched to just below her collarbone—and glanced about for her clothing. She found her panties at the end of the bed, and since she was compelled to drop the sheets in order to get dressed, Donna turned her back on her companion before slipping into her undergarments.

"Leaving so soon?" asked Charlie. "_Really_, Shack, you make me feel cheap." Donna rolled her eyes, though the Ravenclaw could not have seen this in their current position. He still lay with his hands behind his head, nestled amongst the pillows and blankets. "You don't have to go, y'know," he continued. "I reckon everyone will be down in the Village for another two hours or so."

Donna considered it, but the annoyance of Charlie outweighed the appeal of sex. "I'm not in the mood for another go," she said simply, sliding into her skirt.

"We don't _have_ to," Charlie went on, and Donna observed that his tone lacked its usual cocky amusement. "I mean—you could sleep, if you want to."

Donna found her bra and made to fix it in place, but she struggled with the clasp a bit. "Um... no."

"Okay," said Charlie.

Suddenly, Donna felt fingers on her back, causing her to start. "Stop that!" she ordered, taken aback.

"I was only trying to help," grumbled the Ravenclaw, and now that she had fastened the clasp, Donna turned on her companion, glaring.

"I don't _need_ your help. What is _wrong_ with you today?"

"I don't know!" Charlie snapped defensively. Donna grabbed her blouse and yanked her arms through the sleeves, attacking the buttons hastily. "I just—I think this whole business... Professor Black dying and everything..." He avoided her eye. "...It's just got me thinking, that's all..."

Donna had finished buttoning but did not pick up another article of clothing, because she was too busy staring incredulously at the wizard before her. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't _know_," he repeated. "I've just been thinking."

Donna decided not to ask what he meant by his statement and commanded: "Well, stop it."

Charlie scowled. "Fine."

She finished dressing, stopping by the mirror to check that her reflection was impeccable before she left the dormitory. Charlie remained in the bed, half covered by blankets, with his arms now crossed irritably over his chest. Without anything more than a brief nod, Donna exited the dormitory and took the downward steps two at a time. By the time she had crossed the vacant Ravenclaw Common Room, she was marginally less shaken.

Charlie Plex had the philosophical and emotional capacity of a thimble. For God's sake, he felt no guilt whatsoever in cheating on his girlfriend three to four times a week, _including_ during the service for a deceased Defense teacher. The boy (and his "thinking") was harmless.

Donna felt a little better when she was out of the Common Room altogether, descending the stairway from Ravenclaw Tower, which let out on the fifth floor. She started towards her own Common Room, and was halfway through constructing a story as to why she missed Professor Black's service, when she remembered that this was completely unnecessary. She needed no lie for Lily's sake. No one would be asking where she had been.

There was a brief thrill of liberated relief, followed by a depressing twinge of isolation. But really, this was a good thing. No one to make up excuses for, no one to demand why she was in a bad mood, no one to pester her with questions and conversation when all she wanted was to be left alone. Essentially, no Lily.

The dead Professor Black drifted through her mind. Professor Black, down in the Village with a few hundred people come to say goodbye. Professor Black, cold and dead and gone. By the time Donna reached the Common Room, whatever buzz had remained from her rendezvous with Charlie had vanished completely.

* * *

Sirius started at the sight of his cousin. He rose from the four-poster bed immediately. "Andromeda! What are you doing here?"

Andromeda raised her eyebrows. "Is that any way to greet your favorite cousin? Especially since you swore at me just now..."

Sirius blushed faintly and crossed the room in half a second, hugging his cousin briefly. "I'm sorry... I didn't know it was..."

"I know."

Sirius drew his wand and pointed it at the desk chair across the dorm. The clothes, books, and parchment littering it at once fell to the floor, before the chair dragged itself towards Sirius's bed. He indicated for Andromeda to take the chair and sat down on the bed again. "Why didn't you come to the service?" asked the witch, once they were both situated.

"Is that any way to greet your favorite cousin?" retorted Sirius dryly. Andromeda rolled her eyes.

"Really, Sirius."

The Marauder hesitated, and then replied quietly: "I didn't see the point." He expected to be asked to defend this position, but Andromeda merely nodded. "Why did _you_ come? It's not safe... anyone from the family might've been there, and..."

"They'll be at the funeral," replied Andromeda. "That's Saturday. But I knew they wouldn't lower themselves to such a common affair in Hogsmeade." Her lips twitched sardonically. "Anyway," she went on, "I _had_ to come if I could. I owe Uncle Alphard that much."

Sirius flinched at the name, as if it had been Voldemort's rather than that of a beloved relative. "It's not fair," he muttered. "It shouldn't have been him."

"No," Andromeda agreed. "But it was. And, if nothing else, at least you were able to spend time with him this last year."

"I wish I hadn't."

"No, you don't. Of course, if you hadn't been close, it would hurt less now, but... you must _know_ that you would have missed something that you would rather not miss. Don't you, Sirius?"

He decided not to answer, and the cousins were silent for some time. Knowing full well the purpose of Andromeda's visit but choosing to ignore this, Sirius changed the subject. "So Cissy's engaged."

"To Lucius Malfoy," confirmed the other. "Rather ironic."

Sirius snorted. "And to think, a few short years ago, I thought I would be attending _your_ pureblood fairytale wedding."

"Can you imagine?" scoffed Andromeda. "You know, I can't fathom what my life would be like if I had gone through with that. I don't suppose I ever could have, though I thought I would for a while. But after I met Ted, whether I knew it or not, that was impossible. Still, it's strange to pretend that I might have."

"And I might have been in Slytherin if I didn't meet James," said Sirius darkly. "You're right. It's difficult to fathom."

Another silence, and then Andromeda carried on: "He gave me money, you know. When I ran away with Ted, Uncle Alphard gave me gold. We were fairly broke at the time—I don't know what we would've done if he hadn't."

Sirius was suddenly very angry with his cousin for resurrecting the subject he wished to avoid. He intended to snap at her for it, but he met her eye and knew he could not. They were the signature Black family eyes: grey, clouded, framed by thick dark lashes, and marked with a certain stoniness that could never be completely eradicated. Still, Andromeda's were the only incarnation of this family trait (with a few notable and painful exceptions) that had ever shown compassion or sympathy towards him. From his mother, occasionally his father, from Regulus, from Cissy and even Bella he'd once had affection—though he was loath to admit it—but only from Andromeda had he received compassion, and he could not betray that, so instead he said: "Yeah, he gave me gold, too, when I ran away. Mum must never have found out, or she would have blasted his name off the tapestry for cert."

Andromeda agreed. "You won't forget him, will you, Sirius?" she asked meaningfully. "He never forgot _us_. He was the only one."

Sirius knew exactly what she meant by "us:" not just the two of them, but all of Alphard's nieces and nephews. Regulus, Narcissa, and Bellatrix were all faithful members of the House of Black, but all of them had been neglected somehow—perhaps not maltreated like Meda and Sirius, but forgotten in some manner nonetheless.

"I won't forget him," Sirius promised.

Andromeda remained with him for another half hour, talking about a variety of subjects, which always seemed to lead back to the Blacks or their uncle. Then, she said that she had better be leaving, as she had left Nymphadora—her four year old—with Ted, and he would be worried for her.

"He didn't want me to go to Hogsmeade either," she noted. "Not that he said so, of course, but I could tell."

Sirius felt a twinge of jealousy. At first, he supposed it was because Ted and Dora would have Andromeda, but then he thought it might be that he was jealous of Andromeda, because _she _would have Ted and Dora. There was a part of both Andromeda and Sirius that would always be Black, but _her_ part was smaller. She had a husband; _she _could take a new name and become part of a new family. Sirius would take his name with him forever.

"I love you, Sirius," said Andromeda, faltering near the door. Sirius gruffly embraced her once more.

"'Love you, Meda."

She turned, but her hand lingered on the door knob. "Don't forget about your friends, either," she said. "I never had friends like that. I don't think I ever will. Just—just don't forget about them."

* * *

She was going mad. That was the only plausible explanation. It simply wasn't possible. It simply _could not_ be.

Leaning against the outside wall of the Three Broomsticks, Lily ran both hands through her hair, closing her eyes and trying to determine whether she really believed that. It had only been a moment—less than a second—that she had _thought_ she'd seen that face... that horribly familiar face, and perhaps she had simply imagined the whole thing. Hallucinated.

Perhaps she had been thinking of her last visit to Hogsmeade and, caught up in the memory, projected an image that was not present at all.

Really, what would he be doing there? What would he be doing in the village, in the middle of a crowded street where anyone might recognize him? And she was sure she saw—or hallucinated—that he locked eyes with her: what on earth would induce him to do something so stupid? To catch the attention of one person he knew definitively could identify him?

Still, in her mind's eye, she could see his features, and a small part of Lily was firmly convinced that she had, indeed, seen him.

Breathing deeply, Lily opened her eyes again to the crowded street. A mélange of familiar and unfamiliar faces passed her, none of them the one she sought.

It was mad. It was all in her head. She'd imagined it.

That was the only logical explanation.

Because what would Logan Harper be doing in Hogsmeade?

* * *

Mary sat in the corner of a booth at the Three Broomsticks, with Marlene to her left and Adam seated directly across from them. Theirs was one of the only booths not completely full, and the vast majority of occupants were Hogwarts students. The wireless was off, and the noise of the pub had not risen above a dull, dismal roar, consisting mostly of dreary conversation about everything—from the topic at hand (Professor Black) to inconsequential, listlessly reiterated gossip.

Marlene and Adam were talking about something philosophical that Mary barely heard. Her mind and eyes drifted. She didn't _want_ to think about Professor Black being dead, or about the suddenness of mortality, or about any of the things that everyone else seemed to obsess over for the last week. She didn't want to think at all.

Her friends knew this, but Mary had the feeling none of them really understood why. They supposed it was because she was Mary—Mary, the fun one, the happy one, the careless, occasionally flakey one. And all of that was true, of course. She wouldn't deny it. But that wasn't really the reason she forced her mind towards other topics. After all, of her roommates, Mary was the only one that saw thestrals.

At the nearest table, a group of seventh years were somberly wondering what Dumbledore planned to do about a replacement. Some Ravenclaws at the bar were observing how Professor Black was the best Defense teacher they'd had at Hogwarts. A third year near the door was telling her friends that she'd never known anyone to die before (rare, considering the current state of affairs and You-Know-Who).

Mary's eyes drifted to a table close by, occupied by some Slytherins in her year. It was the strangest thing: as she looked over, she was sure she noticed several of them shift suddenly, turning their heads away from her as though they had been watching that table. She flushed. Avery and Snape she couldn't be sure of, but she was almost positive that Mulciber had been watching her—or her table, at any rate.

That was odd.

Mary looked at Marlene and Adam, but neither seemed to have noticed anything, and neither seemed to be up to anything peculiar that warranted scrutiny from some Slytherins. _She_ wasn't either—her robes weren't particularly revealing, and there were no Marauders about: the Marauders (and Lily) were the only Gryffindors in their year that the Slytherins typically concerned themselves with. Perhaps they were looking for Lily. But why should they turn away so abruptly?

Mary was quite used to members of the opposite sex looking at her: it was the curse of curves and good bone structure. She was not even a stranger to the concept that a Gryffindor-loathing snake like Mulciber should be looking at her. But there was a difference between being looked at and being watched, and she felt acutely that now, it was a case of the latter. _That_ troubled her.

* * *

It was not until supper that evening that Lily managed to locate Luke, and even then she had to wait until the meal was finished before she could actually speak with him. When, finally, the Ravenclaw rose from the table—fortuitously alone—and started out of the hall, Lily dropped her fork at once and got up to follow him. She was several steps away from Gryffindor table before she realized she hadn't the faintest idea what she was going to say. _"Hullo, Ex-Boyfriend. Thought I saw your death eater brother in town today—got any ideas what that's about?"_

Well, that would communicate what she was thinking, but it wouldn't do at all.

"Luke!" she called after the Ravenclaw, and he paused on the first step of the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall. He looked flustered and confused as she approached him, but Lily didn't have time to analyze that. Glancing about the hall to ensure that they were in reasonable confidence, Lily—ineloquently and nervously—explained herself. By the end of the short story, Luke looked sufficiently stunned, so that Lily was pretty sure what the answer to her next question would be.

"I know it's ridiculous," she continued, "but—you didn't... see him, did you?"

"Um... no." He shook his head briskly. "No. Logan wouldn't come to me now, though... not again. He's not _thick_."

Lily hesitated before she asked her next question. "Does he know... does he know that Lathe was here looking for him?" But what she meant was: _Did you tell him_?

Luke frowned. "Probably," he said. "I don't know. I'm sure he's paying attention to that sort of thing. Anyway, I'm trying not to think about it as much as possible."

"Right." Lily nodded uncomfortably; she still was not quite certain what to think. "Well, I guess... if you haven't heard anything..."

"I swear," replied Luke, "I _haven't_."

She nodded again. "Alright. You take care, Luke."

"You, too."

* * *

James, Remus, Peter, and Adam surrendered the dorm to Sirius that day and into the evening. Everyone had long since returned from the village and finished supper before the fourth Marauder made an appearance in the Common Room, which was by then busy, as students either relished the dying hours of their holiday or else hastened to finish the homework that they had put off in light of it. They still had classes the next day, after all.

Sirius ambled listlessly down the staircase, falling into an empty chair near his three friends, who all looked up in surprise at his arrival.

"I'm sorry I was a prick," Sirius mumbled, hands in his pockets and not quite meeting any of their eyes.

"I'm sorry I was pushy," replied James to the fireplace.

"Me too," said Remus.

"I'm sorry I didn't get your firewhiskey," said Peter.

Unexpectedly, Sirius grinned—sincerely, if not entirely. There was still a little bitterness in his eyes, but it was utterly absent from his tone. "I think I'm going to be okay," he stated, as though confessing a sin. "At any rate, I'm done sulking."

Peter and Remus looked relieved. James, however, hesitated. "No one's asking you to be cheerful," he said.

Sirius snorted. "Good."

Later that evening, when returning from the Kitchens—where they had gone to fetch Sirius supper—James hung back with his best friend, while Remus and Peter automatically and unquestioningly moved ahead. "I know you think you've lost your only family," James said, a bit awkwardly. "But you haven't. No matter what, we _are_ your brothers. No matter what."

Sirius nodded slowly. "I know," he said. "Thanks."

(Hey, Jude)

By Saturday, the weather had improved.

As per Frank Longbottom's somewhat secretive request, the Hogsmeade weekend had been moved to that day, and the older students of Hogwarts once again queued up in the Entrance Hall, waiting for the carriages that would convey them down to the village. Lily stood with Mary, quiet for the most part, either from the early hour or poor mood.

"Lily," said her friend, breaking the silence as the line progressed towards Filch.

"Hmm?"

"Have you noticed anything odd with the Slytherins?"

Lily glanced over at a group of said house-members, some distance away in the queue. "No odder than usual," replied the prefect. "Why? Have you?"

Mary frowned. "I keep getting the strangest feeling they're looking at me."

"They probably are," said Lily glumly. "Imagine, Dumbledore letting riff-raff like you into this school. Hogwarts is gone to the dogs these days."

"Maybe it _is_ just the usual," murmured the brunette, shaking her head. "Maybe I'm imagining things."

"Must be contagious," Lily muttered, but Mary did not hear her. The line continued to inch forward.

"_Crikey_, this is eternal," Mary grumbled after a few minutes. "I have to go to the loo. Save my spot, will you?" Lily nodded, and Mary skipped off. The redhead was alone a moment before another roommate joined her.

"Lily?" And much to the prefect's astonishment, it was Donna. Lily did not reply, but merely raised her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for the purpose of the visit. "I need to speak with you," Donna went on. "Um... away from everyone."

"I've been in the queue for ten minutes," replied Lily. "I'm not about to lose my place. If you have something to say, say it here."

But that did not appear to be a playable option for Donna. "Hey, you," she barked at the tall Hufflepuff behind them in line.

"It's _Liam_," said the boy. "_Liam Lyle_."

"Yeah, a pleasure..." began Donna impatiently.

"We've met before," the Hufflepuff went on. "Like two hundred times... we have about five classes together... partners for a term project in fourth year... played each other in Quidditch... is none of this ringing any bells?"

"Yeah, yeah." She waved an unconcerned hand. "Can you save Lily's spot for a minute?"

"Liam, you don't have t..." Lily tried to say, but Liam shrugged and cut her off.

"No, it's fine."

So, sighing, Lily followed Donna to a corner of the Entrance Hall, some distance away from the others. "So, listen," Donna resumed, once they had an acceptable degree of privacy. "I've been in a terrible mood lately, as you've undoubtedly noticed, and... the other day, when we fought, I wasn't really angry with _you_. I was angry with myself, and with... some of my recent decisions... and I took it out on you. And that was wrong." She looked almost proud of herself and waited expectantly for Lily to reply.

When Lily realized that Donna had finished talking, she crossed her arms and shifted her weight. "That's it?"

"Are you going to make me _say_ it?" pleaded the other. "Fine. I will. I'm _sorry_."

That was big, and they both knew it. An apology from Donna Shacklebolt was rare to say the least. Under different circumstances, Lily might have been touched. However...

"That's _it?"_ Lily repeated. She scoffed disbelievingly. "Really, Donna, that... that's... remarkable. Truly. You think that you can come over here, tell me some things I already know, and expect me to just forget everything you said?"

"But..."

"Yes, _you_ were in a rotten mood. Yes, _you_ were going through some stuff. But so was I, okay?" The more she said, the more she thought about that evening, and the angrier she became. "You called me self-righteous and cold when I was going through some of the most difficult experiences of my life. You were relentless, and you were cruel, and..."

"But..."

"_Let me finish_." Lily's eyes flashed. "You _mocked_ me about my dad dying. And that, Donna, does not go away just because you say 'sorry.' It may interest you to know that the rest of the world developed the ability to apologize a _lot_ younger than seventeen, so don't act like it's a magnificent accomplishment. I am not a doormat for you to walk all over. I am not going to simply grin and bear it whenever you're in foul mood. I am _done _with that. I am done with tolerating your mood swings and your inability to even _simulate_ compassion or empathy or human emotion of any kind. I am done with trying, and I'm done with _you_. I said 'don't talk to me,' and I _meant _it, because frankly, I'm still furious with you. And when I'm done being furious, I'll still mean it, because you were right. You said it yourself: we were never friends; no one who was _ever_ really my friend could possibly have treated me like that, no matter what kind of 'terrible mood' they were in. So while I _appreciate the effort_, you might as well save your breath. You don't owe me any more apologies. I'm done. I've moved on."

Donna was silent. Lily waited a moment longer and then, seeing that there was nothing left to say, returned to her place in the queue. Still silenced, Donna watched Mary return as well; she saw the tiny brunette observe the anger on her friend's face and inquire about it, to which Lily muttered something in response. Mary looked sympathetic and leaned on Lily's shoulder, patting the other shoulder consolingly.

For the first time in a very long time, Donna felt her eyes prickle curiously. She felt her chest ache and her skin burn, and with no very clear notion of doing so, she turned and hastened up the marble staircase.

* * *

_Pop_.

"Very good, Mr. Black," said the small, round wizard, whose name they had all already forgotten, and the other three Marauders applauded loudly. The wizard inspected Sirius quite carefully, as if to make sure no parts were missing, and then jotted something down on a clipboard. "And how do you feel?"

Sirius pretended to think. "I dunno. I think my spleen might be missing."

James and Peter snickered, and Remus tried to look disapproving, while Sirius smothered a grin. The wizard looked shocked. "Oh my! I'll call the Healer at once!"

"No, he's joking," said Remus quickly, stepping. "I don't think he even knows what a 'spleen' is."

The round wizard looked inquisitively at Sirius, who nodded. "Yeah, just a joke, mate. So did I pass? Does Wizarding England say I have the right to apparate?"

Still suspicious, the wizard eyed his clipboard. "It would _appear_ so..."

"Lovely," said Sirius brightly. "So, I'll just go to the desk to fill out the form, then?"

"Well..."

"Lovely."

Sirius practically skipped over to the clerk's desk to receive official documentation of his successful apparition test. "Er... very well..." wheezed the instructor, blushing. "Who's next then?" He looked expectantly at the Marauders, but James shook his head.

"Sirius was the last," he said. "'Ickle Petey here doesn't turn seventeen for two more weeks."

"Must you call me that?" sighed Peter, and James merely laughed.

"Very well," the instructor went on. "I'll just have Miss Petree send in the next applicant." Miss Petree—one of two witches sitting at the clerk's desk—scuttled into the waiting room to bring in the next person applying for their apparition license, while the Marauders waited for Sirius to finish with his forms.

"At least he's cheered up," Peter quietly observed of their friend. "It's a lucky thing we brought Andromeda to see him."

"I dunno," said Remus uncertainly. "You reckon it'll last?"

James shrugged. "He said something cheesy this morning about 'living life to its fullest.'" He sighed. "But even if Padfoot _is_ faking it, hopefully we can keep him distracted until he actually _does_ cheer up."

"That's not a terrible idea," agreed Remus.

"And at least he passed the test," Peter murmured. "I don't think he would've handled failing very well."

At that moment, Sirius turned and, holding a square of parchment identical to the ones James and Remus had just received, approached them grinning. "Fantastic. Now I can legally do what I've been doing for two years." He folded up the license and placed it in his pocket as the others had done.

"That sounds familiar," remarked Peter, while the boys made their way out of the apparition office. "Maybe because you said the same thing on your birthday about drinking..."

As they were exiting, Miss Petree returned with Marlene Price in tow. "Good luck, Price," said Sirius. "Don't mess up!"

Marlene, who looked a little ill with anxiety, made a face. "Stuff it, Black."

"Ignore him," said Remus. "You'll be _fine_."

Marlene smiled weakly, and the office door closed, separating them. The Marauders made their way outside onto the street. The village could not have looked more different than it had just two days before, when they (or three of them, anyway) had walked the same roads for Professor Black's wake. Now, the sky was blue and the sun was shining. Witches and wizards moved noisily through the streets, and Hogwarts students once again took interest in Hogsmeade's many delights.

"Where next?" asked Peter. "Honeydukes? Three Broomsticks?"

"I vote Zonko's," said James. "Supposedly they've got something new called a 'nose-biting teacup.'"

"Only _you_ would find that funny," said Remus, rolling his eyes. "Well, and Padfoot."

"_What the hell is he doing?"_ barked Sirius suddenly. He had stopped walking.

"Who?" asked Peter.

"_Snivellus_," Sirius spat. The others followed his stare across the road to where Snape stood, muttering confidentially to a younger Slytherin. But it was not just any younger Slytherin, as James realized a moment later. It was Regulus Black.

"As if my git brother isn't worthless enough," Sirius breathed furiously (he had drawn his wand), "now he's got Snape poisoning him. I'll kill him." He looked ready to do it, too.

Remus grabbed his arm. "Padfoot, no. Not here, not now. They'll take away Hogsmeade privileges."

"Moony's right," said James. Snape and Regulus continued to mutter to one another, constantly casting furtive looks around, as though afraid of being overheard. "He's not worth it. We'll get Snivellus back later."

Sirius seemed to think it over, and then he replaced his wand in his pocket. "You're right," he agreed, exhaling heavily. "We'll get him back later."

Remus looked warily to James, but the latter merely shook his head helplessly. "C'mon," he said, determined to distract their friend at once. "Zonko's."

"Zonko's," acceded Sirius, but now his grin seemed distinctly forced.

* * *

"I passed!" Marlene sang, skipping over to the Three Broomsticks table occupied by Adam McKinnon. The wizard grinned.

"I _told you_ that you would," he pointed out. "It wasn't too hard after all, was it? And look..." he held up one of two bottles from the table, "I already brought you a celebratory butterbeer."

"That," said Marlene, taking a seat, "is because you are the best." She drank deeply from the butterbeer. "So, what are we doing today?"

"It's almost two o'clock," Adam pointed out.

"Well, yes. But I was too distracted by the test all morning to be excited by Hogsmeade. Now that the Ministry of Magic has officially acknowledged my brilliance in the form of an apparition license, everything seems much better."

"Are you hungry?"

"Famished."

"Well, why don't we eat? And then we can go make fun of the people in that tacky shop next to Gladrags."

Marlene gasped. "You know me too well, Adam McKinnon."

Adam grinned. "C'mon. Let's get you fed. You can't mock on an empty stomach."

"That, my friend, is very true."

When they had finished with their late lunch, Adam and Marlene dawdled in the Three Broomsticks for some time, sipping butterbeers and debating the pros and cons of muggle sports.

"I just don't see much of a point if no one is flying," Adam argued.

"That's ridiculous," protested Marlene. "I could just as easily say that I don't see much of a point in Quidditch because no one is running."

"But running is so mundane! There's no _substance_ to a sport that doesn't involve flying."

"Of course there is! Think of all the athletic ability required! The physical exertion on the part of muggle athletes is really quite remarkable."

"I don't know. But it must be an awfully slow-moving sport, this 'football.'"

Marlene tried to explain that it was anything but slow, but Adam didn't seem convinced. At last he relented, "Well, I'll just have to take your word for it, as I've never actually seen a match. The uniforms are quite ridiculous, though."

Marlene snorted. "Oh, please. Wizards wear _robes_, for God's sake."

Adam rolled his eyes. "I will _never_ understand your bias against robes, Price."

"It's a muggle thing," she admitted, shrugging. "Anyway, I'll agree to disagree about football, so long as you know that I know I'm right."

"Well, golly, I can't argue with that," he replied sarcastically.

Marlene smirked, twirling a thread of blond hair around her index finger. They sat, saying nothing for a moment, before she observed: "Is it completely pathetic that I love this song?" in reference to the Aphrodite Belltone song ("The Ballad of the Memory Charm") playing over the WWN in the background.

"A little."

"Oh, stuff it," she replied laughingly. "The lyrics are really quite sweet, if you listen to them."

"She rhymes 'met' with 'obliviate.'"

"Yes, but she's American. They don't know how to speak properly to begin with." Marlene took a long drink of butterbeer, and when she set down her bottle, she noticed Adam watching her carefully. "Oh, I know it's my third bottle; don't mock me, McKinnon—I'm pretty sure that's your fourth."

"No, it's not that." His tone had changed; he suddenly sounded more serious—even a little uneasy. "There's—Marlene, there's something I want to talk to you about..."

"Mhm?"

"It's just..." (His eyes fixed on his butterbeer) "...I mean, for a while now..."

"Hullo, everyone!" Mary Macdonald chirped, appearing from the ether (or somewhere) with her Hufflepuff date, Stebbins, on her arm.

"Hey, Mare," replied Marlene.

"Mind if we join you?" asked the brunette, and before either could answer, she slid into the seat beside Adam, while Stebbins sat down next to Marlene. "Stebbins and I have just been to the Shrieking Shack," she went on, not noticing the uncomfortable expression on Adam's face; "silent as the grave. I think Madam Rosmerta's making it up about that place being haunted."

"I heard it's only haunted at night," said Marlene. "And not even every night."

"The dead must be awfully temperamental," sighed Mary. "Anyway, Stebbins, will you be a love and pop over for some butterbeers?" The Hufflepuff jumped to his feet and was halfway to the bar, when she called after him: "Another for Adam and Marlene as well, please!" Smiling, she turned to her housemates again: "So, what are you two up to, then?"

Marlene looked at Adam, as though she had just remembered that he had been in the middle of saying something. "Oh, Adam, you were..."

"It's not important," he insisted. "We can talk about it later."

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" asked Mary.

"No," said Adam. "No, we were just... discussing football."

"It's a wonder you weren't asleep," replied the other. "So slow-moving, muggle sports are. Quidditch is much better."

Adam cast a victorious look in Marlene's direction, and she simply rolled her eyes. However, as Stebbins returned with their butterbeers, and the conversation returned to football-verses-Quidditch, Marlene couldn't help but wonder vaguely what it was that Adam had been about to say.

* * *

"Happy Birthday," said Frank, withdrawing a square, gold-wrapped box from behind his back and handing it to Alice. The witch arched her eyebrows, smiling nonetheless.

"You already gave me a present," she pointed out, but she began to unwrap the gold paper. The pair stood in a very full Honeydukes Sweet Shop at just past three in the afternoon.

"Yes," allowed Frank. "But that was your present part _one_. This is part two."

"How many parts are there?"

"Seventeen."

"Careful, Longbottom. I'll hold you to that." Alice finished unwrapping and lifted the lid. At once, she smiled broadly at the rows of pink and white sweets in the box.

"Strawberry Softs," she said, beaming. "They're my favorite..." But of course, she realized, that must have been intentional. "Hey, do you remember that time we were trying to find these in London?"

Frank laughed. "You mean the time we walked through every _centimeter_ of Wizarding London trying to find a sweet shop that sold them, and we _finally_ found one..."

"In that _creepy _place in Chelsea!" finished Alice enthusiastically. "They were good Strawberry Softs, though..."

"Ally," said Frank, "you got sick! You vomited for about an hour!"

Alice laughed. "Yes, but they _tasted_ alright. Oh, that was the worst afternoon though. I was _so_ bloody _ill_, and I was supposed to meet your mum for the first time..."

"And you threw up on our front porch."

"And she thought I'd been drinking! Which, come to think of it, would have been a good idea."

"It certainly would've calmed the nerves," agreed Frank. Alice grinned, and, selecting a strawberry soft, popped it in her mouth.

"Want one?"

"Nah, I think there are still bits of them on my front porch..."

"Oh, hush!" She laughed and tried to shove him, but he deflected it and slipped an arm around her shoulders. She placed her newly purchased present in her handbag, and they started down a new aisle, inspecting the various items on the shelves. "Frank?"

"Mhm?"

"They don't use human blood in blood lollipops, do they?"

"I don't know."

"That would be disgusting."

"Definitely."

They reached the end of the aisle, and Alice noticed a small door between two shelves. A little gold plaque on it read _Employees Only_. "Frank?"

"Mhm?" He was examining a box of ice mice.

"Have you ever snogged in the back room of a shop?"

"No. And neither have _you_."

Alice smirked. "Do you wanna?"

Frank set down the ice mice and looked at her. "Seriously?"

She nodded, pointing towards the door. Before Frank could respond, Alice grabbed his hand and—with a quick glance at the thoroughly occupied store clerks—pulled him through after her. The door—which was fortunately unlocked—led to a short, narrow corridor, off of which were two additional doors (probably to offices) that were both closed.

Smiling mischievously, Alice turned to Frank and closed the distance between them, kissing him slowly while inching them closer to the wall behind him. She slid her handbag off her shoulder and onto the floor, before wrapping her arms around his neck. His right hand gripped her shirt at the small of her back, his left resting on her hip, and their lips moved in a rhythm learned so long ago that neither remembered exactly when.

Eventually, they emerged for air, and Alice grinned against his lips. "You taste like butterbeer," she remarked inconsequentially.

"You taste like Strawberry Softs," he replied, causing her to giggle. They locked eyes for several seconds, deaf to the hum of the shop outside. Then, unthinkingly, as if an idea had suddenly occurred to him, Frank cut the silence with: "I love you."

Alice, who had been standing on her toes, dropped to the flats of her feet. Frank seemed to realize his mistake.

"Oh, Al, I'm sorry," he said uickly. "I know, you said we weren't going to..."

"No, Frank, it's fine," she said, trying to gather her thoughts as her stomach turned fretfully. She released him, running her hands through her straightened hair. "It's... it's okay. I just..."

"No, I shouldn't be pressuring you. It just... slipped out. I'm sorry. Really. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Please. It's fine."

They were both silent for a minute, and then Frank said: "Can we just... forget this happened? We could—uh—go get another butterbeer, or see the Shrieking Shack..."

Alice exhaled. "Yes. Yes. Yeah, that's a good idea. Let's... do that."

"Okay."

Frank started for the door that would bring them back into the shop area, and Alice closed her eyes, hoping to slow her heart's panicky palpitations.

* * *

When it came to Quidditch, James Potter was a very dedicated Captain. Sometimes, his teammates thought, he was a little _too _dedicated. After all, following a long day in Hogsmeade, the last thing that the Gryffindor team wanted to do was suit up in their Quidditch gear and run a long, potentially excruciating practice. However, with the final a few weeks away, James had scheduled practice as many evenings a week that he could get the pitch and several mornings as well.

So it was that immediately after supper—around six-twenty, Adam McKinnon found himself trudging into the Gryffindor locker room, with his broomstick and sports bag, hoping against hope that Potter would be in a generous mood and let them out before nine.

On reaching the locker room, Adam thought—at first—that he was the first to arrive. However, a second look told him he was wrong. Huddled in a corner was, perhaps, the most shocking sight he had ever witnessed.

Now, having played on the Quidditch team with her for the past two years, Adam had seen Donna Shacklebolt angry. He had seen her downright furious. He had seen her raging, throwing, threatening, and hexing. He had seen her moody after a long practice, depressed after a loss, and vomiting after a celebration party. But in the six years Adam McKinnon had known Donna Shacklebolt, he had never seen her crying.

Until now.

And the strangest part of it was, she didn't seem to care. She didn't seem to care that Adam was staring at her, frozen on the spot with his eyebrows invisible under his hairline and his mouth agape, a prime target for flies. Her shoulders continued to shake, tears streaming down her soaked face, while her fingertips futilely massaged her temples. But worse than the tears was her expression; she looked so completely lost. Out of control and powerless—the opposite of everything that Donna represented.

It occurred to Adam—while he stood there in stunned silence—that Donna Shacklebolt was really very beautiful.

Oh, not like _that_. She wasn't his type (of course, Adam's type was rather exclusive, consisting of really just one person). But she had great lines—a face that might have been sculpted in marble, and with large, glassy amber eyes. And her hair fell about in an unholy mess of coal black ringlets, beyond her control even in the best of times, much less now. She was built tall, with broad shoulders and lean, strong arms that made her an exceptional chaser. And because every part of Donna seemed to be carved out of dark stone, Adam had never noticed that the witch was really quite striking, until now that she was an unsightly train-wreck.

"Shack, what's wrong?" he managed to stammer at last.

"Fuck," groaned Donna, shading her eyes with her hand. "Oh, fuck it all."

"What's wrong?" Adam asked again, stepping closer.

"I've ruined everything," she breathed bitterly. "I fucked everything up." She sniffed and shook her head. "I only had _one_ friend—one person in the world who put up with me just because she _wanted_ to, not because she was related to me or because she had to, and I—I pushed her away..." (Incredulously) "...I got rid of the only friend I had. And Professor Black's dead. He's dead, and I didn't even go to the service. I couldn't even do that. She's right. I'm heartless. I'm nothing. Everyone hates me or is scared of me and I'm... tired. I'm so fucking tired of _me_." With her elbows on her knees, her hands became entangled in her tousled hair, as she closed her eyes, allowing more tears to slip from them.

A distraught, sobbing girl is no adolescent boy's idea of a good time, and a distraught, sobbing Donna Shacklebolt was quite likely to become dangerous for any witnesses, so it is a testament to Adam's character that he did not turn and run right then. When the shock of it all had worn off a little, he walked over to the witch, sitting down on a nearby bench. He wasn't quite sure what to say—he had no sodding clue, actually—so, for a while, he said nothing at all. She continued to weep, hiccupping irregularly but saying nothing more.

At length, Donna quieted. Her breathing steadied a little, and she made no new tears. She stared listlessly into space, as though she did not realize Adam was there at all. He leaned forward and folded his hands; he still wasn't certain whether it was the right thing to do, but he felt compelled to say _something_.

"Everything's going to be alright, you know," he said with conviction. Donna shook her head petulantly, but he cut her off firmly: "It _is_."

To that, she made no reply. Instead, she made about tidying herself, drying her face and striving to tame her hair. When she had finished—and her eyes were still bloodshot and puffy, but there was nothing she could do about that—she met Adam's stare and stated: "You're in love with Marlene."

_That_ threw him completely. "Um... no, I..."

"But you are," Donna repeated, matching his prior conviction. She pushed herself up, sighing deeply. "I have to go clean up before everyone else gets here. You... you should tell Marlene how you feel."

With that, she turned and headed towards the taps. Adam, speechless and confused, did not move until James Potter and Sirius Black arrived, and it was time for practice.

(Let It Be)

Alice loathed Potions. It was one of those things that no matter how hard she worked, she would never be truly _excellent _at it. It would never come naturally to her. Sure, she managed to scrape good marks (alright, well above-average marks), but she was never able to "get the hang of it" like she had in Charms or Transfiguration. Each potion was a new battle.

Potions class on Tuesday was particularly frustrating, as Professor Slughorn had decided to partner up the seventh year N.E.W.T. students while each couple worked on different projects. Alice had been sharing a desk with Frank and thought that—since Slughorn liked them both—the potions master might pair them up. However, when he called out her surname "_Griffiths_," it was paired with "_Skively_," and Alice could not say that she was not at least a little relieved.

They had both agreed to forget Frank's declaration in Honeydukes, and Frank had more or less returned to normal, but Alice was struggling with it. She could not erase the memory, nor could she smother the discomfort she felt whenever the recollection struck her. At this point, the recollection struck her every time she saw the Head Boy, and, as a result, she found herself craving space.

Jeffrey Skively, Alice's partner, was a Hufflepuff seventh year of no discernable talents in any area, except that he was good-looking and had played—with moderate success—Beater for two years. He was off the Quidditch team now though, after a fall from his broom the previous season had caused his mother to forbid any future involvement. Anyway, that's what people said.

"See you in an hour," Alice said to Frank, picking up her bag and trudging across the room. Despite her relief, Alice was a bit jealous of Frank: he loved Potions to begin with, _and_ he had been partnered with her friend Hestia (one of the best in the class).

"Hullo," said Jeffrey cheerfully. Alice took the seat in the desk beside him.

"Hullo," she replied, as politely as possible. They had been assigned to prepare Murtlap Essence. Fortunately, Murtlap Essence was not really a _potion_, per se. Mostly, their work today would involve magically hastening the pickling process of Murtlap tentacles, and Alice thought she would be able to accomplish that pretty quickly. She laid out her potions ingredients on the table. Jeffrey did the same.

"I loathe Potions, don't you?" he asked, skimming through the ingredients list.

"Oh, _Merlin_, yes," replied Alice, grateful he felt the same. "I'll just go fetch the Murtlap tentacle from the ingredient table..."

"Oh, no, I'll do it," said Jeffrey, getting to his feet quickly. "Just a moment, then." He returned a few moments later carrying a plate of something cylindrical, yellow, and slimy that made Alice scrunch her nose in disgust. "Smells awful, doesn't it?"

"Rotten," she agreed, nodding.

Jeffrey smiled benignly, putting down the plate with the Murtlap tentacle. "So..." He clapped his hands together. "What next?"

A quarter of an hour later, while the rest of the class bustled about with their work, Alice had nothing to do. The fermentation spell required half an hour, and so she sat at her desk, staring at the sealed jar of putrid Murtlap tentacle and vinegar. Jeffrey finished putting away his things and sat down beside her.

"So, Alice," he casually began, "you dislike Potions, that's clear. What do you _like_, then?"

"Herbology, Charms, Transfiguration, Defense," replied Alice lazily, and in response to his amused look, she elaborated: "I like classes with a lot of practical application. I'm going to be an auror."

_I'm going to be an auror_. She liked that—how it sounded. Not, _I want to be an auror_ or _I'd like to be an auror_, but _I am _going_ to be one._ With Frank or Lily or Hestia, Alice was obliged to be more honest and use one of the other phrases; but she didn't _know_ Jeffrey Skively, and it was much simpler (and nicer) to say "going to be."

"Oh, really? Brilliant. Lots of hard work, though. I don't think I could handle it."

"Mmm. Yeah, it's difficult."

"I reckon I'll go into Quidditch—probably not playing. You have to be brilliant to play professionally, but there's lots to do in the Quidditch business."

"Sounds interesting," said Alice politely.

"So—why do you want to be an auror?" Skively inquired.

"Because it's the single most important profession of our time," replied Alice at once. Skively smiled. "Seriously. Who else is supposed to get rid of the death eaters?"

"Oh, no, I wasn't disagreeing." He was still smiling at her. Alice felt a little uncomfortable and returned her focus to the pickling jar.

"Alice," began Skively after a short silence, "are you and Frank Longbottom...?"

"Yes," she said quickly. "I mean: no, not exactly. What I mean is..." (What _did_ she mean? Merlin, even _she_ wasn't sure... so much for definitions), "Sort of," she finished lamely.

"Sort of?" Skively echoed. "Is that a 'yes' or a 'no?'"

"Neither. It's a 'sort of.'"

"So you're _sort of_ with Frank Longbottom?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

They were both quiet, and then Skively went on: "So... if someone else were to ask you out on a date, you would say...?" He trailed off.

Alice blushed and smiled politely. "I'm sorry, Jeffrey. You seem really nice, but I—er—I don't think that's a good idea."

Skively nodded. "Okay. That's fair." He folded his arms. "So you _are _with Frank Longbottom."

"_Sort of_. Merlin, you're rubbish at this game."

He laughed at that. Twenty minutes and one extremely difficult straining process later, the Murtlap Essence was properly extracted, bottled, and turned in to Professor Slughorn, along with the other seventh years' potions. "Very good work today, students," said the potions master, pleased by the collection of bottles sitting out before him. "Now, your assignments are not finished. I would like you to write two feet of parchment on the potion you have just turned in. For the hundredth time, this does _not_ mean that I want you to copy the summary from _Advanced Potion-Making. _I want a description of the potion, a brief history, summary of the process, and some individual analysis."

Several students groaned.

"Do not complain just _yet_," Slughorn continued. "So that I do not have to read _two_ essays on each potion, you may all work with your partner and divide the work accordingly. Due Thursday. Very well, class dismissed."

Alice held in a frustrated cry, but Skively was smiling embarrassedly at her. "This is going to be awkward because I hit on you before, isn't it?" he said, while they gathered up their things. Alice sighed.

"No," she said. "It'll be fine. Do you have any free time tomorrow so we can work on it?"

The Hufflepuff considered the matter. "I don't have any free periods, but maybe around five o'clock?"

"Five o'clock in the library?" offered Alice, and he nodded.

"Sounds perfect."

"Alright. I'll see you then."

"Bye, Alice."

She nodded, and then returned to Frank and Hestia, who were waiting for her by the door. "So how was working with Skively?" inquired the former.

"He didn't bumble it up like a Hufflepuff, did he?" asked Hestia.

"No... it was alright." Alice shrugged. "Uneventful."

* * *

Remus groaned and rolled over onto his side. His sheets were a tangled mess from his tossing and turning, and though it was well past two in the morning, he could not get to sleep. It was not from lack of exhaustion, either; the waxing moon in the sky predicted that very soon, he would be confronting what James called his "furry little problem," and he often felt this way (nauseous, aching, feverish) when the full moon was close.

He flipped over his pillow to the cool side and tried to get comfortable—tried to ignore that every inch of his body was in pain.

"Moony," whispered a voice, and Remus looked around to see Sirius pulling aside the curtains of his bed. "C'mon, mate," Padfoot continued in a croaky, just-woke-up voice. "You're going to the Hospital Wing."

"No," Remus muttered back. "It's fine. I'll just..."

"Moony," interrupted James, appearing at Sirius's side. He was pulling on a shirt and yawning. "C'mon. You've got to get some sleep tonight. Healer Holloway will have a potion."

Peter appeared too and, seeing that he was outnumbered, Remus nodded weakly. He got unsteadily to his feet and took the robe that Peter handed him.

"It's bad this month," Remus told them, as the four Marauders descended sleepily into the Common Room. "I feel like I'm going to be sick."

"It'll all be over soon," said James, clapping him on the shoulder. Remus choked back the contradiction on his tongue. It would not be over soon. Sure, in three days, he would feel like himself once more, but then, in a month, it would all begin again. And the next month, and the next month, and the month after that, for as long as he lived, it would always return. It would never be "over."

They did not run into anyone in the corridors, but James pointed out that it wouldn't matter if they had. The Marauders had a legitimate excuse for wandering the corridors tonight. The Infirmary doors were locked when they arrived, and Sirius boldly reached out and pounded on them.

"Healer Holloway will have something for you," Peter repeated sleepily, and Remus simply nodded, too exhausted to reply vocally.

However, when at last the doors opened, it was not Healer Holloway who stood on the other side. Instead, there was a witch. She looked about thirty, and she wore a dressing gown as though she, too, had been sleeping.

"Who are you?" asked Sirius.

"Poppy Pomfrey," replied the witch sternly. "Who are _you_?"

"Where's Healer Holloway?" Peter wanted to know.

"He retired."

"In the middle of the night?"

Poppy Pomfrey did not seem amused. "No. He left this morning. I expect Professor Dumbledore will be making the announcement in the morning. Now, gentlemen, I have told you what _I_ am doing here, perhaps _you_ can explain what brings you here."

The Marauders exchanged uncertain looks, and then James spoke up. "This... this is Remus Lupin..." he began, testing the waters. The witch seemed to understand at once.

"Yes, of course," she said briskly. "Bring him inside."

Relieved that this Pomfrey woman had been apprised of the situation, Remus—half leaning on Sirius and James—slumped inside. He collapsed onto a cot far from the door, while Pomfrey moved hastily into the back office, presumably to fetch a potion, though Remus wasn't sure how she knew which he might need.

When she returned with two vials, the witch felt the young werewolf's forehead and pulse. "Less than twenty four hours until the transformation," she murmured. "Do you feel nauseous?" Remus nodded. "You may have a fever, too. Here..." She handed him one of the bottles. "This will help you sleep." While Remus took the potion, Pomfrey disappeared into the office once again, returning with a slip of parchment moments later. She handed this to James.

"You boys should return to your dormitory," she told them. "If you encounter anyone along the way, you may give them that note."

"Oh." James looked a bit surprised by the courtesy of the gesture. "Thank-you."

She nodded.

James, Sirius and Peter looked to Remus once more. "We'll see you soon, mate," said Sirius, smiling encouragingly. Remus merely nodded. "Good night, Poppy," Padfoot added to the witch. She arched an eyebrow.

"_Madam Pomfrey_ will do," she replied.

"'Course, Poppy."

With that, the three sleep deprived Marauders made their way out of the Infirmary, with an indignant Madam Pomfrey frowning after them.

(Strawberry Fields Forever)

"Oh, I dunno," said Mary, shrugging, as she walked through the Charms department on Wednesday with her boyfriend, David Stebbins. "Dearborn doesn't seem too bad... Dumbledore didn't have much notice to find a substitute Defense teacher for us, after all."

"I think he favors Potter, Dearborn does," replied Stebbins indignantly. "I heard they're related."

"Everyone favors Potter," Mary pointed out. "He's ridiculously brilliant. Anyway, we've only had two classes with Dearborn. It's too early to tell."

"Even still." They reached the staircase, and Stebbins bent down to kiss her on the cheek. "I'm going to run to my Common Room before supper. Meet you in the Great Hall?"

Mary nodded cheerfully. "See you in a bit."

They moved in separate directions, Mary descending and Stebbins ascending the stair. For a Hufflepuff, Mary thought as she strolled downward, Stebbins wasn't really a bad bloke. He wasn't a patsy, like some of his housemates, and he was awfully cute. She smiled happily to herself and reached the landing of the lower floor. A dozen or so other students loitered about, including a group of Slytherin with whom Mary consciously avoided eye contact. Still, as she walked, she instinctively felt that someone was looking at her, and a quick glance towards the Slytherins told her that Mulciber was in their number. She quickened her pace.

When she was a few paces from the next staircase, Mary breathed more freely (unsure why she had been nervous in the first place) and reprimanded herself for imagining things. Then, an odd sensation overcame her.

At first, she felt lightheaded and then a little dizzy. She needed to sit down.

And yet, when Mary attempted to move towards the wall for support, she found that her legs were not functioning properly. They didn't move. She was vaguely aware that this ought to have bothered her, but it didn't. Actually, she felt nothing. Her thoughts were suddenly fuzzy, and she seemed to be weightless.

"Turn around," said a voice (the only distinct sound she could hear), and without questioning it, Mary obeyed. She turned, and the corridor stretching out before her was a blur. "Come here," said the voice, and she did. She followed the voice towards its source, and found herself standing before someone—a wizard, she thought—whose wand was pointed directly at her. "Give me your wand."

Mary pulled her wand from the pocket of her book bag where she always kept it and placed it in an outstretched hand.

"What shall I have her do next?" asked the voice laughingly. Mulciber's, she thought. For a second, her mind was clear enough to realize that she should be afraid.

_I'm under the Imperius_, she realized, before her concentration was broken by another, distant voice.

"I could think of a few things..."

There was laughter, and then Mulciber's clear, commanding voice said: "Come closer."

She didn't want to, but her will was weak compared to the force that effortlessly compelled her legs to obey the command, carrying her quite close to the group of Slytherins. More laughter. Her vision became blurrier still, and her mind less her own. Mulciber gave another order, and she had no thought of refusal. She was going to comply, when a new voice (far away and quiet, like the others) broke through.

"What's going on here?"

Then, like a splash of cold water, reality returned to her.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late," said Skively good naturedly, taking the seat opposite Alice at her library table. She merely nodded, her concentration focused on several sheets of Potions notes that she seemed to be putting in order.

"Alright, then," the witch said after a moment. "So, I was thinking we could divide up the work into two parts: summary and history of the potion and description of the process with personal analysis. Those are the four points that Slughorn wanted us to cover. Would you prefer to do the summary and history or the description and analysis?"

Skively looked taken aback. "I'm only three minutes late, and you did all of that?"

"I worked it out last night," Alice told him, her tone businesslike. "Is that alright with you, or did you have another idea?"

"No, it's fine with me," said the Hufflepuff, shrugging. "Which half would you prefer?"

Alice would have much rather taken the summary and history, as she loathed writing personal perspective pieces, but she felt impolite demanding this and shook her head indifferently. "It's up to you. I'll be fine with either."

"I'm sure you will be."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing." He smiled at her. "It was awfully decent of you to figure all this out before hand, Alice. Although, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were avoiding actually _working_ with me."

Alice arched her eyebrows. "And why would I do that?"

"I dunno... you tell me."

She rolled her eyes. "Listen, Skively..."

"Jeffrey," he corrected.

"Right. Jeffrey. I'm near the top of our year, and that's because I work hard, don't procrastinate, and get things done in an orderly fashion. It's nothing personal... just the way I operate."

"Okay," said Skively, still smiling. "I'll take the summary and history portion."

"Lovely." Alice began to pack up her things.

"Where are you going?"

"Supper," she replied, as though it were obvious. "We have our assignments. We can work on them separately and assemble them tomorrow before class."

Skively crossed his arms over the table. "I thought we were going to work on this now."

"We did. And now we're done."

"Why are you in such a hurry? Got a date?"

"_No_."

Well, not really. She had told Frank she'd meet him for supper if she got out of the meeting quickly, but that wasn't really a _date_, per se. Still, he had Head Boy work to do, so they wouldn't have much time after supper.

"Well, then, why don't we finish this up now?" Skively went on. "After all, I find that it's best to avoid procrastination." He smirked.

Alice sighed. "Fine. Half an hour, and then I'm going to supper."

"Alright," chirped Skively, unpacking supplies from his book bag. Alice once again withdrew her own notes and set them down, along with blank parchment, a quill, and some ink. She was about to get to work when Skively added: "I don't suppose you took notes last week, did you?"

"Of course I did," she replied, writing her name and the date at the top of the parchment. "Slughorn told us we would need that information for our assignment _this_ week." Skively was silent, and Alice looked up. "You didn't take notes, did you?" she asked, knowing the answer. Skively simply smiled. Alice sighed.

"Fine. Here." She handed her notes to him and took out _Advanced Potion-Making_. "I'll work on the process part first... I just need the book for that."

"Er—thanks."

"Mhm."

The pair worked in silence for several minutes, before Skively once again spoke. "So what's the deal with you and the Head Boy, then?"

Alice didn't glance up from her paper. "Twenty-two minutes and then I'm going to dinner, and taking my notes with me," she reminded him in a sing-song voice.

"_Please_, I'm halfway done already," replied Skively. Alice raised her eyebrows. "Don't worry; it's not awful. So what _is_ going on with you and Longbottom?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because I think you're cute."

Alice sighed and set down her quill. "Thank-you. That's sweet. Really. But—no. So just... no. Thanks."

"Because of Longbottom?"

"No, because of _no_."

"Good."

Alice folded her arms. "What do you mean 'good?'" she demanded.

"I dunno. It's just... he's _Frank Longbottom_."

"Astute observation."

"Oh, come on, Alice. You really don't think you could do better than Longbottom?"

Alice actually laughed aloud at that, causing Mrs. Sevoy to raise her eyebrows superciliously in their direction. She looked ready to come over to the table and correct them, but Skively sent her an apologetic frown, and she returned to her work. "Honestly, Skively," Alice whispered, leaning across the table. "Frank's Head Boy. He's near the top of our year. I'd hardly consider myself _slumming_."

"Maybe," said Skively with a shrug. "But he's not as cute as you are."

Alice rolled her eyes. "And what makes _you_ better than Frank?"

"Well," began the Hufflepuff thoughtfully. "If you were _my_ girlfriend, I wouldn't want you spending long hours in the library with a handsome Hufflepuff who hit on you during Potions." Alice scowled. "Unless... you didn't _tell_ Longbottom that I hit on you during Potions..." He trailed off, as if that was supposed to mean something.

"No, I didn't," she replied calmly. "It was of so little significance to me that I forgot it completely. And also, the only way what you said makes sense is if, when you say 'long hours' you actually mean 'exactly thirty minutes.' And, furthermore, I am not a piece of property to be told with whom I am allowed to spend hours—long or otherwise—in the library or anywhere else. So, I guess it's a good thing I'm not your girlfriend." She smiled.

"Maybe," he agreed. "But, you know, if you _were_, I wouldn't snog Carlotta Meloni."

Alice froze, her smile gone. Then, very calmly, she began to pack up her things.

"Where are you going?"

"You're joking, right?

"Alice, I didn't mean it like that," said Skively quickly. "I'm sorry. I'll promise I'll be good."

"You can just keep the notes," retorted Alice coolly. "I'm leaving."

"No, Alice." He grabbed her arm gently. "Come on, I didn't mean it."

Alice withdrew her hand. "What _did_ you mean, then?"

"Well..." Skively hesitated. "All I meant was—what is a pretty bird like you, who could probably date any bloke in the school, doing with a bloke who slept with Carlotta Meloni behind your back before?"

"Frank did not _sleep_ with Carlotta," Alice corrected. "I'm not defending what he _did_ do, but you have no idea what you're talking about."

"And he didn't want to shag her?"

She rolled her eyes again. "She's bloody Carlotta Meloni! Everyone wants to sleep with her! Hell, if the bitch hadn't tried to steal my boyfriend, _I _could probably be persuaded to sleep with her. And _stop_ imagining that, Skively."

"_Fine_."

"You have exactly seventeen minutes before I leave for supper," she continued. "So I suggest you make good use of those notes now."

"Alright, alright."

Skively obeyed for another ten minutes or so, until he broke the silence once more: "Alice?"

"For Merlin's sake, what is it?"

"Oh... sorry. I have a question on your notes…"

"Oh." Alice straightened up. "What is it, then?"

Skively slid his chair around the table, so that it was positioned on the same side as Alice's. He held out a piece of parchment and asked: "That part right there... about the regulations on hunting magical creatures... you said they started in the 1850s, but I think you meant the 1950s..."

Alice frowned. "The 1950s? No, I'm fairly certain it was earlier than that. Here..." She grabbed her bag and withdrew a book. "Check this."

"You just carry around a copy of _Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them_?"

"I do when I'm doing _homework_ with it," she replied, handing it over to him. Skively thumbed through the pages in search of the answer, while Alice resumed her own portion of the essay. He found what he was looking for a moment later and returned the book to Alice.

"1890," he told her. "We were both wrong."

"Fine," said Alice. "Although, you were more wrong."

"How do you figure?"

"You were sixty years off, and I was only forty. Also, _I_ was in the correct century."

"I don't think there's a 'more' wrong, here," Skively decided. Alice looked up from her essay to glare at him, and it was only then that she realized how close to her he was sitting. His nose was only maybe three finger widths from hers, and his eyes—which, she noticed, were brown—were boring intently into hers.

"You should... um..." She cleared her throat, "Go back to your... side of the table."

Skively did not move. "Come on, Alice," he murmured, and she could feel his breath on her face when he spoke. "You don't like me at _all_?"

"Um..." But her hormones had taken over and incapacitated her tongue from articulating what she wanted to say. "Well, I—um..."

He was leaning closer, the gap between their lips becoming less and less significant. Alice wasn't sure if she was frozen in position or if she was leaning in one direction or the other. She wasn't sure of much at all.

_He's going to kiss me. _

Skively was a hairsbreadth away, when—like a cold splash of water—reality returned to Alice.

Her eyes—and she hadn't realized they had been closed—fluttered open, and she pulled back at once. "_Stop_."

"I'm sorry," Skively apologized embarrassedly, straightening up. "I didn't mean to..."

"I have to go," said Alice quickly, grabbing her books and shoving them carelessly into her bag. "You can keep the notes... just... uh... I'll see you in class."

"Wait, Alice..."

But she was already slinging her book bag over her shoulder and hurrying out of the library.

* * *

Wishing she knew where Mary and Marlene had gotten to, Lily sat down to supper at Gryffindor table alone. Of course, she wasn't _really_ alone; there were about twenty other Gryffindors at the table. James, Sirius, and Peter sat not too far away, and Frank Longbottom was just a few seats down, with a book propped up against a pitcher of pumpkin juice as he studied intently. Still, Lily would have liked some company.

When she had dished up her food, the prefect pulled out her as of yet unread copy if _The Daily Prophet_ and glanced at the headlines. A death eater attack in Bristol—no one killed, thank Merlin—and a muggleborn Ministry official's disappearance: in other words, more of the same.

There was another story that caught Lily's eye as well. An auror had been killed attempting to deter what was vaguely dubbed "death eater activity" in London. Lily sighed and wondered glumly if Logan Harper was involved. Logan Harper: the wizard she had met three months prior, bleeding to death on a sofa.

Lily glanced towards Ravenclaw table, and though she spotted some of Luke's friends, the wizard himself was absent. She folded the paper over to read the next page, but was interrupted by the arrival of Shelley Mumps and Carlotta Meloni. They were bickering good-naturedly.

"Honestly, Shell," Carlotta was saying, as she slid into the seat on the opposite side of the table, "You can't deny that he's fit."

"Fine," Shelley relented, taking the seat beside Lily. "I'll grant you that he has nice eyes—very blue. You could get lost in them."

"I wouldn't mind getting lost in them," agreed Carlotta breathily, causing Shelley to giggle.

"But," the other continued, "he's not my type. I prefer blokes with dark hair."

"You mean you prefer blokes who are James Potter," Carlotta corrected, and Shelley blushed.

"Quiet! He'll hear!"

"He's all the way over there," said the brunette, waving her hand carelessly. "Really, Shell, I'll never understand this obsession you have with James. I mean, he's bloody gorgeous, of course, and he's a damn good kisser, too. But, dear, you never actually _speak _to him... and there are plenty of other snitches to chase."

Shelley looked indignant. "Lily, help me out," she implored, and Lily set down her paper.

"I hope you're not asking me to speak for James Potter," she quipped.

"But you understand why he's so fantastic, don't you?" Shelley half pleaded.

Carlotta scoffed before Lily could reply. "You just fancy him because he's attractive, Shell."

"_No_. It's not that at all." She looked to Lily for support. "It's _not_. Everyone can tell that James..." She said his name almost reverently, "is good-looking. But I like the things that no one else notices about him—the little things, you know?"

Lily arched her eyebrows. "Like what?"

"Well... the way he messes up his hair," said Shelly, glowing. "His smile, and his laugh, and the way he is with his friends."

"_Merlin_ you need a shag," muttered Carlotta.

"_Quiet_, you," Shelley retorted, twirling a wisp of dirty blond hair around one finger. "Do _you_ see what I mean, Lily?"

Lily shook her head. "Shelley, those aren't the _little _things. Those are the big things. Those are the... quintessential _James Potter_ things. The little things are like—how he fidgets because he can't sit still for more than a second, or how he sits in a desk like it's a cushioned chair, or holds his wand weirdly—with his index finger over the top, even though that seems like it wouldn't be enough support for a powerful spell. Or how—as anyone who has ever seen his notes can tell you—he spends ninety percent of the class time doodling in the margins. Or, y'know, that he hums a lot, but is probably completely tone deaf because he sounds _awful_. I mean, yes, he messes up his hair—but he does it so that he looks like he just stepped off a broomstick. And yeah, everyone knows about his smile and his laugh and all that rubbish, but the really funny thing is how he laughs at the most ridiculous, un-funny jokes. And with his friends... y'know, how he walks into a room and scans it to see who's around, like he's weighing his options... Or..." Lily stopped, noticing that both Carlotta and Shelley were staring at her. "I'm an observer of the human condition," she told them with dignity.

Carlotta shook her head. "You _both_ need a shag." She returned to her supper, and Shelley peered down the table at James, as though seeing him in a new light. "But really, Shell," the brunette resurrected the conversation presently, "you can't say that just because Lathe has fair hair, he's not _damn_ delicious."

"Lathe?" interjected Lily, curiously.

"Mhm, the auror," said Carlotta. "Shelley thinks he's only _alright_, whereas _I_ said he was bloody shag-able."

"What brought this up?" asked the redhead.

"Oh, he's back," said Shelley vaguely. "Didn't you know? There's about a dozen aurors back at the school... apparently they're here for security, what with all that dreadful business with the death eaters." She shook off the morbid news briskly. "I would have thought _you_ knew that, Lily," the blonde went on, "since Lathe was the one who saved Mary."

Lily nearly choked on her potato. "_Saved_ Mary? Mary Macdonald? Saved her from what? What happened?"

"I wondered why you weren't up in the dormitory with her and Marlene," said Carlotta vaguely. "You didn't hear?"

"What happened?" Lily pressed.

Carlotta leaned over confidentially. "Apparently Mulciber hexed her. I heard he used the Imperius."

"Lathe was passing by and stopped it—bawled out Mulciber too, the prick," added Shelley. "Mary's up in the dorm now,"

Lily thanked them and, abandoning both her supper and her newspaper, hastened out of the Great Hall. She was half sprinting across the Entrance Hall when a voice called out her name. She paused long enough to see one of Luke's friends—a burly, seventh year Ravenclaw—advancing towards her.

"I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, "I haven't got a minute. My friend was just..."

But the Ravenclaw didn't seem to be listening. "Lily, you haven't seen Luke, have you?" he asked. "He skived off classes, and he almost never does that, so I thought..."

"Luke?" inquired Lily, confused. "No. We broke up, Gerry; I haven't seen him. Um... listen, I have to go..."

"But..."

But Lily was already taking the steps of the marble staircase two at a time, and she didn't have the emotional energy to care why Luke had skived off classes. She reached the Gryffindor girls' dormitory in record time and found Mary seated on her bed beside Marlene.

"God, I only just found out," gasped Lily very quickly. "Are you okay? How are you feeling? Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing? Do you need...?"

"Lily, I'm fine," interrupted Mary. "Calm down, I'm perfectly alright. I was only under for a minute or two..."

"The Imperius?" asked Lily, just to be sure, and Mary nodded.

"The git attacked me when I was on my way down to supper."

"He didn't make you do anything terrible did he?" pressed the redhead anxiously.

"I don't think so, no," replied Mary. "Like I said—it was only a minute or two, and then Lathe came along. Really, Lily, it's no big deal..."

"No big deal!" cried Marlene indignantly. "Mulciber deserves a lot worse than a shouting from Lathe. He ought to be kicked out."

"She's right," Lily agreed. "That's dark magic."

Mary did not meet anyone's eye and fiddled with the hem of her skirt. "It's fine. I'm fine. No one got hurt. I'd really rather just forget about it."

"But are you _sure_ alright?" Lily asked again. "You're not in any pain at all? Maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing just in case..."

"I'm _fine_," Mary insisted, but Lily remained unconvinced. For nearly ten minutes, she continued to list off every possible side-effect of the Imperius that she had ever read, until Mary at last sighed and relented.

"Well, I _do_ have a _slight_ headache... though that might not have to do with the attack..." she added in an undertone. Lily jumped up at once.

"I'll get a potion for you from the Hospital Wing," she volunteered, and Mary smiled gratefully.

"Thank-you, sweetie."

Lily gave her an earnest, reassuring look before hastening out of the dormitory. Mary shook her head, then leaned it on Marlene's shoulder.

"I'm exhausted," she stated.

"It's only seven o'clock," Marlene pointed out. "And you haven't had supper."

"I'm not hungry."

"Mare, you should eat something..."

Mary frowned. "Well, that Lathe bloke _did_ recommend I have a bite of chocolate..."

"I've got some in my trunk."

The blonde provided a thick bar of _Honeyduke's Finest_ and the two girls ate it quietly. "How's your headache?" Marlene asked after a while.

"I don't have a headache. Lily was just stressing me out."

Marlene smiled and draped an arm over her friend's shoulder. "You're not okay though, are you?" she murmured knowingly. Mary sighed.

"I hated it," she said softly. "I hated being controlled like that. I hated feeling weak like that. I hated being at Mulciber's mercy—it was... awful. I can't describe it."

Marlene was silent for a long time. "It won't happen again," she promised finally. "Not ever, okay?"

"Okay." But she didn't sound as though she believed it. "I think I'm going to go to bed," the brunette declared presently, rising from the bed and moving to the bureau, where she opened the top drawer and withdrew a small bottle. "Sleeping potion," she explained to a curious Marlene. She collected her nightclothes and moved into the lavatory.

"If you don't need anything else," Marlene called through the door, "I'm supposed to meet Adam to work on Transfiguration."

"Go ahead," Mary replied. "Goodnight."

"G'night, Mary."

Marlene slipped out of the dormitory and descended the stair into the Common Room. She did not look around for Adam, however. Instead, she moved hastily out of Gryffindor tower, half running down the corridors and staircases until she reached the library.

She couldn't be sure that _he_ would be here, of course, but she knew he often spent evenings there, and even if he wasn't, she might be able to find someone cooperative from _his_ house who would go to their Common Room and find him for her. However, Marlene seemed to be in luck that evening, for at a table near the stacks sat the wizard she needed to see.

"Snape," the blonde said sharply, inviting herself to sit in the empty chair across from him.

The Slytherin looked up from his book. "What do _you_ want?" he snapped.

Marlene leaned over the table and spoke quietly. "You know perfectly well why I'm here," she replied furiously. "Mulciber attacked Mary."

Snape's expression was inscrutable, but something about the way his black eyes flashed suggested that maybe he _hadn't_ known. "I wasn't there," was all he said.

"We had a _deal_," bit Marlene. "You would keep your friends away from mine..."

"I _wasn't there_," Snape repeated. "I can't control everyone in my house _all the time_."

But Marlene didn't care. "If one more thing happens to one of my friends at the hands of one of _yours_, I'm going to Dumbledore."

She started to rise from the table, but Snape spoke up in a low and dangerous voice: "Don't threaten me," he warned.

Marlene glared. "Don't give me reason to," she retorted.

* * *

"Er—excuse me..." began Lily, cautiously entering the Infirmary as though it was unknown territory. The witch that Dumbledore had introduced that morning as the school's new Healer looked up from the cot that she was currently making up at wand-point.

"Yes, dear?"

"I was wondering if I could get some headache potion."

"Yes, of course," said the witch, whose title Lily thought was Madam Pomfrey. "But you will have to take it in my presence. School rules, you know..."

"Oh." Lily frowned. "But Healer Holloway never enforced that."

"Apparently not," agreed Madam Pomfrey, "as you're the fourth person to question the policy today. But I'm afraid it _is_ a board-approved rule, Miss...?"

"Evans. Lily Evans."

"Miss Evans. You see, dear, it's to prevent a student from storing up potions that might be harmful in large quantities—or from carrying them to other students, you know." She suddenly looked quite stern. "This headache potion is for_ you_, isn't it Miss Evans?"

Lily cleared her throat nervously. "Of—of course."

"Very well." Madam Pomfrey relaxed a bit. "I will be one moment." She walked briskly into the back office, and Lily sighed.

"So much for _that..._" She crossed her arms and glanced idly about the Infirmary. There was a young witch in one cot that looked as though she'd had a bad accident in Charms, and an older wizard sitting on a cot in the corner, who bore no visible signs of ailment. It was a moment before Lily processed who that wizard was.

"Luke?" She crossed quickly to where the Ravenclaw sat. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Lily," greeted Luke, evidently a little embarrassed. "Um—I'm fine. I hurt my arm."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Oh, nothing serious. I just—broke it a little."

"You broke your arm _a little_?" asked Lily skeptically. "Did the witch fix it?"

"Yeah, it's healed now," said Luke. "Madam Pomfrey just told me to sit here for a few minutes to make sure there was no after-pain... apparently, sometimes fixing a broken bone can cause that or something. I don't know."

"How did you break it?" pressed the witch, sitting down on the cot opposite him.

"I uh—I just fell," Luke replied, forcefully casual. "No big deal."

But Lily didn't believe him. "Your friend Gerry was looking for you," she told him. "He found me after supper—said you skived off classes. Does this have something to do with that?"

Before Luke could respond, Madam Pomfrey returned with Lily's potion and a clipboard. "No additional pain, Mr. Harper?" she asked, handing Lily the bottle. Luke shook his head. "Very well, you may leave..." Luke did not need to be told twice. He slid off the cot and hurried towards the door. Lily swallowed her potion in one gulp and tried to follow. "Miss Evans, if you would sign this..." said Madam Pomfrey. She held out the clipboard; "to sign out the potion that you just consumed."

"What? Oh... sure."

Lily grabbed the quill and scribbled her name on the first blank line. Luke had already disappeared through the infirmary doors, so—thanking Madam Pomfrey hastily—Lily jogged after him.

* * *

The three non-werewolf Marauders sat in their preferred fireplace-front chairs in Gryffindor Common Room. Peter and James were playing cards, and Sirius was flipping idly through one of James's Quidditch magazines.

"I'm hungry," grumbled Padfoot presently, and Peter snorted.

"We ate thirty minutes ago," he pointed out wryly.

"Yes, but I want more of the treacle tart," Sirius insisted. "Let's go down to the Kitchens."

"I don't want to," complained James. "Can't you wait?"

"No," said Sirius. He added in an undertone: "We're going _out_ tonight."

"Go yourself, then," James suggested. "I'm about to slaughter Wormtail here."

"Are _not_."

"Am, too."

"Fine," said Sirius, getting to his feet. "You're rotten mates, though."

"Mhm," replied James vaguely. "Don't take too long though," he added with a significant look. "The sun sets in an hour."

"Yeah, I know." Sirius waved off James's warning and slipped through the portrait hole.

* * *

Pacing back and forth in the Head Boy's room, Alice kneaded her hands together anxiously. Frank was nowhere to be seen, but she had decided to wait for him there. He had to return eventually, after all.

Oh, God, what was she going to do? She dreaded the prospect of telling him, but knew without a doubt that she would.

Skively had almost _kissed _her.

But she hadn't wanted him too.

Had she?

No, she hadn't. Of that, Alice was fairly certain. She hadn't wanted to be kissed. That was the strangest part of all—she hadn't wanted it, but she'd almost let it happen. She'd almost let that random Hufflepuff kiss her. And why? Because he'd flattered her. Because he was quite simply _there_.

Because he wasn't in love with her.

Alice sat down on the bed, closing her eyes and groaning. Why oh _why_ had Frank said that? Why had he uttered those three dreaded words? Weren't they happy enough without all that? Weren't they happy just being Frank and Alice, without being so official? So labeled? Why did he have to go and ruin it with _I love you_?

Nervous again, Alice rose from the bed and resumed her pacing. She kept at that for several minutes, before she became annoyed with herself once more and sat down at the desk. The entire table was covered with papers, mostly in neat stacks, but with a few scraps scattered about. She saw his Charms assignment from last week—he got an "E"—and his notes from Potions. On top of those was a smaller square of thicker, more expensive parchment; it was folded over, and Alice picked it up idly, pushing it open and reading the first few lines.

It was a note from Professor McGonagall, dated a few weeks before. Alice read the rest.

_Mr. Longbottom,_

_I received your note, and, after having conferred with the rest of the staff and Headmaster Dumbledore, we have decided that it will be quite acceptable to change the date of the students' Hogsmeade weekend from Saturday the 15__th__ to Saturday the 8__th__. Please inform the prefects of the change at the next meeting, so that they may make modifications to dates posted in the house common rooms. Thank you for your attentiveness on the matter._

_Sincerely,_

_M. McGonagall_

Alice frowned. Frank hadn't mentioned anything about this... she had particularly remarked on the advantage of the date change (what with her birthday), and he hadn't said a word. It was odd, because...

And then Alice realized what she, perhaps, ought to have realized at once.

* * *

Lily caught up with Luke at the end of the corridor, and he didn't look too pleased. "Listen, Lily," he began, taking the descending staircase, "I'm really tired... I'm just going to go to bed. Sleep this off..."

"Really?" Lily replied, following him closely. "That's funny, because last time I checked, your common room was _upstairs_." Luke didn't respond, and she demanded: "Luke, what's going on with you?"

"It's none of your business anymore," snapped the Ravenclaw, uncharacteristically harsh.

"_Luke_..." He disembarked from the staircase on the second floor corridor, and Lily continued to pursue. "How did you break your arm? Where have you been all day? Your roommates haven't seen you, and now you're being..." She stopped, remembering the _Daily Prophet _article. "Does this have to do with Logan?"

"_No_," said the Ravenclaw firmly.

Lily remained silent for a few seconds, trying to put the scattered pieces of her mind into place. Something was wrong, and she felt she ought to know what, if only she could concentrate long enough to remember.

"_Have you thought about my offer_?"

Lily's eyes flew open, and her heart quickened at that memory of those words. They were uttered by Logan Harper, almost exactly three months prior in Hogsmeade, when Lily had stayed and listened at the door.

"_Have you thought about my offer?"_

"_No, I haven't."_

"_You've got months still... good opportunity... we'll need another wand..."_

"Luke," she began, grabbing his arm to stop him. As it turned out, this was unnecessary, for Luke stopped at a corner and leaned close to the wall, apparently to catch a glimpse of what was in the next hallway without being seen himself. Lily was too distracted to even question this. "It _does_ have to do with Logan, doesn't it?" she demanded, but Luke hushed her. "Logan wanted your help with something," she went on in a whisper; "with a job."

Luke exhaled heavily. "I didn't do anything wrong," he said simply but firmly and then returned to his spying around the corner.

"Luke..."

"_Please_, Lily," he begged. "Just be quiet for a moment."

"What are you looking at?" Lily wanted to know, and she leaned around Luke's shoulder to see what he saw. Three wizards—adults, not students—stood some distance away, dawdling apparently and not doing anything particularly interesting. From their black robes and bronze badges, Lily recognized at once who they must be: aurors, the ones Shelley and Carlotta had been talking about at supper... the ones assigned to the castle's security. Lathe was not among them, but they were standing outside the room that had formerly been his office when he had stayed at the castle for the investigation at the beginning of the year. The wizards weren't saying anything, and Lily saw no more need for her silence. "_Luke_," she whispered venomously, "did you break your arm helping Logan with a job?"

Luke sighed again. "If I _had, _do you really think I would go to the Hospital Wing to have it mended, Lily?"

Well, he had a point.

"Then how did you break it?"

"I fell."

"Stop lying."

"I'm not lying."

Lily grabbed Luke's arm and pulled him around so that he had to face her. "I know I'm not your girlfriend anymore, but you _do_ owe me one explanation. Tell me the truth—was Logan in Hogsmeade during Black's wake? Did he speak to you?"

For a moment, the guarded expression that Luke had shockingly maintained throughout the conversation seemed to slip. He averted his eyes distractedly, and Lily knew the answer before he responded. Luke nodded slowly.

"I'm right about everything else, too, aren't I?" she asked in a low voice.

"No," said Luke softly. "Logan asked me to be an extra wand on the job, but I didn't do it."

"Then how did you break your arm?"

"_Casey... Saroyan_..." interrupted a voice from the next corridor, and Lily and Luke both looked around the corner to see none other than Lathe emerging from the office. He was speaking to two of the four aurors there. "What d'you hear?"

"The gate's secure," said one of the wizards. "Benton and Towler are off station security and on their way to the village. But Shacklebolt's already there." Lily started at the familiar name—it must be Donna's auror brother.

"On his own?"

"He's only stalking the perimeter."

"The anti-apparition spells are in place, and the buildings next door are evacuated," added another of the wizards.

"Do we have confirmation that Harper is inside?" asked Lathe. Lily heard Luke inhale sharply.

"With two others, yes."

Lathe nodded. "Come along. We'll floo now."

The four wizards disappeared into the office once again, and Luke wasted no time in turning and taking off in the direction from which he and Lily had just come. Lily followed, but the Ravenclaw sprinted ahead.

"Luke, stop…" Luke paused when he reached the staircase, and Lily was still a short distance back. "If you're going after your brother..."

"I can't talk, Lily. I have to... I have to go." Then, Luke hastened upward, and by the time Lily had reached the steps, he had already reached the landing above and was vanishing into the corridor. She followed again, skipping two steps at a time and arriving on the fourth floor a minute later. However, Luke was nowhere to be seen. She called his name and received no reply.

"Luke?" she once again inquired of the thin air. But there wasn't much in this wing of the fourth floor, and Luke had disappeared.

Lily paused for a moment trying to collect her thoughts. Where was Luke going? Surely he wouldn't be able to get out of the castle tonight. Especially with the aurors on security... how had he known where they would be just now? How had he broken his arm? Had Logan been involved in the attack mentioned in the newspaper? Had _Luke_?

And in spite of these unanswered questions, Lily had the strangest feeling that she knew the answer to one, pressing question... she thought she knew exactly where Luke was headed now. But _how_? And how could she stop him?

To that, Lily had an answer of her own.

James.

* * *

Cigarette lit, Sirius continued down the second floor corridor in the east wing of the castle. He walked slowly to kill time—it was still forty-five minutes or so until sunset (when curfew made it safe for Remus to be escorted down to the Whomping Willow) and in the mean time, Sirius longed for something to occupy him. He was grateful for the distraction of the full moon, but he wished it would hurry up already.

Most students had already gone up to their Common Rooms by then, and the hallways were quiet. He liked walking the corridors like this. It was ever so much more comfortable walking through the halls without hiding under the Invisibility Cloak (which was folded in the pocket of his robes for later).

The others just didn't understand—he thought, pausing and leaning against one of the corridor walls. He took a long drag from the cigarette and exhaled. James, Remus, Pete—none of them understood that he _couldn't_ just sit around and play cards. He didn't want to be left alone. Even now, when he had elected to go off on his own, Sirius loathed the blaring silence. He loathed the rare opportunity that it presented: the opportunity to hear himself think.

Footsteps sounded out from the next corridor, and Sirius put out his cigarette on a suit of armor. He pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and threw it over himself, because the only thing worse than solitude was irritating company.

The new arrival appeared a moment later, probably coming from the library, judging by the trajectory of his direction and the large book he carried under one arm. Sirius felt his blood begin to boil. His hand flew at once to the pocket of his robes and he withdrew his wand. It was a moment before Sirius remembered that the other wizard could not see him and thus continued to walk past him, as though he were alone in the hallway.

Sirius had no clear plan or design except punishment, and so, when the wizard had walked some distance beyond him, the Marauder pulled off his cloak. He flicked his wand once, and it folded itself compactly into the pocket of his robes. And then, with Regulus on his mind, Sirius called out to the wizard.

"_Snape_."

* * *

Lily burst into the Common Room to find it crowded and noisy, busy with the usual Wednesday evening activities that occupied Gryffindors. She scanned the room, locating her target almost at once in a seat near the fire.

"James," she began, rushing up to him. The Marauder was in the middle of a card game with Peter Pettigrew and looked up in surprise at her. "Uh... might I borrow you for a moment?"

"Er—okay..." The Marauder got to his feet, saying: "Be right back, Pete," before following Lily, who was already hurrying up the dormitory staircase. She took the stair that went to the boys' rooms, stopping when she reached the sixth year dorms, and then leading the way inside. "What's going on, Snaps?" asked James curiously, sitting down on the top of his desk, while Lily checked to make sure no one was around. "Everyone's out," he added. "What can I do for you?"

Lily exhaled heavily. "I hate asking," she said. "Because I really don't have any right to. But I need to borrow your map."

"My map?" James arched his eyebrows. "Why?"

"I—can't exactly tell you." She chewed her lip anxiously.

James snorted. "Did you really think that would work?"

"I sort of hoped it might," Lily sighed. "Listen, I need to find Luke. He—disappeared on the fourth floor. I don't know where he went, but I think he's in some kind of trouble."

James considered Lily carefully, his arms folded across his chest; then, the Marauder rose and crossed to his trunk. He opened it and withdrew some folded parchment that Lily recognized as the Marauders' Map. Still, James did not give it to her at once.

"The fourth floor, you say?" he asked, and Lily nodded. James drew his wand, tapped the parchment, and muttered its passwords. Then, he unfolded the map in a certain way, presumably the reveal the correct part of the castle, examining it carefully. "Yeah, I see him."

"You _do_?" asked Lily, surprised. "Where?" James held out the map to show her. The dot labeled _Luke Harper_ moved quickly along a narrow stairway that Lily did not recognize. "Where is he?" she wanted to know.

"Secret corridor," James replied casually, and off of Lily's shocked look, he added: "It's what I expected, when you said he disappeared on the fourth floor. That passage goes to Hogsmeade. Not very efficiently, I might add. There are much better routes, but I expect Harper doesn't know about those. That one there starts on the fourth floor, behind the stone troll statue, but it takes forever to get down to the village, and Filch knows about it, so he and Mrs. Norris keep a keen eye on it. It's pretty simple to find, though. I'm not surprised Harper knows about it."

But Lily was hardly listening. "Thank-you, James. I have to go..." She started for the door.

"Wait. Wait a second." James moved in front of her to block her path. "Where are you going?"

"I have to get Luke," said Lily. "Please move."

"No. No you can't go tonight."

"What are you talking about? I have to go—Luke is... he's about to make a big mistake, and I can't let him do it. _James_, move!"

"You _can't go_," James repeated, and he looked genuinely panicked. "Seriously, Snaps, it's not safe."

"Exactly," agreed Lily, though she didn't have any idea what danger _James_ meant. "I have to get to him before he gets to Hogsmeade"

"You won't make it in time... not in time to get there before him."

"Well, I have to give it a shot." Lily tried to sidestep the Marauder, but he moved to further obstruct her path.

"What is Harper even doing in Hogsmeade?" he demanded, and when she did not reply, James added: "I _did_ let you use the map just now, remember..."

Lily sighed. "He's... that is..." Of course, she didn't know for certain, but she had a fair guess. She was almost certain that Luke was going to the Village to help his brother against the aurors, and if that was the case, Lily couldn't possibly tell James. He already claimed it was too dangerous, and he didn't even know about Logan Harper. So, she had no choice: she had to lie. "We had a fight," she said vaguely. "He got angry, and he's... going down to Hogsmeade to... stay the night in his family's old shop."

"So let him," insisted James. "He'll cool off tomorrow and come back. And I thought the two of you split."

"But—it's more complicated than that," argued Lily, thinking quickly. "The... the aurors are back in the castle and the village for security. If they catch Luke, he could be expelled. James, please, I have to go _now_."

James watched her very carefully for a moment. Then, sighing, he began to move out of the way. Lily reached for the doorknob, but James caught her hand.

"Wait. If you go—make sure you're back before the sun goes down."

Lily glanced at her watch. "Sunset's in... what? Forty five minutes? I'm supposed to make it down to the village, find Luke, convince him to come back with me, and then make it all the way back to the castle in forty-five minutes?"

The Marauder frowned thoughtfully and then withdrew the map again. He lifted a fold in the paper to reveal another portion of the castle. "Alright, look here," he said briskly. "It's the fifth floor. See that, there? It's the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. There's a passage to Hogsmeade that will get you there in half the time, compared to Harper's."

"How?"

"Well... part of it's a slide—it's a little shady, but it will get you there. The passage lets up under a bench in the back garden of the apothecary, which means you'll have to hop a fence, okay? Now, the path Harper's taking leads to the rocky area just up the high road... there's a small cave, some trees—do you know that spot I mean?" Lily nodded. "If you leave now and hurry, you should be able to beat Harper there. To move the statue of Sir Gregory on the fifth floor, you need to tap it once the head and say 'Patefacio.' Same thing on the other end, to get out the entrance in Hogsmeade. Got it?" She nodded again. James ran one hand through his hair and looked as though he was already regretting this.

"Thank-you," Lily pressed. She tried once more for the door, but James stopped her again.

"Get Harper and get back into the passage as quickly as possible," he warned sternly. "I'm serious, Evans. Make sure you're back in the passageway by sunset. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise. But what are you so afraid of?"

James did not reply. Instead, he handed her the Marauders' Map. "Take this. You'll need it."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

Lily tucked the map into her pocket. "Thank you, James."

He merely nodded and moved away from the doorway. "You should hurry. Remember: _before_ the sun goes down."

* * *

"_Adam_?" Marlene called from halfway across the Quidditch pitch. He was sitting down near half field, legs crossed as he twirled a blade of grass between his fingers. He looked up at the sound of his name.

"Marlene?" Adam straightened up a bit, and she walked towards him.

"Reg Cattermole said I'd find you here," the blonde explained, sitting down beside her housemate. "What are you doing out here? We were supposed to work on..."

"Transfiguration! Hell, I'm sorry, Mar, I completely forgot. Oh—how's Mary?"

"She's fine," Marlene dismissed. "Took a sleeping potion; she'll probably miss breakfast tomorrow." Her ironic smile was replaced quickly by concern: "Is everything okay with you? It's not exactly typical to be sitting out in the middle of the Quidditch pitch alone, is it? And, incidentally, I think curfew begins soon."

Adam hesitated. "I was just... thinking about some stuff."

* * *

For a second, Snape just looked surprised. That Sirius had called out his name at all—rather than using the Slytherin's ignorance of his position to his advantage—made little tactical sense. Sirius, however, was not thinking of tactics. He was thinking of all the things he wanted to say to the git he'd seen in Hogsmeade with _his_ brother...

Almost immediately, Snape's expression became neutral again, and he sneered at the Gryffindor. "All alone, Black? Have a fall out with your idiot mates?"

And later, Sirius would never know what force inspired the thought within him. He did not know at once what advantage it gave him; he didn't know why he said it at all, but he did. "So what if I have?" Padfoot retorted. "It's no business of yours."

Snape smirked, his hand over his pocket (his wand). He started towards Sirius. "Will they be able to spare you, sneaking around tonight like you always do? Will..." (and here, his smile became manic) "_Lupin_ be able to spare you?"

Sirius burned with rage, but he kept his expression even. Snape only _thought_ he had the upper hand here. He had no idea... no _clue_...

"I don't really care," said the Marauder calmly.

"No?"

"No."

"Or perhaps," Snape continued, "they won't be going out, since the aurors are prowling around the castle."

It was brilliant. Perfect. Fitting. The plan formed amongst the clouds in Sirius's mind, and he felt himself beginning to smirk.

"They'll be going out," he said. _He would give Snape exactly what he'd always wanted_. "And you can too, if you'd like."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, c'mon, Snivellus. Aren't you _curious_?"

Snape looked doubtful. "Why should I believe you?"

Sirius shrugged. "No one's forcing you. But I want to get back at Potter..." _Brilliant, perfect, fitting_. "...And we all know what you've wanted since day one."

"Which is what?" demanded Snape, but the anticipation in his voice was poorly masked.

Sirius took a step closer. "To find out where we go and how get there."

* * *

Exhausted from a long evening of work, Frank Longbottom trudged up the staircase towards the Head Boy's dormitory. He opened the door and was surprised to see the lights already on, until he noticed Alice sitting in the chair at the desk.

"Hey," he said. "How was your Potions meeting?" Then, he noticed her expression and began to ask, "Is something wro...?" But Alice cut him off.

"Wait, Frank, just wait. Please." She got to her feet.

"Okay..." Frank set down his book bag and approached her.

"I have three things to say," Alice continued unsteadily, not meeting his eye. "First of all: I'm sorry."

* * *

The sun was low in the sky—coloring the pitch in orange and pink light. Marlene, with her blond hair and pale skin, seemed a dozen shades of gold. Even her eyes reflected the blazing evening sun.

"Well, what were you thinking about?" she asked.

"_You should tell Marlene how you feel_," Donna's advice echoed in Adam's head. He couldn't think straight—he could never think straight with Marlene. She just looked at him with her blue eyes or laughed her easy, childish laugh or flashed her wide tomboy's smile, and his mind went fuzzy with a million unvoiced sensations.

He'd been silent, and Marlene raised her eyebrows. "Um... _Adam?"_

* * *

"...First of all," said Alice, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for wh...?"

"Please, Frank, just let me finish," she interrupted him again. Frank nodded, but he looked nervous now. "I'm sorry for how I acted in Hogsmeade the other day... when you said you loved me. I panicked. I didn't know why at the time—I thought it was because things were suddenly getting serious again, and I couldn't handle that. But the truth is, things were already serious... things are _always _going to be serious between us. That's just the way we are. It's how we're built, and no matter how much I wanted to deny it, our... relationship is never going to be casual or insignificant or... easy. I'm sorry I acted like it could be. I'm sorry I've been sending these mixed signals, and I'm sorry for how I behaved in Hogsmeade. It was... inexcusable."

"Alice, you have nothing to apologize for."

"No, Frank, I do. I really do." He wasn't making this easy. "That's the first thing. The second thing is... is about Jeffrey Skively and... me. He tried to kiss me today."

* * *

"Um... _Adam_?"

"What? Oh. Nothing. I was just, er... thinking of something I heard earlier."

Marlene looked suspicious. "What?"

"Oh... it's not important." _He _couldn't_ tell her._

"Adam..." coaxed the witch dryly. "Agrippa's sake, it's _me_. C'mon. You can tell me anything. _You_ know that."

* * *

"Alice..."

"Please, just let me get this out," she pleaded. "It's hard enough as it is. Skively almost kissed me this afternoon while we were working on Potions, and I almost let it happen. I don't _fancy_ him. I didn't even really want him to kiss me, but I was... afraid, I suppose—because you said you loved me. I thought—I thought if Skively kissed me, it would be an escape route. But that wasn't all of it. I thought about Carlotta, and how that tore me up when you kissed her. It's not as though I was trying to get even or something, but I'm just realizing for the first time what _you_ were going through last summer. We've been together since _third_ year, and we're just—just teenagers, and it's... it's only natural that you would have doubts."

"I didn't have _doubts_, Alice. I was just stupid."

"No, you _did_ have doubts. Sometimes, it's impossible _not_ to have doubts. Merlin, I've been a basket of doubts for the last month. It doesn't mean you didn't love me; you were just scared, like I was scared today. And it's okay to be scared; that's how you stop yourself from making big mistakes—from doing something you'll regret later. And, that brings me to the last thing I have to say..."

* * *

"C'mon," said Marlene. "You can tell me anything. _You_ know that."

Adam wondered vaguely if she meant it, or if she would say it if she had any idea what he wanted to say. Or perhaps she _did_ know... perhaps he was fooling himself thinking Marlene had missed what was apparently so obvious that even Donna Shacklebolt had known it without a doubt.

"Adam?" she said again.

* * *

_Brilliant. Perfect. Fitting_.

"_You _would tell me?" Snape said distrustfully. "Just like that? After all this time, you would really just give up the secret? Whatever they did, those friends of yours, it must have made you angry."

"It did," Sirius lied easily.

_Brilliant. Perfect. Fitting_.

* * *

"Ally, don't..."

"Frank, please, I'm almost done," Alice breathed. She pulled from her pocket the square of parchment she had read on his desk earlier. "I found this. McGonagall's note—about how you changed the date for Hogsmeade. You—you did that for me, didn't you?" She took his silence as an affirmation. "It's so sweet, Frank. It's so terribly _good_ of you. You don't try to impress me; you just try to make me happy, and I really don't deserve it... I've been awful. Panicking in Hogsmeade, almost kissing Skively—I've been... scared, while you've done nothing but prove that I can trust you again. And... that's what makes this so difficult now..."

* * *

Marlene waited, watching him intently.

The blood pounded in his ears. He couldn't. It might ruin everything.

But Adam knew that was all rubbish, because everything was already ruined. It had always been ruined, and, for Merlin's sake, he couldn't _not_ do it. He'd been biting his tongue for too long, and it was finally rebelling against his brain—doing exactly as it pleased.

So, without thinking, he said it.

* * *

"And... that's what makes this so difficult now."

"Don't say it," Frank burst out. "Don't do this, Alice, _please_. I should have told you about the Hogsmeade change, I know, but I just thought you might think I was... well, I don't know what I thought. It was stupid, I know. And in Honeydukes—that was... you can forget it ever happened if you want, just _please_, don't..."

He wondered why, all of a sudden, she was smiling. Tearfully, but warmly. "You're missing the point, Frank," she interrupted him. "The last thing I have to say is that... I love you."

* * *

Without thinking, he said it. "Marlene, I love you."

* * *

"I love you, Frank. I can't help it. It's just a part of me. I've always loved you, and I'm relatively positive I'm always going to..."

* * *

"Adam, wait..."

"No, I can't," he said, very rushed. "You don't understand—I've been waiting forever. I can't wait anymore. I love you. I mean I'm _in_ love with you. I've been in love with you since fourth year, and... and I know we're mates, but, Marlene, it's... impossible for me to keep acting like that's all I want. I can't do that anymore... I want to be with you."

* * *

"...So if there's any way you can forgive me for being so bloody slow on the uptake, I'd really like to be with you again, Frank. No 'sort of.' No 'maybe.' Just... together..."

* * *

It was sort of like sitting down to a familiar supper. It was like being so hungry and sitting down at the table, where the food was all spread out there before him: a meal he'd eaten five hundred times. And as he dished out the food onto his plate, he could already taste it. The first bite was already in his mouth before he'd picked up the fork.

He knew—on some subconscious level—what was coming next, and yet he couldn't breathe for the anticipation.

Marlene was silent. She was just staring at him, and Adam couldn't read her expression, but she was clearly stunned. He'd played this scene over in his head a thousand times, but now that it was happening, the reality of the thing was terrifying. It was a lot more awkward in real life. Adam's chest grew tight, and he quietly requested: "Please say something, Marlene."

* * *

Frank didn't say anything for a few seconds. Alice raised her eyebrows. "Frank?" she prompted uncertainly.

* * *

Unable to breathe for the anticipation, Lily drew her wand. She glanced at the map one more time, just to be certain that she was, indeed, alone in the corridor. She was.

She locked eyes with the statue of Sir Gregory and tapped him once on the head with her wand. "Patefacio," she murmured, just as James had instructed. A moment passed and nothing happened. Then, the statue began to tremble, before slowly sliding to the right. When it had stopped moving, a pitch black tunnel stretched out from behind its former position.

Exhaling heavily, Lily gripped her wand and the map a little tighter, and she stepped into the passageway.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Frank began slowly. "I just..." Then, he seemed to change his mind, as if now was not really the time for explanation. Instead, he walked directly up to her, pulled her close to him, and kissed her.

* * *

"There's a knot," said Sirius. His voice was empty and cold now. _Brilliant. Perfect. Fitting_. "At the base of the tree, there's an opening in the roots, and there's a large knot in the wood... impossible to miss."

Snape's black eyes burned with wonder.

"Touch the knot on the root, and the tree will freeze. That's how you get through. That's how you see what's inside."

**

* * *

**

Adam's chest grew tight, and he quietly requested: "Please say something, Marlene."

She hesitated. "I—I'm sorry, I just..."

**

* * *

**

**A/N: **Okay, I suck. No review replies for the last chapter, but I'll try to answer any specific questions you might have had sometime in the next week. A huge, huge thank-you to everyone who has read and reviewed the story. WhiteCamellia and paintthetownpurple went through and flooded my inbox with review alerts, which just always makes me happy, so thanks to them, too. But to everyone who has helped me get twenty chapters into this, I cannot express my gratitude enough. You all are amazing.

This mammoth chapter's title and opening are a throw back to the chapter "Conversations," if you're wondering. The next one is, as of now but possibly subject to change, called "Life is But a Dream" (related through title to Chapter 12). Since Chapter 21 takes place all in one night, it will probably be shorter, and I hope I can get it up here quickly... but there's a lot of action (which I am always slow to write) and I don't have much of it already done, so no promises.

Reviews are fro-yo.

Love and cookies,

Jewels


	21. Life is But a Dream

Before anyone yells at me for taking so long (and you have every right to), let me make my pathetic excuses—exams! I had finals! Also, social drama! To the max! ALSO, I'm moving this week. So that just trumps, I figure. I know, I suck, but here's the next chapter, and I'll do my best to update quicker!

Disclaimer: Copyright Jo-Ro and Pink Floyd.

**A/N:** I know I'm sort of playing cat's cradle with the timeline-according-to-canon, but I guarantee, everything will MAKE SENSE and comply with _Deathly Hallows. _I wrote this in such a way that I could include the Sirius!betrayal mostly just because I adore that story, and yes, that involves some canon tweaking, but I promise—and you'll just have to trust me—it will make canonical sense. Also, I AM aware of the 1976/77 error. This error is a result of my forgetting about that scene in DH where we get canon dates and using hp-lexicon instead. I am sorry. HOWEVER, it does not really make any difference whatsoever. Just saying. Thank you to everyone who has pointed it out, though =P.

In addition to Pink Floyd's "Brain Damage" (this chapter title) and "Eclipse" (next chapter's song), musical inspiration credit goes to the Bird and the Bee's brilliantly melodic "Polite Dance Song."

**Before: **Sirius has a recurring dream about drowning. Lily's ex, Luke Harper, has a death eater brother, Logan, who is hiding in the Harper's abandoned shop following a job; Lily and Luke overhear the auror Lathe discussing going down to the village, and Luke takes off. Lily convinces James to give her the Marauders' Map so she can follow him, but she doesn't give all the details and promises to be back in the secret passage before sunset. It's a full moon, and Sirius tells Snape how to get into the Whomping Willow because he wants to get Snape back for "corrupting" his little brother, Regulus.

Chapter 21- "...Life is But a Dream"

Or

"Brain Damage"

"_Shit_."

Lily held out her arms to steady herself once again as she nearly fell to the moist, dark floor. James hadn't mentioned that the tunnel was positively ridden with potholes, and even with her wand lit, Lily found herself tripping quite a bit. Steady again, she took a hesitant next step and then another and another, until she was confident enough to resume her quick pace through the black, narrow corridor.

(Soon)

"You'd better leave," Remus advised weakly, sitting down on the cracked wooden floorboards of the Shrieking Shack's common room. The furniture—put in place purely for show, six years prior—was all in pieces, and the floor was the only place left to sit. "The sun will be down in a few minutes, and then it's not long before... before I change."

Madam Pomfrey looked sympathetically at the pale young boy before her. "I'll just put these in the cabinet," she said, indicating to the folded clothes she had brought from the Hospital Wing. Remus nodded gratefully and leaned his head against the wall, while Madam Pomfrey placed the neatly folded clothing in a cabinet on the wall, which she proceeded to magically seal. "And—your wand?" she inquired hesitantly.

"Under some loose bricks on the hearth," replied Remus. "It's easier to find if I have one safe place I always keep it."

"Would you like me to...?"

"Oh. Thanks, yeah."

Remus gave the witch his wand, and she placed it in the referenced spot. "The moon—it sets... five o'clock, is that correct? Shall I come then?"

"You should wait until six... six-thirty," replied the other. "Just to be safe. And I—er—I might not be awake."

"Of course." Madam Pomfrey paused near the door, as though uncertain if she should say "Goodnight" or something else, but then thought better of it and left swiftly. Remus breathed heavily, ignoring his raging headache and the sick feeling in his stomach to the best of his ability. He never wore a watch on the full moon (he'd only break it, after all), but he knew it wouldn't be long now. He had only to wait.

(Passage)

Lily had been in the corridor for just over twenty minutes before it came to an abrupt end. She reached a wall of black stone, and, at first, she thought she had hit a dead end. However, an examination of the scene showed a rickety wooden ladder near the corner, and with the help of a powerful _lumos_, Lily saw that the ladder extended far upward to another landing. She thought for a moment and then put her wand between her teeth, starting up the ladder, which, in addition to squeaking forebodingly, was rather slippery.

Still, she reached the upper landing safely, and—in the wand light—Lily could just make out what looked like a trap door in the not-too-distant ceiling. There was no ladder here, but the stones in the wall were uneven enough that they could be climbed easily. Wand between her teeth again, Lily took hold of one protruding brick and slipped one foot between two others. She tested her weight, found the wall would hold her, and began the short climb upward.

When her head was inches from the trapdoor, Lily gripped a stone tightly with one hand and, with the other, withdrew her wand, tapping the wooden door once and muttering "_Patefacio_." The door did not swing open as she expected, but rather dissolved altogether. Lily felt the touch of cold air, and she could see a patch of the darkening sky.

It was not without difficulty that the witch managed to pull herself upward and out onto the ill-kept lawn, which—if James's information was correct, and she had no reason to doubt it—was that of the garden behind the apothecary shop. Her socks were soaked, and—in the better lighting—she saw that she was rather dirty from the tunnel, but Lily had no time to fret about that. She moved her legs away from the hole through which she had climbed, and almost the moment she had done so, the dirt surrounding the opening closed up again, sealing the gap quite naturally.

Lily glanced about for something with which she might mark the spot, and she located a white stone near the fence that she thought would do the trick. When the tunnel entrance was marked, she took a moment to find her bearings. There were voices coming from within the nearby shop, and since she guessed that the apothecary would be less than receptive to a strange girl appearing from his backyard, the witch moved behind a large bush before trying the fence. It was not high, and she hopped it with little trouble. She was then standing on a dusty back road (fortunately deserted) that ran parallel to the main street. From there, she could determine where to go next.

Clutching her wand, Lily jogged west towards the area James had mentioned. The sun in the sky continued to sink, and she didn't have much time.

As she traveled, Lily became aware of an audible commotion in the distance, and it grew louder and louder as she continued along the road. The houses and shops impeded her view of the high street, but from the shouts, Lily could guess the cause, and it only made her move with more urgency.

Soon, the road was a path, and then the path was merging with another, which tapered off as the terrain became greener and hillier. Lily was climbing through shrubs and over rocks soon thereafter, until she reached the spot she thought James meant. There was a small, shallow cave, low enough that Lily had to duck her head to enter. Even in the dim light, the back of the cave was quite visible at the mouth. The witch frowned, running a hand along the rough stone cave wall.

James hadn't mentioned a password for _this_ entrance... what if Luke was already through? But he'd said her passage would get her there in much better time... should she _wait_...?

Lily pointed her wand at the cave wall, tapping it once and muttering—as before, "_Patefacio_." Nothing happened. She swore under her breath and retreated momentarily, before stepping forward again and repeating the gesture, this time with the incantation of a basic dividing charm: "_Dissendium_."

The effect was immediate: not unlike the entrance to Diagon Alley in London, the stones of the cave wall began to re-arrange themselves, rolling and sliding out of the way to reveal a long, dark tunnel. Lily stepped uncertainly forward. "Luke?" she inquired of the darkness, but she was met with silence. A little louder: "_Luke?"_

Still, no response. Lily deliberated, withdrawing the Marauders' Map from her pocket, though she knew that Luke had disappeared from it some time ago. Perhaps James had given her the wrong passage entrance... it was almost impossible to tell from the map...

"_Luke!_" she shouted again, moving into the passageway. She once more received no reply and was moments from choosing between heading for the Harpers' and exploring the tunnel, when a distant voice responded.

"_Who's there?"_

Recognizing her ex's voice, Lily sighed in relief, but did not answer the demand at once. She listened carefully instead and—after a few seconds of silence—could just make out the sound of scuffling feet.

"Who's there?" Luke shouted again, and he sounded closer. Still, Lily did not reply. The footsteps ceased for several seconds before starting up again, growing louder and louder as Luke evidently approached.

When they were fairly distinct, Lily dared a response: "Luke, it's me! It's Lily!"

He would either come out and meet her or turn around and run... either was acceptable, though she rather hoped for the former. Again, the patter of Luke's feet stopped briefly before resuming, this time at a much quicker pace. He appeared at the mouth of the tunnel a minute later, breathless and serious.

"Lily? What are you doing here? How did you...?"

Lily tucked the map into her pocket before the Ravenclaw could take note of it and hurried towards him. "It doesn't matter, Luke. I know what you're doing here, and I can't let you."

"I don't have time for this," insisted Luke, trying to sidestep her. Lily moved quickly to impede his path, and he noticed that she was holding her wand. "Are you going to hex me?"

"At this moment, I have no plans to hex you," replied Lily shakily. "Please, Luke," she continued. "The aurors are down at the shop—they'll either catch your brother or they won't... what are you going to do? Go fight with them? You'll only get yourself killed or arrested or..."

Luke looked crestfallen. "You're certain? About the aurors? I'm too late?"

"Too—too late for what?"

"I only wanted to warn them," muttered Luke. He sat down on a stone near the entrance to the cave. Lily—conscious of her promise to James that she would be in the tunnel before dark, but unable to do anything about the inevitable passage of time—sat down as well. "I had to _try_." His elbows propped up on his knees, Luke rested his forehead in his hands.

"Luke," began the Gryffindor softly, "_please_. What's going on?"

Luke looked up at her with sorrowful brown eyes, fingers kneading their way through his wavy brown hair. The sun dipped below the horizon. "How long do you think he will be in Azkaban?" asked the wizard, ignoring her question. "Very long?"

"I don't know," she replied truthfully. "It depends, doesn't it? If he surrenders—if he testifies..."

"Logan is not a coward," Luke whispered. "He's not a traitor either."

Lily argued neither point. "How did you break your arm, Luke?" she asked instead. His face grew hard—stony and secretive. "Luke, please. I have to know. You _know_ I'd never be able to tell anyone."

Luke watched her carefully and then sighed. "Logan was here on the day of Black's funeral," he began with resignation in his voice and on his face. "He asked me to follow through on the job that he mentioned back in February."

"Job?"

"I don't know the details," he said vaguely. "Moving some objects—not very legal, obviously. I don't know if it was for the death eaters..."

Try as she might, Lily could not determine whether or not Luke genuinely believed that there was any possibility to the contrary. _She_ certainly did not.

"...I told him 'no,'" Luke went on. "He was angry. He said they needed another wand, and it would be a good opportunity for me. I _knew_ it was illegal—I _begged _him to turn himself in, but... he wouldn't, of course. I was afraid he would be hurt again, and this time there would be no one to take care of him. I met a few of his friends who would be on the job with him, but I didn't trust them much either, so..." he trailed off.

"So you agreed to help?" Lily finished.

"No. I told him I would wait in our old shop. If there was any trouble, they could apparate there, and I would clean them up, like before."

Lily hadn't the energy to be concerned by the twilight. Her eyes were transfixed upon Luke. "What happened?" she asked, breathless.

The Ravenclaw smiled bitterly. "There was trouble," he said. "Someone died. The others apparated to the shop. I did everything I could to clean them up, and then they—they had an argument. About me. One of them thought I must have told someone, because—because of the trouble."

_Because the aurors showed up_, Lily substituted in her mind.

"I didn't," he vowed sadly. "I didn't tell a soul. They fought about it. Logan stood up for me. He didn't believe I would tell. He _knew_ I wouldn't. He believed me. He got the others to back down, until they received a message that said there were aurors at Hogwarts again. That was this morning. Then there was another fight."

"They broke your arm?" asked Lily. "The death—er, Logan's friends?" Luke stared silently down at his hands, and suddenly, Lily understood. "It wasn't Logan's friends, was it?" she breathed. "It was Logan."

Luke flinched. "He _had to do it_, Lily," insisted the wizard. "He had to prove to the others he was loyal—that I was trustworthy! He had to make sure they believed him!"

And the look in his eyes broke Lily's heart to witness. For the first time, she understood, _actually understood_, Luke Harper. She saw the consequences of the last few months—the consequences of his conflicted loyalties over Logan, his grief for his father, his fear for his family, his disappointment in Lily. He was torn apart. The weakness she had perceived in February—his feather trigger changeability—had left him in shreds, and now he clung to one thing he had always believed in, though his own, rational brain ought to have showed him reason. Though he had broken his arm and Merlin only knew what else, Luke believed in Logan. He _had_ to.

His brown eyes were wide and dilated. He didn't—he didn't look all together _there, _and it broke Lily's heart.

"Oh, Luke," she murmured, barely able to kill tears.

"Logan _had_ to do it," Luke repeated adamantly. "He _had_ to do it. He didn't have a choice. I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine."

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay, I believe you."

"Don't _appease_ me, Lily. He _had to_ do it."

"Okay," Lily repeated, louder but in an unsteady voice. "It's okay, Luke." The light dwindled. "We have to go back to the castle," she went on, reaching over and taking his hand. "You have to get back to your dormitory. If Lathe—if anyone suspects you had anything to do with this..."

Luke, however, didn't seem to be listening. He was staring out of the cave, across the village as though searching for something. "I should have found a way to floo down here," he muttered, probably to himself. "If I had, I would have been able to warn Logan. At least Logan. I could have had him out of the shop, when the aurors showed up. How long do you think he'll be in Azkaban, Lily?"

"I don't know," Lily said again. "Luke—we have to go back to the castle. There's nothing you... nothing we can do for Logan now."

To her surprise, Luke nodded. He started back towards the now sealed passage entrance and then paused. "How did _you_ get here, Lily?"

"There's another passage," she replied. "It comes out in the apothecary garden."

Luke stared thoughtfully at the rocky floor, calculating something, before looking up at Lily again. "We should take that route."

"No," said Lily firmly. "I know what you're thinking. You can't help them, Luke! It's too late."

"We'll stay off the main road, I swear," Luke promised. "We'll take a back road. If I could just catch a glimpse—just so I know that Logan's okay."

"You can't see anything from the road," replied the other. "There's no chance, Luke."

"But you said you saw the aurors..."

"I _heard_ the aurors."

"That will be enough. Please, Lily. If there's even a slim chance..."

After a moment, it was against Lily's better judgment that she replied: "Fine." Luke exhaled, relieved. "But there are conditions. If we don't hear anything, we're not doubling back, and we're not stopping."

"Fine."

"And give me your wand."

Luke looked at her strangely. "_Lily_, you can't..."

"I don't want to summon it," she interrupted, forcing herself to speak steadily. "But, Luke, I will if I have to."

The Ravenclaw hesitated, then drew his wand and handed it to her. "Come on, then," he said, slipping past her into the open air. "Lead the way."

(Late)

"Well where do you _think_ he is?" Peter pressed.

"I don't _know_," snapped James, pacing from one end of the dormitory to the other. "If I knew, I'd tell you—or, better yet, I would go and find him. So _clearly_ I don't know."

Peter, who was seated on one of the beds, merely sighed. "Well why can't we use the map to find him?"

James temporarily ceased his nervous walking. "We—we can't. I don't have it."

Both Marauders were silent for a time, and then Peter spoke again. "You gave it to Lily when you two were up here, didn't you?" he asked quietly, and James nodded. "Why did she need it?"

"She... she just did, that's all."

"Is—is she in trouble?"

"Why do you say that?"

Peter shrugged. "You look like maybe you think she is."

James did not reply at once, but walked over to the bed and sat down beside his friend. "I don't know," he said. "I have this feeling she might be. I should've gone with her."

"Why didn't you?"

"It's just a feeling," sighed Prongs. "She said she'd be fine, and it—it shouldn't be a problem. Anyway, Moony needs us tonight. You've seen how he gets if we're not there when he transforms." James stood up again. "Which brings us back to bloody Sirius..."

"We still have time," said Peter calmly. "He'll be here. He always is."

(Road)

She held Luke's hand as they walked. It was an unromantic act, but it was not controlling either. She merely led the way—Luke half a step behind her—towards the apothecary shop, and for once, holding his hand felt natural.

Lily tensed as the voices from town became audible. Words could be made out the closer they came to the Harper's shop... she didn't hear the aurors anymore: only the chatter of spectators. From the villagers' discussion, she determined that Lathe and the aurors had put up wards to stop the death eaters from apparating or flooing. It sounded as though the aurors were going to (or already had) entered the shop... beyond that, they had only to guess.

"Luke," she pleaded, as the Ravenclaw slowed to listen better. "Please, let's hurry. If anyone sees you, you'll be in trouble."

"So will you," Luke pointed out, though he complied with the tug of her hand.

"I'm not talking about being out of the castle," said Lily. "I'm talking about if someone suspects you were involved in what happened: in Logan's _job_."

Luke was silent until they reached the apothecary. They both climbed the short fence into the back garden and moved surreptitiously behind a bush to make sure the yard was all clear. Certain that it was, Lily pulled Luke's wand from her pocket and presented it to the wizard.

He looked at her skeptically.

"I trust you," she said. Luke took the wand, and the pair moved around to the spot that Lily had marked with the white stone. She tapped the earth once with her wand and said: "Patefacio."

As before, the dirt and weeds seemed to dissolve, revealing the tunnel through which Lily had traveled not long before. Luke seemed less certain. "How do we get down?"

"The wall. There's stones... it's an easy climb. Here—_Lumos_." Her wand lit up, and she pointed it down the tunnel, revealing the wall and the dark, dank landing below. "Be careful when you land," Lily advised, as Luke positioned himself to descend. "There's another level below that's the actual tunnel, so don't just go trotting about or you'll fall."

Luke nodded and started down. Lily continued to hold the light, keeping watch on the shop as she did so. Luke was completely underground but still climbing the wall when she thought she heard a voice much closer than the Harpers' shop.

"Someone's coming," she muttered.

"_What_?" asked Luke. "I'll jump to the bottom."

There was no time, though, and Lily knew it. She could hear the handle of shop's back door being fiddled with... they would have company in a moment, and even if she jumped into the tunnel now, the hole might not seal itself in time... the Apothecary would see it... he might even figure out where it led, and the Marauders' passage would be ruined. Plus, Luke risked exposure...

"Follow the tunnel back to the castle," Lily ordered rapidly. "I'll take _your_ passage."

"Wait, Lily..."

But she was already moving away from the hole, and the ground closed up once again. Lily made for a nearby tree, but the door was already swinging open, and an elderly wizard with a cane appeared on the steps. Lily froze, and he saw her.

The wizard drew his wand at once. "_You_, girl!" he snapped. "What are you doing in my garden?"

"Um... I'm... that is, I..."

"You shouldn' be here!" the wizard barked, ignoring her stammering. "It's dark out, girl! Don't yer know there are death eaters about?"

"W-w-well, I was just..."

"Never mind it! I know exactly what yer were doin'! Stealing my dittany leaves, weren't yer?"

"Oh, no, I was..."

"Yes, yes, yer were! Now get ya out of here, b'fore I call over those aurors to deal with yer! Hear me, girl?"

She didn't wait to see him wave his cane threateningly at her. In little more than a single movement, Lily turned and hopped the fence, jogging up the road once again. The wizard shouted after her, but his voice soon faded into the shouts from the street. The sky was quite dark, but the reflection of dozens of spells could be seen flashing against the clouds.

The road was growing narrow and dusty again before Lily slowed her pace even slightly. The nightfall stung her conscience, given her promise to James, but there was nothing to be done about it now. She had _tried_ to get into the passage, hadn't she? Anyway, she'd be in the other tunnel soon.

"Bode! Mandella!" a nearby voice rang out suddenly—from an intersecting road, Lily guessed. She slowed down at once, moving behind a tree along the side of the path. Seconds later, three wizards and a witch appeared on the road ahead of her, walking quickly. One wizard, a silver-haired man with a goatee, was the speaker, and he barked orders at the other three. "You take these roads. Robards, you join Gibbon on the west end. _No one_ leaves, y'hear?"

"_Sir_," acceded one of the wizards—presumably Robards. He started at a jog down the road in Lily's direction. The apparition wards must have prevented him from traveling magically to the other end of the road, and though the darkness and the tree collaborated to shield her from sight, as Robards passed and the silver-haired wizard continued to bark orders at the other two, Lily leaned against the trunk and sighed.

"_Shit_."

(Quiet)

How quiet the grounds became after dark.

It occurred to Severus, as he slipped out from his hiding place amongst a scattered plot of trees west of the castle, that the school was a far more enthralling place when his classmates had retreated to their dormitories and Common Rooms for the evening. Without the dull, ignorant, and idle chatter of his peers, Hogwarts was an entirely different entity. Perhaps that was why he preferred the dungeons to the Great Hall and the library to the Common Room.

The sky grew blacker and blacker. The moon would be up soon, and that was the time Black had said he would be able to get into the Whomping Willow.

Severus gazed through the treetops at the dimming sky and felt himself smile. He was almost there, now. After all of these years, just minutes remained...

He could already see James Potter's expression when he found out... found out that he _knew_...

(Idea)

"_Shit_."

The commanding auror's voice faded—he seemed to be moving back onto the high street. The other wizard and the witch, however, remained put, and Robards was headed towards the other end of road. How on _Earth_ was Lily supposed to get back to the castle?

"Shit, shit, shit..." she whispered. "Okay. Okay, get a grip, Lily. Calm down. You can do this."

She cast her eyes about, and then—spotting a gap between two shops—Lily made her best go at an idea. She glanced around the tree trunk to make sure that the coast was clear; then, moving quickly, she bolted between the two shops. There was a wooden fence spanning the narrow distance, but a ladder appeared at the flick of her wand, and Lily climbed over, dropping to the ground on the other side with an uncomfortable _Oof. _

She got to her feet quickly, wincing as she put weight on her ankle but aborting all thought of the pain. She didn't have much time.

She moved out of the alleyway and onto the high street, finding herself between a residential house and one of the lesser robe shops. The road was crowded with spectators, all staring down the street at the spectacle at the Harpers' shop. In the pushing crowd, however, Lily saw very little, and she didn't have time to dawdle for a better look. She shoved her wand into the pocket of her robes and attempted to move through the mass of villagers, all craning to get a better look at the commotion.

"Everyone indoors!" an auror was shouting as he ran up and down the road, but no one paid him any more attention than they did Lily, as she ducked through the crowd, moving against the general grain the very quickest that she could. "Inside, inside!" shouted the unfortunate auror, shooting sparks futilely into the sky. "Get inside! For your own safety, _please move indoors!_"

About a third of the onlookers shuffled half-heartedly back towards their domains, but most did not. Still, by sticking close to the shop doors, Lily could move fairly quickly—hopefully quickly enough to beat that Robards wizard...

Lily had been elbowed, kicked, and trodden upon before the crowd began to dwindle, and the shops became scarce. Here, the road split off in three directions—one led south (to where, Lily didn't know), one led to the Shrieking Shack, and the last—the path that stretched out directly in front of her—led to Hogsmeade Station. The auror sent to keep watch had not arrived yet, and Lily took this middle path at a sprint.

(Now)

It would happen soon.

Remus breathed deeply, willing himself to pay attention to anything but the imminent transformation. Perhaps more troubling was the absence of the other Marauders—they had usually arrived by this time, and he could only hope that the fact that they hadn't was not an indication of trouble. Still, while unusual, late arrivals were not unheard of: they would be there soon. They always were.

The dust lay thick on the wooden floorboards, and Remus began to trace designs with his finger. _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_, he wrote. Then, below it, he added _Moony was here, _and it made him smirk a little, because it was the sort of immature thing Sirius would do. He wiped away the last two words, replacing them with _Contra Mundum. _Below the words, he etched a circle in the dust—the moon, he surmised, because that was always in the back of his head—and then, to take his mind off things, he drew two dots for eyes and a curved line for a mouth inside the shape. It was almost an oval, really, he reflected.

The Shack creaked in the moving wind, and Remus wondered vaguely if there would be rain again. The face he had drawn stared up at him.

_ De nihilo nihil_, he wrote—it was something he'd read earlier. When he moved his finger up, the dust from the floor clung to it, soft like velvet. If he looked closely, he could see each grey, minute speck. Why did they stick together like that, anyway?

Remus held his hand flat, and with his palm smeared the picture and most of the words with it. He wished he had his watch on him so he might know the exact minute, but even without out, he was well aware that what would happen would happen soon—minutes. There were only minutes left. His stomach churned in ominous anticipation, and his head throbbed, and _if only the windows weren't boarded up, _he might see the sky.

_ Nihil, _his inscription now read.

A swift pain shot through his stomach, and Remus gripped at his sides, groaning. This time, the agony did not subside. It grew and expanded, and, with his feet, he pushed himself up against the wall. A familiar ache racked his bones and muscles and skin. He gasped for air.

It was starting now.

* * *

Sirius strolled into the boys' dormitories a little before nine o'clock.

"Where the bloody hell have you _been_?" demanded James, jumping up from his bed at once. Sirius was grinning, though, and did not seem bothered by his friend's agitation. "Moony's set to change in a few minutes! You've got the cloak, yeah?"

"I have it," Sirius confirmed, pulling out the Invisibility Cloak and dropping it on a chair. His gait was uneven and seemed far too relaxed: James realized why a moment later.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, sighing.

"Barely."

"It's not safe if you're drunk," said Peter. He had been lying on his own bed, but on Sirius's arrival, sat up. "Remember what happened last time?"

"I'm only a little tipsy, that's all," began Sirius, rolling his eyes. "Thanks for the concern, Gran, but..."

"It's fine," James interrupted. "We'll conjure you some coffee..." He did so with a wave of his wand and then crossed the room to hand over the goblet. "Drink that. We'll miss the transformation, but it's fine."

Sirius let out a great, bark-light laugh. "We'll be missing more than that tonight, Prongs."

"What do you mean?" Peter wanted to know.

Sirius's grin grew broader still. "I'm a genius," he claimed. James couldn't help but grin a little as well.

"What did you do, Genius?"

"I got Snape." Sirius took a drink of the coffee. "I figured out my revenge."

"Brilliant," replied his friend. "But that can wait for tomorrow. Tonight we've..."

"No, no." Padfoot sat down on the chair over which he had draped the cloak. "I've already done it. It's already done. In fact..." he checked his watch, "Phase two begins any minute."

He wanted to get to Remus as soon as possible, but the fact that Sirius finally seemed to be taking pleasure in something (_anything) _was enough to distract James at least momentarily. It seemed an eternity since Sirius had looked genuinely happy. He matched his friend's expression and sat down as well. "Well, let's hear it, then. What's the brilliant revenge?"

Sirius took another gulp of coffee, probably to extend the suspense. When he had placed the goblet onto the desk and shifted his chair to face the other two properly, his eyes danced with mirth. "I told Snape."

The others waited, and when no explanation came, James bewilderedly pressed: "You told him... what?"

Sirius breathed, and then elaborated with unconquerable satisfaction: "I gave him exactly what he's always wanted. I told him how to get into the Whomping Willow."

James did not understand; his smile had not quite faded when he said: "Don't be thick, Sirius. What did you do, really?" But as the words escaped, he began to read the expression on Sirius's face. It was no joke.

"Think about it, Prongs!" said Sirius enthusiastically. "He's going to go down there, get through the willow, see Moony, and—can you _imagine_? Can you _imagine _his expression?" So absorbed in his amusement was Sirius that he utterly missed the change in _James's_ expression.

"Padfoot," he half whispered, getting to his feet. "You're... you're joking, right? This is a _joke_. This _has to be _a joke..."

Because it _couldn't_ be true...

"What's wrong with _you_, Prongs?" snorted Sirius after another gulp of coffee. "Snivellus will..."

"Tell me you're joking," ordered James through gritted teeth. Sirius met his eye with defiance.

"I'm _not_. I told Snivellus how to get through the Whomping Willow." He noticed for the first time that Peter was staring at him—not with admiration or amusement, but with shock... even horror. "What _wrong _with you two?"

James ignored the question all together. He moved quickly to the window, peering out at the clouded, dark sky. "Shit," he swore, grabbing the cloak from Sirius's chair.

"Hey!" protested the slightly displaced Padfoot. "Hey, Prongs! What are you doing?"

James, already halfway to the door, wheeled around. "You told _Snape?_" he shouted. "You swear to God you told him how to get to Moony?" Sirius's expression was confirmation. "_Why? _What in _Merlin's name _would possess you to do that?"

Sirius stared, confused, between James's cold fury and Peter's shocked fright. "What do you _mean _'Why?' _You_ know why... he's Snivellus. He's..."

"He's about to get bitten by Remus is what he is!" roared James, and the dormitory seemed to shrink. The air grew tight. Beside James, everything else seemed small, quiet, and nervous, and never—not once in six years—had Sirius or Peter seen him like this. "Do you have any _idea_...? Any fucking clue what this means? Moony could go to prison... he could be killed—either one of them could be..." He made to put on the cloak, but Sirius stopped him, grabbing his arm.

"Where are you going, Prongs?"

"Where the hell do you _think_? I'm going down to stop this!"

* * *

How quiet the grounds became after dark, Lily thought.

She trudged up the slope towards the castle, tired and overheated, but grateful she had been lucky enough to get through the gates before they closed.

The sky was quite dark now, and Lily had not the energy to fret about how she would get back into the castle. She had the Marauders' Map, after all—that ought to provide her with some passage inside. Anyway, she would worry about it once she was closer to the school. She would worry about what to tell James then, too, and what to do about Luke, and what to tell Lathe should he question her again. Later. Not now. Now, she had only to enjoy the cool air on her face and the quiet of the Hogwarts landscape.

* * *

It happened just like Black said it would. Severus touched the knot amongst the roots without being bludgeoned to death by the Willow, and immediately—as promised—the tree froze. The gap was there, ready and waiting for him, and, brushing dirt from his knees, Snape took the plunge.

The landing was rough and uncomfortable, and he bruised his hands as he slid downward. When he came to a tumbling halt at the bottom, Snape groaned a little, but shook of his pain and stumbled to his feet. He had to duck at first so as not to knock his head against the low, jagged ceiling, but a tunnel stretched out before the Slytherin, and as he traveled hastily through, maneuvering became easier.

Severus had no clear idea of how long he traveled in the passageway; he slipped twice but barely felt it and moved unflinchingly on. His feet seemed to run on their own, his hands outstretched to steady himself, though he had no intentional notion of directing this. His heart beat wildly with excitement.

The thrill, the high—he'd only felt anything comparable once before, and then he had been almost too nervous, too furious, to appreciate. Now, he had time, plenty of time, to savor.

The tunnel inclined upward, steeper and steeper; he was almost climbing. His socks were drenched and there was mud underneath his fingernails. Steeper and steeper, upward. He moved too quickly—his hands were cut. All was black. Black, cold, stale air.

Then, the path stopped. A low, trapdoor beckoned.

Excitement, fear, anticipation—he couldn't breathe.

Then—

_"Snape!" _

His surname rang out, echoed, from a far away source that Severus did not need to recognize to identify. Snape drew his wand (_when had he put it away?), _lit it, and looked around. He was still alone.

"_Snape!"_

He could hear clattering footsteps. He had to hurry.

With his wand, Severus pushed open the trapdoor, and with the stony wall, he pushed himself upward. The voice from the tunnel did not repeat.

* * *

The vast lawn was beginning to level out, as Lily walked north, past the lake. Hogwarts—on its pedestal-like peak—glistened blue in the moonlight, a contrast to the dark clouds swirling around it. At her pace, she was still about ten minutes out, and perhaps she ought to have hurried a little, but Lily dreaded the thought of making the decisions she'd designated for arrival. So, hands in her pockets, she plodded onward, with the great white moon as her only lantern.

Severus found himself standing in a room—a large, dusty, derelict common room. The windows were boarded up, and he was alone. Except for the creaking of the floorboards as he walked cautiously over them, the house was quiet, completely silent, for several seconds.

Then, from upstairs (the steps were rickety and mostly destroyed), there was a crash, and Severus jumped.

His wand ready, he peered up the staircase, slowly moving in that direction.

It appeared at the top of the stairs—grey, huge, and growling. A werewolf.

The creature saw him, no question, and Severus knew why it did not attack at once—there was no need. It could close the distance between them in seconds... there was no possible way that he, Severus, could reach the trapdoor before the monster (_Remus Lupin_!) could get to him.

He was frozen for several seconds, unconscious of everything except the monster at the top of the stairs, who barred its teeth gleefully. Then, several things happened at once.

The moment the wolf started to move—to bound down to the first floor—Severus raised his wand to attack, and, in the same instant, a hand grabbed Snape's arm, pulling him forcefully back.

The wolf landed, thrashing, mere inches from where Sev had formerly stood. The Slytherin had fallen from the force with which his advocate had pulled him backwards. He slid along the dusty floor.

"The door!" shouted the voice of James Potter.

Automatically, Snape tried to protest, but he realized quickly that argument was unwise. The wolf regained the balance it had lost in the jump, and swung one of its enormous paws in the direction of the two wizards. Potter pulled Snape back again, but this time he did not remove Severus quickly enough. The monster's claws tore into his lower leg as though it were made of silk.

With a great ripping sound, the wolf pulled back, pulling blood and flesh with it.

Severus screamed out in pain, and James was pulling him again, shouting something that Snape did not understand.

James kicked open the trapdoor and very nearly threw Snape's limp, agonized form down into the tunnel. Remus the wolf advanced quickly, and James threw stunning spell at him.

The werewolf paused dizzily and then fell to the floor in a shattering, dust-raising heap. James jumped down into the tunnel with a groaning Snape.

He breathed heavily, trying to think what to do next. "Will you shut up?" the Gryffindor barked at Snape. "I'm trying to think."

But Snape's leg bled profusely, and he ignored James. As it turned out, he didn't have much time to think anyway. A rumbling sound, following by growling told them that Remus was waking from his stunning spell, for the effects were minimized given the size and power of the target. Panicked, James grabbed the side of the stone wall and tried to pull the trap door shut. He was too late.

Remus's heavy paw held the wooden door open against the shack floor. His yellow eyes fixed on James, and he readied himself to pounce.

"_Stupefy!"_ James shouted again; he did not wait to see the effect. James dropped back down to the tunnel and pointed his wand at Snape.

"Sorry, but I don't have a choice," he muttered, before adding: "_Stupefy_."

Snape finally stopped groaning as he passed out of consciousness. James ducked down and, with adrenaline-aided haste, threw the Slytherin over his shoulder. He closed his eyes and, for a moment, allowed the world around him to grow silent as he concentrated.

A familiar sensation gripped his muscles, causing them to seize up and then expand, as though he were performing a difficult stretch (magnified by ten). He felt his hair growing, tickling the back of his neck, and his heart beat slowed ever so slightly. His temperature rose, and for a moment, his thoughts were incoherent.

Then, his mind cleared again, and he set out at a sprint down the tunnel, Snape still slung over his back. However, as he ran, the sound on the stone floor was not that of his tennis-shoes, but of hooves.

Lily was close now. She had withdrawn the Marauders' Map from her pocket and was scanning for a passageway into the castle. There was a place along one of the courtyard walls that looked like it would do, but she could not be certain until she tried, and there was no indication of how she might get through. If worse came to worst, she might be able to levitate herself up to a dormitory window...

Lily returned the map to her pocket and continued across the lawn. She was at such a place that anyone looking out their window could have seen her easily, and if they were on a lower floor, they probably would have been able to identify her (well, the red hair didn't help).

Really, Hogwarts was beautiful at night—the whole thing. The dark castle, the shining lake, the perfectly stationary Whomping Willow...

Wait...

What?

Never, in six years, had Lily seen the Whomping Willow perfectly stationary. Relatively calm, yes, but never stock still.

Maybe fifty yards from the tree, Lily stopped to make sure she had seen correctly, and she had. The tree stood frozen like a statue. Confused, Lily slowly approached. Then—

"What the hell...?"

Something appeared at the base of the tree, and even in the full moonlight, Lily could not quite make out what it was. She moved closer, and she made out a shadowy figure, limp as it emerged from the roots, as though the ground were vomiting it up. The Willow shuddered, causing Lily to start, but before it began to resume its typical tossing, the branches once again froze.

The thing—_Oh, God, it looked like a body_—was completely expelled from the roots, and Lily was about to move closer, when something else appeared from the base of the tree. It was—well, she had no idea what it was, except white. Very, very white.

Before the white thing (creature?) had emerged entirely, however, the glow surrounding it seemed to fade, and only another shadowy figure remained. This one moved more easily than the other, however, actively pulling itself out onto the grass. The Willow shuddered again, but the second figure seemed to strike the tree, and it froze again.

The second figure (a person, a male, a student, she thought she could determine) staggered to his feet and grabbed the first person by the arms, dragging it towards the castle. The people—whoever they were—did not see Lily at all. She opened her mouth, fully intending to call attention to herself, when she thought better of it and remembered the map. Hands shaking, Lily pulled it from her pocket again.

_James Potter_ and _Severus Snape_.

Lily gasped.

She walked quickly, practically jogging, after them, and was once again going to call out before she caught another glimpse of the map again. A third dot (other than her own) had appeared and was emerging from the Whomping Willow.

Remus Lupin.

Lily wheeled around. The Willow began to quake again, and she was not entirely sure that she was out of its range. It did not freeze like before, however, and for a second, Lily was worried about Remus.

Wait—Remus? Hadn't he gone home for the rest of the...?

"_Lily!"_

James's voice shouted her name, and she spun around. "James, what the hell is...?"

"Lily," James interrupted, panic and anger and fear ringing through his voice, "_Run!"_

"What are you...?"

But she learned exactly what James was talking about without one word from the wizard himself. A great, bone chilling howl echoed across the grounds, and Lily looked over her shoulder. At the base of the Whomping Willow stood—stood _something_... she couldn't quite...

The tree thrashed, and the thing bounded out of its trajectory, and Lily realized exactly what it was.

The pieces fell into place. Lily grabbed her wand and followed James's instructions, breaking out into a sprint towards him.

Remus. Wolf. Snape. James. The Willow. Werewolf. _Remus_.

Oh, God.

James had long since dropped Snape's apparently unconscious form, and, much to Lily's horror, he was now running... not away from the wolf, but directly towards it.

"_James_!"

"_Get Snape up to the castle and wait for me!"_ James shouted as he passed her. Lily, five or six paces from Snape still, stopped and turned to see what James thought he could accomplish verses a werewolf (even one that may or may not have been his best friend), but James was gone. In his place, galloping towards the werewolf, was the giant white creature Lily had glimpsed earlier.

A stag.

"_Shit_."

Lily stumbled towards Snape. His leg was bleeding, and he was pale. She collapsed onto the grass beside him, tapping his face frantically and muttering, "_Wake up, wake up_, _wake up, Sev, please_..."

If she had been thinking more clearly, she would have used magic, but Lily's attention was torn between her unconscious friend and the werewolf and the stag, who seemed to be something between playing and fighting, all the while dodging attacks from the tree. So, instead, Lily pointed her wand at Snape and said, "_Wingardium leviosa_."

His body became stiff and rose several inches from the ground. Lily staggered to her feet, pulling a levitated Snape around so that he moved in front of her. They reached the short path up to the castle, but Lily did not continue. She directed her wand—and, by extension, Snape—up the path, dropping him as gently as she could near the closest castle wall. Then, she turned back towards the Whomping Willow.

Her heart skipped a beat when she realized that both James (as a stag) and Remus (as a wolf) had disappeared.

"Shit," she swore again. Her hands flew to her forehead, and she tried to steady her breathing. What next? What next? Where was James? How did he...? And Remus...? And...

And the map.

Lily tore it from her pocket again and searched the map for any sign of James or Remus. However, neither appeared. Lily looked up at the real Whomping Willow. It shuddered and then began to sway.

Of course—they must have gone back down underneath the tree. James must have warded Remus down there... as an animal, he wouldn't be capable of being changed... of course... but Snape—how did Snape figure into...?"

Lily turned and hurried up the path as quickly as she could. Snape lay as though sleeping on the grass, and, kneeling beside him, she checked the wound on his leg, realizing for the first time what it might mean. Blood pounded in her ears as she moved the shredded remains of his trousers up his leg to see the cut.

They weren't teeth marks, though. They were scratches.

Lily flicked her wand twice, conjuring two white towels which she quickly tied around the bleeding portion of his leg. She checked his eyes, and found that they didn't appear out of the ordinary... he didn't seem to have fainted... it looked more as though he'd been stunned...

The Slytherin began to stir, and Lily realized what must have happened. She pointed her wand at him.

"Sorry," she murmured. "But I think you're supposed to be asleep_._"

She did not stun him, but cast a quick sleeping spell instead. It would last longer and be a bit more comfortable for him. Then she checked the map again. A path extended from beneath the Whomping Willow, but it cut off before reaching any discernable destination and if James had, indeed, steered Remus through this passage, they were no longer visible on the map.

Lily sat down, and ran one hand through her hair, which was moist with sweat and stuck to her forehead. Dark clouds overhead threatened imminent rain, but the moon was still quite visible.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there—staring up at the sky—but it probably was not more than a few minutes. Then, she looked down at the map once more, and, much to her relief, James had appeared again. She got to her feet and craned to see him as he emerged from the Whomping Willow, but her view was obscured, and she did not see him until he was halfway across the lawn. He was still in stag form, and this time when he changed, she saw it happen.

The nearly iridescent whiteness faded first, growing darker and darker, as the limbs and muscles of the creature changed shape; its head shrunk, the long white mane retracted and became black, and galloping became running. By the time he reached the path, there was only James Potter, no stag... no (and the thought occurred to Lily for the first time) _Prongs_.

"James," she breathed when he reached them; the sweat on his face gleamed, and his clothes clung. "Are you okay? What...?"

"I left the door open," muttered James distractedly, kneeling down beside Snape and examining his leg. "It was stupid, but I didn't _think_... it was just... anyway, he escaped and then I had to... you did this? With the wound?" He pointed to the bandages Lily had conjured.

"Yes. But, James, y-y-you're not making sense. What happened? That—that was... the wolf... it was..." James looked up at her expectantly. "That was R-Remus, wasn't it?"

He nodded mutely. "He's locked in the shack now," explained the Marauder vaguely. "He won't get out again."

"I don't understand," Lily breathed, as James removed the towels and pointed his wand at the cuts. "How did Severus find him?"

James did not reply. Instead, he asked: "What are you doing out here, Lily? You _promised_ you'd be back in the passage before dark."

"The passage was blocked by the aurors," said Lily impatiently. "How did Sev...?"

"The _aurors_?" snapped James, glancing up at her. "_What_ aurors?"

Lily realized her mistake, but it was too late. "The... the aurors in the village." And, because there was no point in denying it any longer, "...the ones sent to capture Logan Harper."

James stared. "That's why you... why you had to get Harper..."

"He was going after Logan, I had to..."

"You _lied_ to me..."

"I did not!"

"Well, you mislead me..."

"James, now is hardly the time for this," Lily reminded him. "And seeing as I just saw you turn into a giant white horse..."

"Stag."

"Whatever—I don't think you should be lecturing me about honesty!" James was silent for a few moments. He was removing the blood from Severus's leg with Lily's towels. "He should go to the Hospital Wing," she pointed out. "Werewolf scratches are..."

"I know," interrupted the other. "I'll take him there. I just... I don't want it to look too bad when Madam Pomfrey sees it. I..."

"_James, you're bleeding_!"

Lily noticed the large tear on the back of one of James's shoulders—a clear imprint of claws.

"I've had worse," said James curtly. "But I'll need you to help me fix that before I take Snape to Madam Pomfrey. Yeah?"

"I don't know how to heal werewolf scratches..."

"Then I guess it's a good thing _I_ do. At least well enough. Just watch this, yeah?"

Lily had never heard him speak so brusquely—and that was saying something. She watched and listened as James closed the gashes on Severus's leg, all the while trying to piece together everything in her mind.

"Okay," she whispered, "so Remus is a... a... a..."

"Werewolf."

"That's the one."

James nodded heavily.

"And you're an—an Animagus."

He nodded again, eyes fixed on Snape, his expression grim.

"_Prongs_," she clarified. "But—but I've read the register. You're not on it. So... so you must be... unregistered." He did not contradict her. _Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_, she thought. _Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_. "Moony—that's... that's Remus? Because of the moon. Because he's... But then... Wormtail and Padfoot... those are the nicknames for Peter and Sirius. What...?" She stopped. "They transform too. Like you. Is that it?"

James took a long time to respond. "Peter's a rat," he said finally. Lily waited for an explanation on Sirius.

"And... and 'Padfoot?'" she prompted.

"A dog," he almost whispered.

The skin on Snape's leg had all but closed. A low rumbling in the sky foretold imminent rain. "Alright," said Lily, "I think I can fix your shoulder... but you promise you'll have Madam Pomfrey look at it, too?"

"No."

"But..."

"Do you have any idea how much trouble Remus could be in for attacking _one_ student, much less _two_?" James barked. Lily stared—honestly, she hadn't thought about it that way.

"Then why are you taking Snape to Madam Pomfrey at all?" she asked. "You know she'll have to go to Dumbledore."

James gestured for her to come and do his shoulder, and she complied. "There are two reasons," he said grimly. "One, Snape saw Remus. He knows how to get through the Willow and into the Shack. It's too late to do anything about that. The second—well, have a look at his leg."

Lily glanced away from her own wand-work towards James's. Snape's cut was very slowly peeling apart again, and a few drops of blood trickled from it. "Why is it doing that?" she asked, panicked.

"You have to keep re-sealing them for a while," said James, as he began to work on Snape's leg again. "They're cursed wounds."

Lily finished sealing James's shoulder. She added some bandages for good measure and magically re-stitched his robes. "You have to let Madam Pomfrey look at this," she insisted, but he shook his head.

"Peter can fix mine," he said. "Trust me—we've had a lot of practice." The Marauder got to his feet. "Lily, I don't think I have to say this, but—what you saw today, you can't tell _anyone_."

Lily nodded. "And what about Sev...?"

"Honestly...?" James looked down at the Slytherin and breathed. "I have no idea."

It began to rain.

"Go back to your dormitory," James half commanded. "I'll take him to the Hospital Wing."

"You don't need any...?"

"You can get into the west courtyard easily enough. The door unlocks with the incantation _aperio_ _magnus_."

"James..."

But before she could finish whatever she wanted to say, they were interrupted.

"There you are, Prongs," said Sirius Black, as he approached. "What's going... Evans, what are you...?" He noticed Snape and paused. Lily saw James's face grow very, very pale.

"You should go, Lily," he said, not tearing his eyes away from Sirius.

"James, what's..."

"_Lily_."

His hazel eyes flashed dangerously, and Lily knew better than to fight. Pulling up her hood to protect herself from the rain, she turned and departed.

"Prongs..." began Sirius when they were alone; he took a step forward, but James moved away.

"_No_," he snapped. "_No_, you stay the _fuck_ away from me, Sirius!"

The rain grew louder and heavier, and James stared coldly at his fellow Marauder, who seemed too stunned to speak.

"James..."

"What the fuck were you thinking?" James interrupted. "What the _fuck_ were you thinking? _Kill_ Snape? _Murder_ Snape? Get Remus in more trouble than I can even say... Evans was out here—she could have been... Snape could have... You would... Fuck, Sirius, what were you thinking?" And his voice softened ever so slightly at the end, that Sirius had the courage to step closer.

"I _wasn't_... I just... I don't know, I was... Regulus, and..."

"And the worst part," said James bitterly, as though he had not heard Sirius's failed attempts to articulate thought, "The worst part is I actually thought you were _different_... different from Snape, from the Slytherins, from your fucked up family. I thought—thought you were one of us. But I was wrong, wasn't I? You're _not_ different. You're exactly like them."

"Shut up," Sirius ordered. In retrospect, he would never know what made him say what came next, except the anger and fear had been boiling in him too long. He felt a key fumble for the lock in his mind, and as the words formed on his lips, he could hear the click of a door opening. He knew what he was saying, and he could see the anger in James's eyes before it appeared there, but he was already stepping over the threshold and past his point of no return. "You don't get to say that, James. Don't pretend that you would care one bit about Snape if it wasn't for _her_. And just because you're worried about what _she_ thinks, you don't get to..."

A simple movement, really; the simple fluid movement of his arm, cocking back and propelling forward with a fuel of adrenaline, till his tightly fisted hand came into contact with Sirius's face.

Sirius staggered, tripping and skidding onto his back—onto the wet grass. James did not look where his best friend fell; Snape was coming around again. The Marauder scooped up the delirious Slytherin.

"Stay the _fuck_ away from me," he repeated over his shoulder, before starting for the castle.

Cold water in his hair and an ache under his left eye.

James's parting words faded in his mind, and Sirius heard nothing but a heavy pounding in his ears: his heart beat. Cold water in his hair and an ache in his left eye. Slowly, the water trickled down his neck... his shoulders were wet, too... the collar of his robes... the large, white moon hung ominously overhead amidst grey, swirling clouds and a starless black sky.

He'd been here before.

_Stay the fuck away from me_.

It was the dream... the drowning dream.

_Kill Snape? Murder Snape_?

Sirius waited. He for the water to envelop and overwhelm him.

_You're not different. You're exactly like them_.

He waited to slip below the surface, to sink, to drown.

_Brilliant. Perfect. Fitting_.

He waited and waited. Rain slid across his face.

_At the base of the tree, there's an opening in the roots_...

Brilliant. Perfect. Fitting.

_Stay the fuck away from me_.

He waited for the water to overwhelm him. He waited for the grass to disappear, as it had in his dream, for the water to swallow him up. His eye throbbed, his back ached. He waited to sink and drown. He waited for the water to swallow him, but it didn't.

It was only the rain.

* * *

**A.N. **The last interaction between James and Sirius was written a long, long time ago—before I think I even published the first chapter on this site. It took me an hour to find the file I saved it under, lol.

So, this was a comparatively short chapter—a mere twenty-six pages! The next chapter is all about the fall-out!

Love to the fantastical Anonymous reviewers:

**Mr. Pink **(you're quite right about Frank and Alice. But, seeing as I get most of my inspiration comes from bad fanfiction, I wanted to try my hand at a storyline involving them, which is why I decided to put them only one year ahead of James, Lily, and co. Thank you for the feedback!), **Amarilla Grey **(I wouldn't say Lily is "chasing" Luke... well, literally she was, but not figuratively. She doesn't _want_ Luke, and she has no romantic feelings for him, but he's an important person in her life, and Lily cares about people's well-being... arguably too much), **TheTimeLord** (Doctor, your interpretation of the Carlotta-teasers are quite perceptive; the timeline error, however, has been explained so many times my head hurts. Thank you, nonetheless, for you lovely and lengthy reviews), **Anonymous **(why thank you), **anonymous **(Thank you—I'm glad you like the supporting characters, and thanks for the support on _Agrippa =P)_, **Ahhreelmonsters **(I loved smoking James too! But no one else did, lol, and, to be honest, it was always part of the plan that he would quit... you know, maturity and all that. But I'm glad you enjoyed that... and he's got some angst coming, so he might light up once or twice sometime soon...), **twinkly **(I hear ya—as for the dividers... I'm kind of experimenting with those, and I'm not sure what I'm going to use permanently, but definitely thanks for the input), **FoggyMoon** (aw, it's the thought that counts =P. thank-you!), **Jay** (Marlene's response in the next chapter—promise!), **Sirius' Sweetheart **(glad you enjoyed—this one's a little shorter, and hopefully easier to get through =P), **Sophia, anonymous **(number three... and thank you ASLDFKJALKEJRLKAQWERJ!), **gigi Z **(thank you!), and **ElizabethKnightley **(okay, so is your name really "Elizabeth Knightley" or are you combining names from "P&P" and "Emma?" OR are you combining Lizzie Bennett with an actress who portrayed her? Clearly, I have been pondering this—either way, love the penname, and thanks for the review!)

Reviews are summertime!

Love and cookies,

Jewels

P.S. Just geeked out as I realized this site now has a "World" option, in which you can select "books" or "movie." Don't know why that excited me so much... but who, exactly, is going to write in the movie-verse? No, hate, I just can't see a reason for it...


	22. Out

**A/N: **BAM! 43 pages on MS Word, less than two weeks between updates, AND that's not even taking into account how much of my leisure time was taken up by season finales (Lost, 24, Fringe, oh my!)!

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo-Ro

**Before: **James has seventy-four detentions, and if he gets one more, he could be expelled. Resident Slytherin jerk Nicolai Mulciber attacks Mary Macdonald with an Imperius, vaguely reminiscent of Snape's covered-up Cruciatus attack on Marlene earlier in the year. Frank and Alice are in love, and Adam tells his just-a-friend girl Marlene that he loves her, but she... well, more on that later. Donna's hooking up with this Ravenclaw named Charlie, who has a girlfriend named Cassidy, and Donna's guilt plus general anger issues lead to her belittle the death of Lily's father, which Lily is not happy about. They de-friend. Sirius is pissed at Snape for possibly corrupting Regulus, and Snape just hates the Marauders, so Sirius tells Snape how to get into the Whomping Willow to see Wolf!Remus at the full moon. Snape goes down, James finds out, James saves Snape, but Snape sees Remus, and no one is happy with Sirius. He dreams about drowning. Lily asks James to use the Marauders' Map so she can follow her ex-boyfriend, Luke, to Hogsmeade, because Luke went to chase after his death eater brother, who is about to be ambushed by aurors (including the ubiquitous Lathe). Lily stops Luke, but she learns that he aided and abetted his fugitive brother, which could be problematic. While she sneaks back to the castle, Lily encounters the Werewolf-Snape-Whomping Willow-James-as-a-stag fiasco, and no one's happy about that either.

Chapter 22- "Out"

Or

"Eclipse"

Lily did not remember walking up to her dormitory. She didn't remember whether she was careful to avoid Filch, if she encountered anyone on the way up, or if there was anyone in the Common Room. She just sort of blacked out, and suddenly found herself entering the sixth year girls' dormitory and realizing she still had the Marauders' Map in her pocket.

_I have to give James his map_, she thought, and it was literally the only thing that registered in her brain.

She was so bloody tired. She needed a shower—her hair was damp from the rain and from her own sweat, and her clothes were possibly the least comfortable things in the world, but, _Agrippa_, she was exhausted, and she didn't even feel like brushing her teeth.

_I have to give James his map_.

Maybe it was a defense mechanism, but she was physically incapable of thinking about anything else as she peeled off her robes and threw them over a chair. She couldn't think about Luke. She couldn't think about Severus. She couldn't think about anything. Just—_I have to give James his map_, over and over like a broken record.

Lily slouched towards her bed, vaguely aware that she could hear Mary's snores—that the curtains around Donna's, Shelley's, Carlotta's, and Marlene's beds were closed, indicating that they were probably asleep and that she was, therefore, for all intents and purposes alone, but mostly just _I have to give James his map_.

She was in shock—she was conscious of that, too.

She pulled open the curtains of her bed, and, for a moment, thought that she must have been so tired that she had picked the wrong bed, because someone was lying in it already. But a glance about to gain her bearings told her that it _was_, indeed, her bed, and Lily took a closer look.

"_Marlene_?" she whispered.

Marlene was awake, stretched out in Lily's bed above the covers, but clutching a pillow over her nightgown-clad body. It was another few seconds before Lily realized that Marlene was crying. Then, something clicked in her brain. With a mighty, figurative push, Lily displaced her exhaustion and confusion and shock, and she climbed into bed beside her friend.

"Marlene, honey, what's wrong?" she whispered.

Marlene sniffed, wiping tears from her red eyes. "I-I w-w-was waiting for you," she croaked un-importantly. "I-I just..." Then she dissolved again. Lily placed an arm around the blonde's shoulders, pulling her close, both of them half lying, half sitting on the bed.

"Mar, it's okay. Everything's okay. What happened?"

Nearly a minute passed before Marlene was composed enough to speak. "A-Adam," she stammered. "He—he said he loved me."

Lily's grip tightened. "What did you say?" she breathed, but the answer was obvious. Marlene looked up and met her eye, and Lily nodded. "It's okay," she whispered again. "It'll be okay."

Marlene turned her head and began to cry onto Lily's (by this time thoroughly disgusting) sweater, and neither moved nor said much until Marlene drifted to sleep and then—much later—Lily followed.

* * *

The Headmaster's office was never completely silent. Besides the quiet snores coming from the portraits of headmasters past, there was always the _whirring _sound from Professor Dumbledore's various trinkets, and if Fawkes—Dumbledore's phoenix—happened to be present, he usually made some kind of noise. The office was never _completely_ silent, but as James and Sirius stood in front of Dumbledore's desk, it was certainly the closest thing to quiet that James had ever experienced.

The Headmaster observed them both carefully for an eternal minute; Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn stood off to the side. James had said his piece, and Sirius had kept quiet, and now everyone seemed to be waiting for _something_ that no one wanted to arrive.

"Very well," said Dumbledore at last. He leaned over his desk, mirth utterly absent from his blue eyes, still fixed upon James or Sirius or both. "Professor McGonagall, Professor Slughorn," the older wizard addressed the teachers presently. "Please take Mr. Potter outside for a moment. I would like a word with Mr. Black."

Sirius went pale as James was escorted from the office. The two heads of houses said nothing, but led the way down the staircase and into the corridor. They continued the silence while they waited.

James wasn't sure how he felt just then. He was afraid—Sirius would be expelled for certain. It was inevitable, and James knew he didn't want that, but at the same time, he didn't know why. He was furious, too. Anger brought his blood to a boil, and he hadn't been able to so much as look at Sirius—didn't want to, ever again. He was hurt and betrayed; he was worried for Remus, worried what Snape would do or say when Madam Pomfrey finished with him. He was a regular cocktail of horrible emotions, none of them strong enough to defeat the others, and so they battled in the pit of his stomach while he waited for Dumbledore to call him back into the office.

This occurred several minutes later, when Sirius appeared on the stair and, barely meeting James's eye, muttered: "He wants to talk to you." Sirius then waited with McGonagall and Slughorn, while James returned to the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore was still seated at his desk. He looked somber and tired, James noticed for the first time.

"Hello, James," he greeted quietly.

"Professor."

Dumbledore sighed. "I think you realize the seriousness of the situation. Madam Pomfrey says that Mr. Snape will make a full recovery..." James might have been relieved (for Remus's sake), if he hadn't already known it. "But there will have to be repercussions."

"I understand," said James. Here came another big part—would _he_ be expelled? Of course, he had saved Snape, but he'd also been out of the castle after hours... and on a night that he was coming to realize was anything but sedate. There were aurors buzzing about... something had happened in the village (he still didn't know what, exactly), and there was a general note of panic in the castle. Also, he had known Remus's secret, and though the portion of the story wherein James made an appearance as an illegal Animagus had been conveniently skipped, there were certain implications in the whole thing... that he knew the way to the Shrieking Shack, for instance... had been there before even. And, to top it all off, there was the looming threat of detention... one was all it would take for James's record to reach the threatening number seventy-five.

"James, what do you think Mr. Black's intentions were?" asked Dumbledore quietly, taking James completely by surprise.

"I don't know," he admitted, not sure if this constituted protecting Sirius or not. "He—he doesn't _think_, a lot of the time. But I couldn't say whether he meant to..." _murder Snape_. "I just can't say, Professor."

Dumbledore nodded. Fawkes the phoenix rustled his feathers. "How did you discover the path to the Shrieking Shack?"

He wondered if this was a test—if Sirius had told one story, and now he, James, was being asked to corroborate. But he had no way of knowing what Sirius had potentially said, and so he stuck to the truth (or something plausibly close to it). "We figured it out in second year. We—Peter, Sirius, and I—noticed all of Remus's absences coincided with the full moon, and we…"

"Followed him?" substituted Dumbledore.

James nodded. That resembled the truth, anyway, and was close enough for their purposes.

Dumbledore nodded, too. "And... before this evening, have you ever seen Mr. Lupin in his other form before?"

Hesitation again, and then—"Yes."

"Often?"

"No."

"And Mr. Black and Mr. Pettigrew?"

"Sirius has, yes." He wasn't about to drag Peter into this if he could help it. Dumbledore seemed to understand that. His eyes lingered on James for some time, and then he shifted in his seat and glanced down at the top of his desk.

"James, what you did tonight was very brave."

Whatever James was expecting, it wasn't _that_.

"You confronted a werewolf to save someone with whom your relationship is... less than cordial. You brought him to the Hospital Wing for treatment, though you knew it would lead to your friend's punishment. In short, you acted in Mr. Snape's best interests despite great personal risk." He looked at the young wizard, evidently expecting a response.

"Oh," was all James could say.

"And so, in light of this, I have decided to award Gryffindor fifty points."

Not expecting it at all.

"_What_?" asked James, before he could help himself.

"I assure you," said Dumbledore, "given the points your house has just lost, the number is not _so_ very great."

_Points just lost_... but that meant...

"So—Sirius isn't expelled?" asked James, stunned.

The Headmaster did not reply immediately. "His case will stand further review, after I have spoken more comprehensively with Mr. Snape. But for now, he is _not_ expelled, no."

James had no success figuring out whether he felt relieved or angry, so he did not try too hard. "What about Remus?" he asked.

"Mr. Lupin is not responsible for his actions tonight," said Dumbledore. "I do not think it would be _fair_ for him to suffer because of them. Unfortunately, politics are not always fair..." James's eyes grew wide, and he opened his mouth to protest, "_which is why_," the other went on, "I will wait until I have spoken to Mr. Snape before any decision is made regarding Mr. Lupin as well." James did not understand, but there was finality in Dumbledore's tone that told him the conversation was over. "You ought to get to bed now."

"Yes, Professor." He turned to go, but paused at the door. "Professor... I know you probably can't tell me, but—what did Sirius say?"

Dumbledore sighed again. "Very little, actually. He primarily insisted that you had no knowledge of his actions."

"...Oh."

"Goodnight, Mr. Potter."

"Goodnight, Professor."

Sirius was still in the corridor with Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn when James arrived. At first, he thought his fellow Marauder was waiting for him, but then Sirius began to follow McGonagall back into Dumbledore's office, and James realized that the Headmaster must have asked him to stay.

"Wait, Professor," said James urgently, and both teachers looked at him. "Couldn't I stay? Just—I need to know that Remus is going to be..."

"No, Potter," said McGonagall, who was paler and sterner than usual. "You must go to bed now."

But it was too unfair. _Sirius_ would find out before _him_... Sirius who hadn't given a damn enough to...

"Please, Professor, I won't be able to sleep anyway, and..."

"You have classes in the morning, Potter," said Slughorn. "You must go to bed."

"Professor McGonagall," James pleaded, but she shook her head resolutely. Then, for the briefest of moments, her expression softened.

"I will tell you the details tomorrow morning," she promised. "Now you must return to your dormitory."

Unsatisfied but defeated in the knowledge that this was the best he would get, James nodded. He turned and walked sullenly back towards Gryffindor Common Room.

The portrait of the Fat Lady was on the same floor but in another wing of the castle, and James did not make quick work of the trip. For a long time, he was alone in the hallways, except for the sleeping portraits and shining suits of armor, but when he neared the corridor of the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, James was joined by another. Lathe.

The auror was traveling in the opposite direction, and he held one hand over his arm, which was bleeding.

"Are you alright?" asked James as Lathe approached. The auror nodded.

"Nothing too bad," he muttered. "Flooed to the wrong room, damn it all. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I've been to see Dumbledore," replied James apathetically. Then he remembered what Lily had told him. "Did you catch him? Did you catch Logan Harper?"

Lathe exhaled heavily. There was dirt on his face, and the auror looked weary. He shook his head. "Not exactly," said Lathe grimly. "He's dead."

(The Morning)

Surprisingly, it was Peter Pettigrew who filled in many blank spaces for Lily.

She woke up very early, and had changed and showered before anyone else (even early-riser Carlotta) had emerged. Marlene was still in Lily's bed when the redhead slipped out of the dormitory with no clear intention of direction. She descended into the Common Room a few minutes before six-thirty, and it was empty, so she sat purposelessly on a sofa for a little while, until Peter Pettigrew appeared on the stair from the boys' dormitories, looking as tired and anxious as Lily felt.

"Oh—good morning, Lily," greeted the Marauder awkwardly. He started for the portrait hole, evidently attempting to make a quick escape, but Lily followed.

He put up a good fight when it came to evasion, and even when confronted with a relentless Lily, it was only after she had told him everything she already knew or inferred of the night before that he caved at all.

"Sirius told Snape how to get to Remus," sighed Peter, as she followed him through the seventh floor corridor. "James isn't happy—honestly, I don't know anything else."

"Is anyone getting expelled?" pressed Lily, but Peter only repeated his own ignorance on the subject. "Where are _you_ going?" she asked, when she realized she had no idea of her own destination.

"I have to go get the cloak. James left it in the tunnel."

"And you can get it easily," Lily realized. "Because of your... y'know... ability."

"Right."

"Where's Remus now?"

"I dunno. Hospital Wing, probably, or on his way there with Healer—er—Madam Pomfrey."

"Is James okay? His shoulder, is it...?"

"He'll be alright. He's had much worse."

Lily nodded. "You do this every month, don't you?" she asked, but it was more of a statement. "You go with Remus as animals, because he can't hurt you that way. Is that right?"

Peter nodded mutely, and Lily struggled to understand it all.

"But why would Sirius tell Snape?"

The Marauder paused, and they came to the staircase. "_Lily_," was all he said, but it conveyed a dozen things—things like, she already knew the answer to that question, and please don't ask him anything else, and really, he _had_ to hurry. She nodded briskly.

"Thank-you, Peter."

And with a last, cheerless smile, Peter descended the staircase, and Lily returned to the Common Room.

* * *

All mornings should be this glorious. Stretching and yawning, Alice felt her face smiling in the sunlight that poured in through the window of the Head Boy's dormitory. All mornings should be this glorious, she thought again, warm underneath the covers and in the sun as she rolled over onto her side.

Frank stirred beside her, and Alice smiled.

He yawned, stretching out his arms and turning his head towards the beaming girl beside him. "Good morning," he mumbled throatily, pulling her closer. She rested her head upon his chest, reaching up and running her hands through his hair.

"Good morning," she breathed. "Let's never move, okay?"

"From this spot?"

"Mhm."

Frank groaned. "What time is it?"

"Doesn't matter—we're never moving."

"Never ever?"

"Never ever."

"Mmm-kay." Nonetheless, the Head Boy craned to see the alarm clock on his dressing table, before dropping his head back down on the pillows. "We have time," he announced sleepily.

"All the time in the world?"

"No—about fifteen minutes, though." Alice was still for a moment, and then looked up at Frank, smirking. "I thought you never wanted to move," he reminded her, matching her expression.

"I could make an exception."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

"Well, alright."

Alice propped herself up on her hands and kissed him slowly and softly on the mouth. He pulled her on top of him, causing her to laugh against his lips as she murmured: "You know, I think I still love you."

"Is that a fact?"

"Mhm."

"Then I suppose we're both doomed."

"Love me, too?" chirped Alice.

Frank nodded matter-of-factly. "Always."

* * *

Sleep did strange things to the brain, Donna reflected. For instance, this morning, she lay in her bed, half asleep, and as her eyes fluttered open, she could swear that the curtains of her four-poster were blue, rather than red. But of course, that didn't make sense. The curtains were red—they were _always_ red; it was only her sleepy brain that was making them blue.

She stared upward for a while, waiting for the curtains to return to their normal scarlet color. Still, they remained stuck in that shade of dark, royal, _Ravenclaw_ blue.

...

Shit.

Donna sat up and looked over at Charlie Plex, who lay beside her. Awake.

"You idiot," she barked, kicking him. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"You looked so peaceful," mocked Charlie, and Donna kicked him again. She fumbled about for her wand and cast a _muffliato _charm on the enclosed bed.

"How, exactly, am I supposed to get to classes without anyone seeing me at the busiest time of the day?" she demanded.

"Oh, who cares?" droned Charlie, bored. Donna rolled her eyes.

"Your _girlfriend_ might. And anyway, _I_ do."

Charlie merely shrugged. "I don't suppose you know a good Disillusionment Charm?" He started to open the curtains, but Donna grabbed his arm.

"How could you let this happen?"

"You were the one that fell asleep."

"You were the one that let me stay all night!"

"Nonetheless, _I_ want breakfast, so either figure something out, or deal with the fact that people will find out you spent the night." With that, he slipped out of the bed, though he kept the curtains closed behind him. Donna exhaled angrily and lay back down, running her hands through her curly hair in frustration.

(Unrequited Love Level One)

Lily fully intended on talking to James, Sirius, Remus, Sev, and Luke (in no particular order) first thing in the morning, but her life had other plans. As soon as she finished a hastily consumed breakfast, Marlene—pale and sleep-deprived—appeared, and Lily found herself with other obligations.

"Okay, hon," soothed the redhead, as Marlene violently mutilated her scrambled eggs. "Can you just _explain_ what happened?"

Marlene sighed. Due to the early hour, they were some of the few Gryffindors at the table, and she felt no great need for confidentiality. "So, last night," began the witch miserably, "I went down to the Quidditch pitch because Reg Cattermole said Adam would be there, and we were supposed to study Transfiguration together."

"The Quidditch pitch?" asked Lily. "What time was it?"

"Um—I don't know... seven or eight maybe? I don't know. Why?"

"Oh. Nothing. Never mind. Go on..."

"So I went down to the Quidditch pitch, and Adam was just sitting there, and he said he had something on his mind." She took a dismal sip of pumpkin juice. "So I asked him what was wrong, and..." Staring dully at her breakfast, "he just _said_ it. He just said that he was... you know..."

"In love with you."

Marlene flinched. "Right."

"And what did _you_ say?"

The blonde did not respond right away, instead taking a bite of her eggs.

"_Marlene_, what did you say?" Lily pressed. "You have to tell me—it must've been pretty bad if it's got you this upset."

"Oh, Lily," groaned Marlene, laying her head on Lily's shoulder. "I said the worst possible thing."

"Which is...?"

"Good morning!" sang Mary, arriving. "You lot are up early. _I_ slept fantastically. Such a beautiful morning. Did it rain last night? Isn't May divine? I'm famished. Sleeping potions are _wonderful_." She sat down across from them and surveyed the scene. "So—what did I miss?"

Lily glanced at Marlene, who nodded. "Adam told Mar he's in love with her," said the redhead. Mary nearly shrieked and began to clap excitedly.

"Oh, _yay_! I love new couples! And can I just say that I knew you two would be perf..." Then she noticed Marlene's expression. "Wait—Adam told Mar he's in love with her? Why does she look like someone stole her kidney?" Comprehension dawned on the brunette and her jaw dropped. "You _rejected him!_?" she accused. "Marlene Price, are you _insane?"_

Marlene buried her face in her arms on the table, and Lily scowled. "That's not helping, Mary."

"Now is not the time for sympathy!" protested the other. "Now is the time for blame and guilt! _Blame and guilt!"_

"Maybe you could not shout?" grumbled Marlene's muffled voice.

"_You rejected Adam_?" Mary demanded in a harsh whisper. "Why in Merlin's name would you do something like that? _Why? _He's clearly in love with you, and more importantly, _you're_..."

"Mary, stop," insisted Marlene, sitting up. "Really, please, I don't want to hear that right now."

Mary observed her friend carefully and then sighed. "Fine." Leaning across the table, Mary patted Marlene's hand and smiled somewhat encouragingly. "Don't look so sad, Price. It'll be alright. I know it seems like the end of the world now, but eventually..."

"He's never going to forgive me," interrupted Marlene despondently.

"What makes you say that?" Lily asked.

"Because... because I was horrible."

"What did you do?" Mary pressed. "What did you _say_?"

"The worst possible thing," Marlene reiterated. The other two waited for elaboration. "Okay, imagine that your best friend..."

"_Excuse _me..."

"Fine, Mary, imagine your best _bloke_ friend tells you he fancies you, and you're sitting there, scared out of your wits, and you respond... really, really awkwardly—what's the worst, most hurtful thing you could do?"

Lily and Mary were quiet for a minute, reflecting. Then, almost at the same time, the realization dawned on them. Lily groaned, and Mary looked stunned. "Mar, you _didn't_..." Marlene dropped her head on the table once more. "Marlene..." Lily began again, "just to be clear, you—you blamed _him_, didn't you?"

"Yes!" mumbled Marlene, but it sounded more like "Y-eh-uh-es."

"But... but Marlene, how _could _you? That's—that's Unrequited Love Level One material!"

"She's right," Mary agreed, horrified. "No matter how creepy the bloke is, or how much it _isn't_ your fault, if he's professing his love, it's your sad task as the girl to be gracious, and at least _act_ like maybe he had a shot with you."

"We're talking about Marlene, Mary," Lily reminded her.

"I _am_ talking about Marlene! How could you _blame_ poor Adam? How could y—what exactly did you say, Marlene? How bad was it?"

Marlene emerged, pouting. "I don't want to talk about it anymore," she insisted. "I don't want to think about it. I just want to..."

"Obliviate yourself?" suggested Mary. "Bury yourself in a coffin filled with ice cream, maybe? Yes, we know... but dear, you can't just leave us like this!"

"Mary, really," Marlene continued, "I _can't_ talk about it just now." With that, she rose and walked quickly from the hall. Lily sighed.

"I'll go make sure she's okay," said the redhead, resigned, but as she got up from the table, Mary jumped up too.

"I'll go with you," she volunteered.

"But you haven't had your breakfast yet..."

"What is food to heartbreak and drama?" But Mary's half-smile was somewhat unconvincing as she followed Lily out of the Great Hall.

When, in the Entrance Hall, they passed Donna—who was on her way down to breakfast—Lily appeared not to notice her at all, and though Mary half-heartedly waved, their roommate made no response, and neither Lily nor Mary saw her look glumly after them.

(Waking Up, Again)

_Beat_.

Shit.

_Beat_.

No.

_Beat._

_Beat._

_Beat_.

His heart pounding, Remus Lupin's eyes flew open. He sat up in bed—a cot in the hospital wing—and he screamed.

He was shaking, covered in a cold sweat, and it was all James and Peter could do to restrain him from lunging out of the bed. His eyes were large, round, and dilated for a few seconds—a flash of yellow, and then they were their normal grey again, but more terrified than James had ever seen them.

"Holy shit," he swore frantically, gasping for air as though having just escaped a chokehold. "Holy shit," the werewolf repeated. "I—I did something? Something happened... Lily... she was... and James—James, I scratched you, God, I don't know... Shit, Prongs, something went wrong... what went wrong?" He was hysterical: manic and raw, like only the full moon could make the usually calm, collected Remus. James did not meet his friend's eye, and Remus feared the worst. "Did I bite someone?" he whispered. "James... did I bite...? For God's sake, _answer me!"_

"You didn't bite anyone," said Peter unexpectedly. "You're fine, alright?"

"What happened?" Remus continued to question James. Then he noticed something. "Where's Sirius?" Even Peter couldn't answer that. "Where the fuck is Sirius? What happened to him? I don't remember... I don't remember seeing him—was he...? _James_—Agrippa's sake don't just _stand_ there like some pathetic..."

"Sirius told Snape," said James.

Ringing, clanging, deafening silence.

"He told him how to get into the Whomping Willow. Snape went down and saw you."

"I remember," whispered Remus faintly. "I remember—I attacked Snape, and... you. You saved him." Fear—cold, unholy terror—swept over him once again. "Snape knows..." he muttered frenziedly. " Snape knows—he'll tell—I'm out. I'm out. Dumbledore can't... I could've killed him. I could've changed him! It's too—I'm out." He ran his hands through his brown hair, stretching back the ghostly white skin of his face, which glistened with sweat and feverish tears. "Holy _shit_, how could this... how could this happen? I'm out of the school... I have to... could've killed..."

"You're not expelled," said James quietly. "McGonagall told me this morning. Dumbledore fixed it. Dumbledore fixed it all—with Snape, with everyone. You're safe. Snape's passed out over there..." He nodded vaguely across the infirmary, "...with a sleeping potion. Dumbledore fixed it for you."

"But—but how could Dumbledore fix it?" And then, something else registered with Remus. His hands dropped. "Sirius told? Why would he do that? Why would he tell Snape? James, why would he...?"

"Do the math, Remus," James interrupted acerbically. He couldn't bring himself to say the words. He couldn't bear to think it.

Remus's expression grew stony. "He _wanted_ me to bite Snape. He wanted me to... to... He _used_ me. He _used_ that thing that I become to..." Remus's body contorted as he began to gag, and James grabbed a potion from the bedside table.

"Lupin—Remus, drink this. It'll help, c'mon..." James managed to get most of the potion down his friend's throat, and a few minutes later, Remus had almost entirely stopped shaking. He fell back in his cot, broken and exhausted.

"What—what happens now?" he managed to mutter after some time.

"Dumbledore's fixed it for you," said Peter. "You'll be alright, and... he seems confident that Snape won't tell."

Remus made a derisive noise. "And Sirius?"

"He's not expelled," Peter continued. "He lost a lot of points—Gryffindor won't be winning the house cup—and he can't play Quidditch again as long as he's at the school. Then there are some detentions. I'm not sure on the details, but..."

"He's out," interrupted James coldly. "I mean—with us. He's gone too far this time, and he's—we can't just forgive and forget." The others were quiet. "I'm done with him. Can we all agree on that? That Sirius isn't... that he's not one of us anymore... that he's out?"

A long silence followed, and then Remus spoke up. "I agree," he murmured, his voice raspy. "Sirius is out."

They looked at Peter. "Are you _sure_?" asked the last Marauder. "He's your best friend."

"He's not my best friend," said James. "He's a would-be murderer."

"He used me," said Remus.

Peter looked a little sad, but he nodded. "You're right... Sirius is out."

"Right," whispered James. "For good."

(How It Goes with Sev)

Severus would never know. This, Lily decided during her first encounter with her Slytherin friend—an event which did not occur until lunch hour the first day following the full moon.

At some point between breakfast and lunch, the news broke, and after that, it spread like wildfire. How, exactly, the word got out, Lily had no clear idea. There were bits and pieces that the general public could confirm—that Gryffindor's house point hourglass in the Entrance Hall seemed to have lost about a third of its sparkling red rubies and that Severus Snape had spent the night in the Hospital Wing, for instance. However, Lily never did find out who let it out that Severus Snape had confronted some kind of monster in the Shrieking Shack the night before and that James Potter been the one to save him.

She was exceptionally relieved that Remus's involvement was still a secret (although how Dumbledore had convinced Severus to keep it to himself was just another mystery), and equally surprised to see that Sirius's involvement was as well. While the Hogwarts rumor mill regularly picked up minute details, they seemed to miss the glaringly obvious: that James and Sirius were quite clearly at odds. They missed morning classes, the pair did not sit together, did not speak to one another, and both appeared intermittently distressed and furious.

Sev was not yet dismissed from the infirmary when Lily arrived at lunch hour with a written list of homework.

"Generally, I wouldn't let anyone visit under the circumstances," Madam Pomfrey informed the Gryffindor, "but you're the first to even _ask_ to see him, and—well..."

Lily felt contempt bubble in her stomach at the knowledge that she was Severus's first visitor (_why hadn't those gits from Slytherin shown up?_), but merely nodded as Madam Pomfrey led the way to her friend's enclosed cot. She wondered vaguely if one of the other curtained off beds belonged to Remus.

Snape was awake when Madam Pomfrey admitted Lily, and he looked startled by her sudden appearance. He set down the book he had been reading, pushing it under the covers and adding: "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," Lily replied, deciding not to ask about the book. "To make sure you were alright." Madam Pomfrey departed to her office.

"Why? What are people saying?"

"Well—um... it's not really clear. They're saying a lot of different things." Because she wanted to hear what Sev had to say about it.

"Oh."

Lily waited for something else, and then pressed: "So what happened?"

Severus hesitated. "Nothing. It was nothing. No big deal."

Lily raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised by his reluctance to tell her _anything_. Maybe he had promised not to tell. "Sirius Black is being punished for something..." she tested. "Does that have to do with you?"

Severus merely shrugged. "Who knows? Black's an idiot. He's always in detention."

Lily was moments from revealing the depth of her own knowledge on the situation, when she noticed something. Sev wasn't meeting her eye. He had an odd look about him, and there was unusual color in his cheeks.

And that was when Lily decided with certainty that Severus wouldn't know that she had been at the Willow the night before. He didn't need to know, and maybe there was a bit of spite mixed in, and it would surely be better for Black and Potter and _Remus_ that as few people as possible knew of another student's endangerment, but mostly, Lily noticed something in Severus's expression that was... embarrassed, really. It was bad enough that James Potter had seen him at his most vulnerable, most powerless—it was bad enough that his supposed friends from Slytherin hadn't even shown up to make sure he was okay... she felt _sorry _for Sev, and she knew that if he had any idea of that fact, his humiliation would be incalculable. And Lily had seen first hand what humiliation did to Severus Snape. So, he would never know.

"Okay..." she said slowly."But you're not—not hurt or anything? You're feeling fine and all?"

"_She_..." Severus nodded towards Madam Pomfrey's office, "wants me to stay another night, but I don't need to. I'm fine."

"That's good. Oh—I brought your homework..."

Lily stayed for another half an hour, and in that time the pair talked casually enough, mostly about the lessons Severus had missed that morning. They distantly discussed nothing important, and thus did not argue once.

She had skipped lunch, so—when she left the Hospital Wing—Lily was mostly alone in the corridors. Her first instinct was to head down to the Great Hall and retrieve some much needed sustenance, but her stomach was twisting uncomfortably, and she wasn't sure it would hold anything down. She needed to see and speak with Luke, too, and while he might be in the Great Hall, she hadn't seen him at breakfast and wondered if he might be skipping the second meal as well. Then, Lily remembered the Marauders' Map, which was still in her possession (James hadn't been around all morning for her to return it), and she decided to find her Ravenclaw ex instead.

It was several minutes of searching through hundreds of labeled dots before Lily located Luke Harper's parchment manifestation, and—as expected—he was not in the Great Hall. Much to her dismay, he was in Professor Dumbledore's office.

(So-Called Ethics)

In another universe, Donna reflected, she would have been eating lunch with Lily. They would probably have been discussing the scandal surrounding Severus Snape and James Potter, or maybe Mary and Marlene would have been chattering about something while Donna griped at them to kindly shut up. Marlene would be complaining about food, and Mary would be gushing about a new boy, and Lily would be smiling knowingly or making sardonic comments. Or maybe Mary and Marlene would be off on their own, and it would just be Lily and Donna, and they'd talk about lessons or books or Quidditch or _something_.

At least she'd be talking.

It occurred to Donna that the only people she had actually spoken to within the last twenty-four hours were Charlie and Professor Flitwick. No one had approached her regarding Quidditch (actually, she hadn't seen Potter all morning), and no one else had addressed her at all...

Not one "Good morning." Not one "Hey, Shack, what d'you hear?" Not even a rude "Move over a bit, will you?"

Nothing.

Except for the roar of the general public surrounding her in the Great Hall, Donna's world was now silent, and it had been like this for—for weeks. No one was being _unkind_ precisely... they just didn't have anything to say to Donna Shacklebolt.

Between bites of her sandwich, Donna suddenly felt very, very alone. She looked around, panicked, and noticed Adam McKinnon not far away.

"McKinnon!" she said, rather loudly and desperately. Adam looked up from his own meal, startled. He raised his eyebrows at her, and Donna realized she didn't actually have anything to say. "Hi," she finished weakly.

Unexpectedly, Adam rolled his eyes. Donna noticed he didn't look too well—he looked like he hadn't slept in about a year, actually. "Save it, Shack. I don't want to hear it."

And before Donna could ask what he didn't want to hear, Adam got up, abandoned his lunch, and walked briskly out of the Hall.

Bloody hell—even Adam McKinnon didn't like her! Adam McKinnon liked _everyone_!

She didn't remember saying anything horrible to him, either. She didn't remember saying anything to him at all, but it was quite possible she'd been what Lily called "tactless" during one of their classes together, purely by accident. If Adam was angry with her, there was almost certainly a reason (it did not occur to her that Adam's poor mood was directed generally, not specifically). Or, maybe, he just didn't want to talk to her. Maybe he just had nothing to say to her, like she'd had nothing to say to most people for the last six years. Maybe, after her humiliatingly emotional outbreak the other day, he figured she only wanted to bark at him or cry at him or... or maybe he just didn't much care for her.

Donna stared angrily into her pumpkin juice. Of course Adam McKinnon didn't want to talk to her when he was in a bad mood—he wasn't her _friend_, after all. No one—not a single person in that whole damn Great Hall—was her _friend_... she had always been quite clear about that: _Lily _was her friend, just Lily. She didn't need anyone else.

Except she'd lost Lily, and she had no one.

She'd lost Lily—and for what?

At that moment, a folded square of parchment fell on her plate. Surprised, Donna glanced around to see who might have dropped it, but a large group of Ravenclaws was passing the table, and she didn't see.

Donna unfolded the paper, and a few words were scribbled inside.

_Shacklebolt,_

_6 p.m.—unused classroom 4th floor, off the tapestry of Hildebrand the Hairy._

_-Charlie_

A Lily-voiced part of her brain told her not to go, but the much stronger argument favored the opposing opinion. She had no one, but she kind of had Charlie, right?

_Cassidy_ _has Charlie_, said the Lily in her head.

But that was just it. _That_ was why Donna didn't feel guilty (not really). Cassidy was Charlie's girlfriend. Cassidy, not Donna, had Charlie. In the end, Charlie cared about Cassidy. Charlie fancied Cassidy and wanted to be with Cassidy. He didn't want Donna, and being with her, if anything, made him treat Cassidy _better_. So, in the end, Lily's so-called ethics meant nothing.

There were no feelings; there was no infidelity; it meant nothing. No one was getting hurt, and Donna—she _needed this_. Charlie didn't love her; Charlie loved his Cassidy. No one was getting hurt. She would show up at six, and she wouldn't feel guilty or traitorous. She wouldn't think about Cassidy, because she _wanted_ to, and it didn't mean anything, and—no matter what Lily would say—no one was getting hurt.

(How It Goes With Luke)

"Luke!"

Luke Harper looked genuinely surprised to see Lily waiting for him not far from Professor Dumbledore's office. Besides that, he looked awful, too. He was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Lily," he replied, monotone, in a quiet, croaky voice.

She approached him, concern etched on her features and in her tone. "What happened? Why were you seeing Dumbledore? Did he find out about your being in the village?"

Luke didn't seem to understand. "Are you—are you _joking_?"

"Joking? No. Why?"

Comprehension—"You haven't heard, have you?"

She was almost afraid to ask. "Heard what?"

"You didn't read _The Prophet _this morning." He smiled mirthlessly. "Logan's dead, Lily."

"W-what?"

"That auror—Lathe. He killed him. He killed my brother."

"Luke..." She reached out to touch his shoulder, but the Ravenclaw moved away. "Luke, please..."

"Please _what?_" he nearly shouted. "I could have _saved_ him, Lily, and _you_ stopped me. You, and Lathe, and me and now—and now Logan's _dead_." There were tears in his brown eyes. "_We_ killed him. _I _killed..."

"Luke, this isn't your fault!" said Lily; she felt tears of her own. "None of this is your fault. You..."

But as she tried to touch him again, Luke once more evaded her. "Stay away from me, please," he muttered, before turning to leave.

"_Luke_!"

Luke stopped several paces away. "I have to pack, Lily," he snapped.

"Pack? Pack for what?"

"I'm leaving," the wizard replied darkly. "I have to go to London. They want me to appear before the Wizengamot—to determine whether or not they can charge me."

Lily felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. She stepped forward to pursue—to say something, anything... to appease the anger, hate, fear, guilt, and grief in Luke's eyes... to fix this somehow... if only she could _fix this_... fix _him_...

"Lily, I don't..." Luke began to say, but he was interrupted. Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Lathe appeared from the statue of the griffin that constituted the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Miss Evans," said Professor McGonagall, "I believe you have class now."

"But, Professor..."

"No arguments," the Transfiguration teacher cut her off curtly; "despite appearances over the last few days, this is still a school, and there are still rules to be obeyed. To class, Miss Evans."

Professor Flitwick joined Luke, presumably as they traveled to the Ravenclaw Common Room, and Lily was left helplessly with McGonagall and Lathe. "Do you need me to _escort_ you?" asked the former crisply. Lily watched Luke and Flitwick disappear around a corner, then sighed and shook her head.

"No, Professor."

"Very good."

The professor and the auror began to leave. "Wait," Lily called after them. "How long will Luke be gone?"

McGonagall looked to Lathe, who merely shook his head, indicating that he didn't know. Then, they turned and were gone.

* * *

Anger had won. In the raging battle of emotions that was James, anger had won out against anxiety and grief and regret and all the rest, and now he was just furious.

People were talking, but James didn't hear them. He didn't want to. At supper, the other students looked at him and whispered, but James didn't pay them any attention, because, though most of their words were of admiration, he didn't want to know what they thought, what they were saying. They didn't know anything, not really, and he didn't want to know what they imagined they _did_ know.

He didn't want to do anything, actually. He wanted to sit somewhere, alone, and forget everything—to wipe his mind clean... to forget that Sirius had betrayed them (had betrayed Remus), to forget that Snape _knew_, and to forget that _he_ had been wrong. Utterly, irrevocably, unforgivably _wrong_ about Sirius, about the Marauders, about everything.

Remus hadn't returned from the Hospital Wing yet, and Peter sat across from him at Gryffindor table, but they both ate in silence. Peter looked miserable, and James had tried to care but couldn't. He tried to remind himself that, in the end, it was all okay. Dumbledore had fixed things with Snape—he had fixed things for Remus. He had even fixed things for Sirius.

But somehow, none of that resonated. The damage had already been done. Sirius had _told_... he had told Severus Snape. He had tried to murder someone. He had disregarded everything (Remus's feelings, Remus's safety, everything...) for a vendetta, and nothing—not ever—could un-ring that bell.

Sirius was out.

"I'm going upstairs," James told Peter, who nodded and replied that he would be along soon. The Marauder walked lethargically out of the Great Hall, ignoring whispers and stares that attacked from all directions. He fully intended to return to the Gryffindor boys' dormitory—maybe take his Nimbus out for a fly around the pitch, but when James reached this fourth floor, he had another idea. He started for the Hospital Wing instead.

"Mr. Lupin has just been dismissed," Madam Pomfrey informed James on his arrival. "He should be returning to your dormitory now."

James nodded and started to leave, when he spotted another curtained cot at the end of the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey returned to her office, but instead of leaving himself, James started towards the enclosed bed. Inside, Snape was reading.

Shock, anger—a plethora of negative expressions played across Snape's face on seeing James. "What do you want?" he demanded. "Get out of here, _Potter_." His typical contempt for James seemed to have multiplied tenfold.

"What did Dumbledore say to you?" James asked, evenly and darkly. His stomach twisted, his head ached—seeing the recuperating Snape was worse than he expected. The usual loathing surged through James's blood, heightened by the conniving nature of the Slytherin's intentions towards Moony the night before, but deterred and made invalid by James's own best friend's even more detestable intentions. In all his years at Hogwarts, James had never before felt guilty about hating Snape.

"What do you care?" snapped the other, his black eyes flashing. "It's none of your business."

"What did he _say to you_?" James angrily repeated, louder. "How did he convince you not to tell about Remus?"

Severus set down his book. His pale face was calm now. "Why do you want to know?" he reiterated. "What possible difference does it make to you?"

James didn't have an answer to that. He just needed to know. He needed to now that whatever reason Dumbledore had given for Snape to keep his mouth shut, it would hold—that Remus was safe. "It just _does_. What did he say to you?"

Snape smiled. "I hope it keeps you up tonight wondering."

James clenched his fist, fighting the dual reflexes to draw his wand or else hit Snape with everything he had. "I hate you," he said, quietly, venomously, truthfully.

Snape nodded. "I know."

* * *

More than anything else, what Remus Lupin had been dreading was the possibility that Sirius would be in the dormitory when he returned from the hospital wing. And he was.

Remus dropped his overnight bag on the floor, and Sirius—who was stretched out on his bed—sat up at once. The two wizards stared at each other for a long moment; Remus's expression was stony; Sirius's was pained.

"Moony..." the latter began, but Remus cut him off.

"Don't call me that," he snapped. "Don't even—just _don't_." He moved towards the dresser, and Sirius got to his feet.

"Remus, I'm _sorry_," he pleaded.

"I don't care."

"And you have every right to be furious with me, but..."

"But _what_?" shouted Remus, turning on him. "What _exactly_ do you think you can say to make any of this better? How can you even imagine that I would care about _anything_ you have to say?"

"I _know_ that," choked Sirius. "I do, believe me. I just—I want to talk to you. I want to explain..."

"You have nothing to explain," Remus spat. "There is nothing in this world that you can say that would change how I feel right now."

"I didn't mean to hurt you..."

"Of course you didn't." Remus laughed bitterly. "Because you never—you have _never_ understood that the _thing_ that I become once a month is still _me_! And whatever happens to the werewolf—to 'Moony...' that happens to _me_. If the thing in the Shrieking Shack had killed Snape, _I_ would have killed Snape. _I_ would go to prison for it, and _I_ would be the one who would have carry that around with me for the rest of my goddamn life! But you didn't think about that—I was just your plaything, wasn't I? The full moon was just something to amuse you when you were bored!"

"That's not it, Remus! That's never what it was about, and you..."

"That's _exactly_ what it was about for you, Sirius!"

Sirius could not respond, for the door opened, and James appeared. He closed the door behind him and looked between Sirius and Remus, trying to determine what was happening there.

"What's going on?" Neither wizard responded. "What are you doing here, Black?" James continued.

"It's—it's my dormitory..."

"Is it?" asked James coldly.

They were all quiet, and then Sirius said: "So that's it? Just like that? I'm out."

"Yes," said James. "You're out."

"After everything?"

"There was never anything," Remus muttered. "There were never any 'Marauders.' We were never brothers or mates or whatever we thought we were. It was all a lie, because it was only a game to you, Sirius."

Sirius looked to James for an argument, but Prongs gave none. "It was all a lie," he agreed.

"It _wasn't_."

"Of course it was," Remus went on. "You think because you're in Gryffindor, you're not the same as your fanatic family? Truth is, you're _exactly_ like them. They think muggles and muggleborns are lower then them, and no matter what you say, you don't think of me as a person—as a human being, because I'm a werewolf, and it's your birthright to think that you're better... that you can do whatever the hell you want with me, because I'm lesser. You're a Black. You're born—you're _built_ that way. A heartless, cruel murderer. And you'll never be anything but that... because you _can't _change. We were just stupid enough to think that you could."

Sirius fixed his grey eyes on Remus. "That's not true," he whispered. "I never thought..."

"It _is_ true," said James. "You're out."

The bitterness on Remus's face confirmed it. Sirius breathed unsteadily—he didn't know where to look, where to go, except he had to get out of there. He started for the door, when it opened, admitting Peter.

"Dumbledore wants to see you two," said the last Marauder, nodding to James and Sirius.

* * *

As predicted by the Marauders' Map (still in her possession—Agrippa, she _really_ needed to return it), Lathe was in his former office when Lily arrived. He seemed to be filing papers into boxes, and Lily realized almost at once why.

"You're leaving?" she asked.

Lathe nodded, waving his wand and sealing up a few boxes. "The security detail is staying behind, but Belby will be in charge. Everyone directly involved in the raid last night is called back into the Ministry."

"Why?" She entered the room a little more, leaning against the wall beside the door.

"Three aurors and two suspects dead," explained Lathe calmly. "Both suspects were members of prominent families. There'll be an investigation to make sure that the suspects' deaths were unavoidable—that they weren't acts of vengeance."

"They weren't, were they?" asked Lily softly. Lathe looked up from his packing.

"I don't enjoy killing," he said. They were both quiet for a few seconds, while Lathe continued to place stacks of parchment and other things into boxes. Then, without looking at her, the auror answered the question that Lily hadn't dared ask. "Luke was involved, Evans."

Lily didn't feel much like playing games, and so she simply asked: "Can you prove it?"

The older wizard looked a little surprised by this response. "We'll see. He's young, and I don't believe he was actually at the scene. The worst he'll be accused of is aiding a fugitive, which—well, it will depend."

"Logan's dead," Lily pointed out. "What use is Luke to you now anyway?"

"None," admitted Lathe. "And I know he's no death eater, but it's not up to me. Melencamp... Prewett... Diggory... three aurors dead, Evans, and Melencamp was Robards's partner—he won't rest until everyone involved with her death faces the Wizengamot."

Lily nodded, knowing he was right. "Do you think Luke will be charged?" she could not help but ask.

Lathe hesitated. "I don't know. But the Harpers have money and influence—he won't be alone. And I'm sure it's little consolation to you now, but I'll do what I can for him. I'm not saying I'll lie, but—I believe he only understood part of what he was doing. Of course, it will be best for _him_ if he cooperates—I don't suppose you'll tell him that?"

"I doubt it would make a difference."

Lathe raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I—um—I convinced him not to go down to Logan last night," explained the witch. "He thinks he could have saved his brother if he had been there."

"Maybe," said Lathe quietly. "Maybe he would've killed another three aurors." He finished packing away the files and mumbled: "I hate paperwork. There's nothing I hate more than paperwork."

Lily fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, uncertain if there was anything else to be said to Lathe. "I'm sorry," she murmured at length. "About your friends, the three aurors. And I'm sorry you had to kill someone." Because, strangely, she could tell that bothered him.

"I'm sorry about Harper," he replied.

"Logan was a death eater."

"I'm not talking about Logan."

Lily nodded again. "Right. Well... it was nice meeting you, Mr. Lathe."

Lathe inclined his head, as though to say "Likewise," and then Lily departed.

* * *

It was not McGonagall and Slughorn who joined the headmaster in his office this time when the two Marauders arrived. A tall, slim witch with short, dark auburn hair and hazel eyes sat in one of three chairs. On the boys' entrance, she stood up, worry on her face.

"Mum?" said James, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"Albus—that is, Professor Dumbledore owled me," she replied, crossing to the two wizards at once. Dumbledore also rose from his chair, but remained behind his desk. Mrs. Potter hugged both James and Sirius, giving the latter a sad little look before turning to Dumbledore again. "May I have a moment with the boys, Albus?" she asked, and the headmaster nodded.

"Of course."

When they were alone, Mrs. Potter inspected them, as though looking over not one, but two of her sons. "Are you alright?" she asked anxiously. "Neither of you are hurt?"

They both shook their heads. "We're fine, Mrs. Potter," murmured Sirius, unable to meet her eye. She looked at him piteously.

"Oh, Sirius, don't worry so. It was a mistake. People make mistakes..."

"_Mum!"_ interrupted James angrily.

"You've made your fair share of mistakes, James Potter," reminded his mother. "Not the least of which is failing to mention to your mother and father that one of your best friends is a werewolf."

"You're right, Mum," James retorted. "Because that omission is _definitely_ equal to attempted murder."

"_James_..."

"Mum, don't defend him!"

"I'm surprised that I _have_ to. He's your best friend, James!"

"No, he's not."

"James—no, Sirius, you don't have to leave. James, what Sirius did was—awful. It was a terrible, regrettable mistake. But he has been your best friend since you were children... he _lives _with us for Merlin's sake..."

"Does he now?" spat James.

Sirius squirmed.

"Of course he does," said Mrs. Potter firmly. "James, I understand that you're angry, but Sirius is family."

"No, he's not," James repeated through gritted teeth. "He's not my family." He looked at Sirius. "You're not. I can't tell you whether or not you're allowed to stay in my family's house, but I can say that you are _not _my family."

"_James_..."

But James was already on his way out of the office.

Mrs. Potter heaved a great sigh and turned to Sirius. "I'm so sorry," she murmured. "You know James—he's stubborn, and..."

"He's right," whispered Sirius. His hands were shaking. "He's right about me. Mrs. Potter, I'm very grateful for everything you've done for me... for even just showing up here today, but—I can't go home with you this summer."

"Rubbish. Of course you can. Just because James is in a temper now..."

"No, I can't. It's not because I don't want to, but I just—I couldn't do that."

"But where would you go? You haven't any money..."

"I'll figure something out."

"Sirius, this is silly. If it's because of James..."

"It is," said Sirius.

Mrs. Potter looked sadly at him, resting one comforting hand on his shoulder. "You're a good person, Sirius Black."

And it broke his heart that he knew she was wrong.

(How It Goes With James)

Lily caught up with James on the third floor. She wiped the map clean and called out to the Quidditch Captain. He paused at the sound of his name and turned to see Lily hurrying towards him, but he barely registered anything she said at first.

"I've been chasing you for two floors," she told him. "I wanted to give you back your map."

"What?" asked James, rubbing his forehead and trying to banish his headache.

"The Map," Lily repeated, holding up the parchment indicatively.

"You still have it," noted James. "Right. I lent it to you."

Lily looked at him curiously. "Are you alright?" But he didn't seem to hear her. "James? Are you okay?"

The wizard snapped out of his haze. "No, I'm not _okay_. Why the hell would I be okay?"

"Right. Sorry." Lily handed him the map. "How's Remus?"

But again, James appeared to have gone temporarily deaf. "Nice of you to give it back," he muttered sarcastically. "Weren't you finished sneaking into the village, or did you have other ex-boyfriends to chase?"

"_James_," sighed Lily, folding her arms.

"You lied to me," he snapped.

"What?"

"You failed to mention you were chasing Harper to stop him from meeting his death eater brother. You _also _failed to mention the aurors in Hogsmeade!"

"I know," she replied. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have omitted that."

She looked genuinely apologetic, James thought. She looked completely sorry for her little lie, and she was admitting guilt, which was decent of her, he supposed. But he was angry—angry with Sirius and his mother and maybe with Lily a bit, too, and he _wanted_ to be angry.

"You manipulated me," James accused, "And you didn't even have the decency to follow the _one_ request I made! What the hell were you doing outside? I told you to take the passage—I told you to take the passage _before_ sunset! That was the _only_ qualification I gave, and you didn't even do that!"

"It was blocked! What was I supposed to do? Stay in the village?"

"Well it couldn't have mattered much to you, could it? I mean, promises are clearly meaningless in your mind."

"That's not fair!" Lily retorted, incensed. "Don't take your anger out on me... we _both_ know that's what's happening here." She tried to sidestep him, but James grabbed her arm. She met his eye, surprised and angry.

"Let go of me!"

"You manipulated me," he repeated coldly. "You manipulated me to get the map."

"I did _not_."

"Yes, you did. You came up there and manipulated me for your own means!"

"I _asked_ you if I could use the map, James! That's not manipulative! I told you where I was going—Agrippa's sake, _let go of me_!" She yanked her arm free.

"You came to me because you _knew_ I would agree!" protested James irately. "You could have gone to Sirius or Peter, but you came to _me_ because you knew you would be able to talk me into giving you the map without telling me the truth!" He was going to regret this, and he knew it. "And you don't even care! You honestly feel _no_ remorse over the fact that you used me to get to your ex-boyfriend! And then you felt free to wander...!"

"I did not _use_ you to get to Luke, Potter!" Lily shouted. "Furthermore, I haven't a clue what you're talking about!"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" He matched her volume. "'_I hate asking, James. I really don't have any right to.' _Like you didn't know you were going to get exactly what you wanted! You knew you could show up looking desperate and helpless, and I wouldn't be able to resist helping you!"

"I _was _desperate, James! I was desperate enough to go to _you_, wasn't I?"

"That wasn't desperation! That was craft!"

"_What?"_

"You _knew_ I wouldn't say _no_!"

"What are you _talking about_?"

"I'm talking about how you feel no remorse using how _I_ feel about you to get what you want!"

And then they were both quiet for several seconds. Lily's heart raced, and her face flushed, and she wondered why she suddenly felt... terrified. James, however, seemed to have no regrets. His cheeks were red with fury, and his breathing heavy, but when Lily tried to speak, he cut her off without hesitation.

"Don't look so goddamn incredulous."

"James," she began, softer now, "I didn't..."

"Really?" he asked sarcastically. "You didn't _what,_ exactly? You didn't _know_? Of course you did! Agrippa, I asked you out every week for _ages!_"

"That w-w-was a y-year ago!" Lily managed to stammer.

"You knew perfectly well," he sneered. "Girls _always_ know."

"James, I swear to God, I didn't mean to..."

"Of course you did!" He spoke loudly again. "Lily, you've _always_ used people! You used Harper to get over losing Snivellus! You used my asking you out as an opportunity to put me down... to prove a point to Snape..."

"Don't rewrite history, James," Lily interjected, the heat returning to her voice. "Your 'asking me out' was an attention-seeking stunt, and I turned you down because I didn't fancy you!"

"You turned me down so you wouldn't lose Snape! And you lost him anyway!"

Lily shook her head, staring at the wizard before her disbelievingly. "You haven't changed at all, James Potter," she murmured at length. "You are really _that_ arrogant. Is that honestly what you think? That I turned you down because of Snape? James, I turned you down because of _you_. Because you were a bully and a git. And for the last year, I thought you were actually _changing_... growing up, maturing, behaving like a little bit of a human being! But now you're here, proving me wrong, and I—I honestly can't believe that I've been so stupid! I did not _manipulate_ you, Potter, and the only reason you think I did is because that's the sort of thing _you_ would do."

"Bullshit."

"Oh shut up."

She pushed past him, walking quickly with her arms folded and her expression furious. Still, anger was not the only thing that fueled her, and it was not the only cause of the burning tears in her eyes as she stormed towards the staircase. She felt betrayed.

James did not watch her go. He stood still for a several seconds, livid—infuriated with everything. Adrenaline pulsed through him, and he had to do something... he had to move... run, go, _do something_... When his fist hit the stone corridor wall, he heard the bones crack and pain shot through his hand.

(One Week Later)

It was the same old argument, and frankly, Lily was sick of it. She knew the trajectory by heart—she knew where Sev would take the argument, how he would change the topic, how she would argue, how they would end up agreeing on nothing, with one of them reminding the other that they were _supposed_ to be friends.

It was the same old argument, but it seemed like _forever_ since they had actually had it, Sev and her. For so long, their conversations had been so... impersonal, that fights (of any variety) had been more than rare. Since his removal from the infirmary, however, and in light of the whispers surrounding James and him, his mood had been more argumentative than usual.

The Gryffindor and the Slytherin walked across the courtyard on their way to Friday afternoon Herbology.

So far, the argument had danced through the usual areas: why was he always so negative about her house? Sev was supposed to be her friend, Mulciber and Avery were gits... they were approaching dangerous territory now as Lily brought up Mulciber's attack on Mary... Dark Magic was the topic that always made Sev the most uncomfortable...

It was the same old argument, and frankly, Lily was sick of it.

"It was Dark Magic, and if you think that's funny—" Lily started to say, her green eyes narrow as slits as she stormed across the courtyard.

"What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?" demanded Snape, overwrought with resentment, which Lily supposed was only added to by the agitation she struggled to repress at the sound of Potter's name.

"What's Potter got to do with anything?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"They sneak out at night. There's something weird about that Lupin. Where does he keep going?"

Lily remembered her resolution to keep quiet about her knowledge of Lupin's condition, and she knew (or surmised) that Snape had made some kind of promise to Dumbledore that he would not tell anyone. Thus, the fact that he kept dropping unsubtle hints to her was frustrating.

"He's ill," she insisted. "They say he's ill—"

"Every month at the full moon?"

"I know your theory. Why are you so obsessed with them anyway? Why do you care about what they're doing at night?" More familiar conversational territory, and Lily thought she knew what was coming next... Sev never answered that question to her satisfaction.

"I'm just trying to show you they're not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are," he said, taking Lily by surprise. The conversation had taken an unfamiliar turn, and he was staring at her with his black eyes—staring strangely, like... like...

She broke eye contact. "They don't use Dark Magic, though. And you're being really ungrateful." Because she was just so... annoyed... and because Sev couldn't possibly believe she _hadn't_ heard the gossip: "I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow, and James Potter saved you from... whatever's down there..."

He reacted as she had predicted he would. "Saved? _Saved?_" Furiously. "You think he was playing the hero? He was saving his neck and his friends' too! You're not going to—I won't let you..."

"_Let _me?" Lily quite nearly shouted. "_Let me_?"

What _was_ it with men? Potter grabbing her arm... Sev trying to control _her_ friendships while she had _no_ say in his...

"I didn't mean—I just don't want to see you made a fool of..." Lily was about to inform him that no such thing was within the realm of possibility, and she was more than capable of taking care of herself, when he unexpectedly said: "He fancies you! James Potter fancies you!"

He hadn't meant to say it.

_"I'm talking about how you feel no remorse using how I feel about you to get what you want!"_

Lily's breath hitched, and she raised her eyebrows.

"_You used Harper to get over losing Snivellus! You used my asking you out as an opportunity to put me down... to prove a point to Snape... you turned me down to prove a point to Snape, and you lost him anyway!"_

"I know James Potter's an arrogant toerag. I don't need you to tell me that."

She navigated the conversation away from James—back to familiarity, to Mulciber and Avery, and _God, why was he _friends_with them?_

Snape was calming down, though. The argument was over, and she didn't know why, but he took her criticisms of his Slytherin house-mates surprisingly well. She let it drop as they walked down the hill towards the greenhouses, and the debate ended when, in the classroom, they went their separate ways.

* * *

Luke returned to Hogwarts on Saturday morning. Lily might not have found out for some time, except that he happened to arrive when she was passing through on her way to breakfast. He was not alone, either, but accompanied by a petite, older woman. Lily recognized the witch at once as Luke's mother. She was plump, but pretty (or at least bore traces at once having been quite lovely) and tastefully attired in cerulean robes. Her hair was curly, short, and blond, and her lips were painted bright red. She was elegant, fashionable, and—at the moment—in evident pain. Mother and son were deep in conversation in the Entrance Hall. His trunk lay at his feet, and he wore plain green robes, rather than the Hogwarts uniform.

Luke caught her eye while Lily descended the marble staircase, and she momentarily debated whether or not she should speak to him. In the end, her need to know his fate won out, and she asked Mary and Marlene to go along without her.

Mrs. Harper's brown eyes narrowed on Lily as the redhead approached, and she blushed uncomfortably.

"Hello, Mrs. Harper," she greeted softly. "Luke." Luke nodded, and Lily realized that he had not wanted to speak with her at all. "Um—I just... are you back? For good?"

"They aren't raising charges," replied Luke coolly. "They had no _real_ evidence."

"So you're back?" asked Lily, relieved. "That's good. And you only missed a week, so you shouldn't have much trouble catching up."

"I'm not back," said Luke. "I'm not staying here. I only came to pick up the rest of my belongings."

"You're not... you're not expelled, are you?"

"Of course not," Mrs. Harper spoke up. "They could never expel _my son_."

"Then... I don't understand..."

"I'm leaving," said Luke. "I'm dropping out."

"Luke..." She glanced at Mrs. Harper for support, but the elder witch looked apathetic. "You can't! You take N.E.W.T.s in a few weeks! You have to think about your future..."

"And what of my brother's future?" the Ravenclaw snapped. "What about Logan's future? Lathe _murdered_ him, Lily, and he was allowed to stay here... walk through the halls, hold an office... if the likes of Lathe are the protection at Hogwarts, I don't want to be here."

"But Lathe's gone!"

Luke snorted bitterly. "You know that I can't stay here, Lily. Not one more day."

"Luke..."

"Lily, I ask that you do not distress my son any longer," Mrs. Harper cut in snidely. "I believe he has made it very clear that he has no more interest in you. You really must let him move forward. He belongs with his family now."

Luke did not contradict his mother's apparent misapprehensions concerning their relationship, and Lily stared between the two, amazed. There were a dozen things she would like to shout at Mrs. Harper, but all she said before turning and walking into the Great Hall was: "You're letting your son ruin his future, Mrs. Harper. I hope you're pleased with yourself."

* * *

With Marlene spending most of her time in evasion mode in the girls' dormitory, Lily found herself futilely attempting to finish her large stack of homework in the library on Saturday evening, accompanied only by Mary.

However, Lily's brain was swimming with Luke and Snape and Potter, and she could not concentrate on anything, much less _homework_. She found her attention drifting.

"I'm surprised you wanted to come here at all," noted the prefect idly to her friend, twirling her quill between her fingers.

"What do you mean?" asked Mary.

"You hate the library," Lily reminded her.

"Oh. Right. Well... people change, right?"

"So—you _like_ the library now?"

"Love it."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "Liar. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"_Mary."_

"What? Nothing's wrong. I'm fine!"

"_Mary_."

"I'm _fine_, Lily."

"_Mary_."

Mary scowled. "Fine." She looked mournful and leaned in close to circumvent eavesdroppers. "I don't really—I don't want to be alone."

"What do you mean?" asked Lily, confused.

The brunette seemed embarrassed by the confession: "Ever since Mulciber attacked me, I don't want to be alone."

"Oh, _Mary_." Lily put her hand on her friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry, of course, how stupid of me!"

"No, no... I haven't exactly _talked_ about it. It's easier just to act like nothing happened... the gossip has died down already. I just—I hate feeling like at any moment I could..."

"Mary, nothing is going to happen to you," Lily promised. "I won't let it, and Marlene won't let it, and if anyone _ever_ tries to lay a wand on you again, I _promise_ I'll be the first one to hex them to the Quidditch pitch."

Mary smiled weakly. "I don't like being afraid," she said. "But I am. I don't belong in Gryffindor, do I?"

Lily shook her head at once. "Mary, from the moment I met you, I've been jealous of how brave you are. You can make friends with _anyone_... you're comfortable talking to anyone—you can just go up to a complete stranger and strike up a conversation. That's how _we_ became friends, right?"

"That's not being brave..."

"You're always willing to try new things; you say what you're thinking; you don't care what other people think of you. You're brave and strong, and Mulciber can't take that away from you. You can't _let_ him."

Mary remained quiet for a while. When she spoke again, it was soft and anxious: "Lily, when Mulciber used the Imperius on me, I could—I heard a voice telling me what to do, and I couldn't... I mean, I _had_ to obey it. It was directing me, but I didn't have a choice." Lily leaned closer, anticipating the point that the other witch was trying to make. "But I heard another voice, too. No, that's not it. I—I felt something else. I heard Mulciber's thoughts, his orders to me, but I _felt_... I think I felt what he was feeling."

"And—what was that?"

The brunette shook her head. "I don't know—but... it frightened me."

"Mary..."

"Lily, I think Mulciber is a death eater." She looked Lily square in the eye, her voice and expression grimmer than the latter had ever seen it.

"He's only a sixth year at Hogwarts," Lily pointed out. "What would You-Know-Who want with him?"

"I don't know, but I think he is. I think he's a death eater."

Mary returned to the Common Room with Frank and Alice about an hour later, but Lily remained in the library, not because she was particularly interested in her homework, but because she had another task to perform. From her book bag, she pulled the notebook that Severus had given her for Christmas, and on the first blank page available, she scribbled a note.

* * *

"Hi," began Lily awkwardly.

Snape looked a little confused by their current setting—the vacant classroom on the second floor—and waited expectantly for an explanation as to why Lily had requested his presence there.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "I wanted to talk to you alone, though."

"O-okay."

"It's about Mulciber." Snape's anxiety vanished like smoke, and he looked a little weary now. Anticipating an argument, Lily rushed on: "I don't want to fight, Sev. I just want to ask you something." He raised his eyebrows. "Is—do you think Mulciber's involved in anything... dangerous?"

"Lily..."

"He used an Unforgivable Curse, Sev. That's got to be a sign of something, right? It seems like maybe he's... maybe he's a death eater."

Snape made a scoffing sound. "Lily, what would... what would _he_ want with a sixth year at Hogwarts? And Mulciber's not even a prefect."

"I'm not joking, Sev."

"Neither am I. You're overreacting about this Mary Macdonald situation."

"I'm _not_ overreacting! It was Dark Magic he used!"

"It was the Imperius—it's not even that bad!"

"What about Marlene? Someone attacked her with something much worse than the Imperius!"

Severus flushed a little. "Nick Mulciber is _not _a death eater," he said firmly. "Really, Lily. _Trust me_."

Lily's green eyes met Severus's black ones, and she realized something—something frightening, that she had realized before but suppressed for a long time. She _didn't_ trust him.

(Hurt)

Donna arrived in the unused classroom off the Entrance Hall a few minutes after nine on Saturday, and, as expected, Charlie was waiting. He had arranged this meeting, too—just as he had the last three, and it struck Donna as odd, because _she_ was typically the one in charge of making "appointments." Not that she minded the decreased responsibility.

Still, on entering the classroom, she ought to have sensed that something was off. Charlie wasn't wearing his typical smirk; he wasn't lounging in a desk; he made no mocking remark on her entrance. Rather, he looked a bit ill. He leaned uneasily against the unemployed teacher's desk, and seemed startled by the sound of the opening door.

Donna raised her eyebrows. "Is something wrong?" she asked, amused.

Some of the natural color returned to Charlie's face. He smiled a bit and shook his head. "No. Everything's fine."

"Good."

She locked the door with her wand, and then walked towards Charlie. She leaned in close, brushing his lips with her own and playing at seduction for the pure fun of it. His breathing changed, and she smiled, running one finger from his ear to his collarbone, while the other traced shapes on his leg. Then she kissed him, slowly and roughly, biting his lower lip as he grabbed her waist and pulled her closer.

He didn't make a move for her shirt like she expected, but his hands found her hair instead. His lips moved to her neck, and Donna closed her eyes. "Foreplay? Really, Plex?" she joked and began to undo his collar. Charlie returned his lips to hers, and it was nearly a minute before he pulled back, presumably for air. He was grinning.

"I knew you'd like that last bit," Donna remarked confidently.

Charlie was quiet for a couple seconds. Then—"I'm breaking up with Cassidy."

Donna stared. "Okay. Congratulations. Is that it, or was there something I might actually care about?"

The Ravenclaw rolled his eyes. "I'm breaking up with Cassidy," he repeated. "I want to be with _you_."

...

Shit.

"What the hell do you _mean_ you want to 'be with me?'" demanded Donna, putting as much distance between herself and Charlie as was possible. "That's not funny, Charlie Plex!"

"It's not a joke," insisted Charlie, straightening up. "Listen, Donna, I _like _you. You're funny, you're beautiful—you're an _amazing _kisser. And you're kind of a bitch, which is a weird turn on. I _like_ you. I want to be with you. More... normally."

He closed the distance between them, and tried to kiss her, but Donna stopped him. She slapped him.

"Are you bloody mad?" she asked, stepping back. "Agrippa's sake, have you lost your sodding mind?"

"_No_," Charlie stressed. "Honestly, Shacklebolt, I fancy you, and I think you fancy me, too."

And in that moment, Donna had two realizations. The first was a strange kind of realization—the kind where one suddenly acknowledges something that they believed they already knew. Donna did _not _fancy Charlie. She genuinely felt nothing romantic for him whatsoever.

The second realization was more unexpected: she did not hate Charlie. She bore him no ill will. She might have even kind of cared about him a little.

"Charlie..." she began unsteadily, "I can't be with anyone _normally. _That's not me."

"Fine." Charlie shrugged, sincerely unperturbed. "Nothing has to change. We can just continue like this. Believe me, I'm fine with it. We can..." He kept talking, but Donna didn't pay much attention. She was too busy coming to her senses.

She had, at various times in their "relationship," considered the possibility that it might end badly. She had considered that she might get her heart broken... that she might begin to feel jealous of Cassidy... that Cassidy would be devastated if _she_ ever found out… but never had it occurred to Donna that—aside from the potential physical violence from his betrayed girlfriend—_Charlie _might end up hurt.

Except, he would. And she, Donna, was going to hurt him. Because in the end, someone always, _always_ got hurt.

"...nothing has to change," Charlie was saying. "But I just wanted you to know that I..."

"Charlie, stop," Donna interrupted, breathing deeply. "Please stop."

"What's wrong?"

Now was her last chance, Donna realized. Now was her opportunity to take the simplest route—to let Charlie fancy her while she reciprocated with nothing. Now was the time to take advantage of a surprisingly neat ending to a sloppy business. Let him break up with Cassidy; let him make things square with her; avoid confrontation; enter into a relationship that risked nothing (for _her_ anyway), that would be decent enough even for Lily to approve. Now was the time.

"I don't want you," she said, her voice breaking a little. "I don't have feelings for you. This was—this was just a mistake." The enthusiasm had not quite faded from Charlie's face; he stared at her, evidently not expecting this response. "I know this doesn't sound like me, but I—I really don't want to hurt you, Charlie. I just—I don't have feelings for you."

Charlie remained quiet while he organized his thoughts. Donna wasn't sure if she should stay or make a run for it, and then he spoke: "So all this time—you've really just... you've really been just as much of a bitch as you've been seemed. You didn't mind risking _my_ relationship—screwing with _my_ mind... and you didn't even _like _me?"

"Charlie..."

"God, you _are_ a heartless bitch."

With that, Charlie left, slamming the door behind him.

(How It Goes With Sirius)

Lily returned to the Common Room rather after curfew. Except for the dying fire, the room was rather dark when she arrived, presumably indicating that it was empty. However, as she stepped inside and the torches along the perimeter of the room lit up, Lily found that she was not, in fact, alone. Sirius Black lay on one of the couches with a pillow from the dorms under his head and a thin blanket spread over him. He wore his pajamas and, though he lay quite still, was awake.

"You're sleeping down here?" Lily asked, approaching the sofa.

Sirius looked over at her, startled. He must have been quite lost to his thoughts, because he hadn't even noticed the lights coming on. "Sleeping?" he echoed, straightening up a bit and looking embarrassed. "Only in a very loose sense of the word. I'm... lying down and faking it if anyone should pass by."

Lily pushed up the single blanket and sat down beside her classmate, near his feet. "Is it that bad in the dormitory? You didn't even want to sleep there?"

"Oh, no," replied Sirius, sitting up all the way. "What I wanted had nothing to do with it. I was voted out."

"Voted out?"

"Not officially, of course. But that's James for you... he can be as enigmatic as he wants, or he can communicate to you exactly what he's thinking with just a glance. And it was pretty obvious last Friday that I wasn't wanted in that dormitory."

Lily nodded, understanding with the painful recollection of her own most recent encounter with the wizard in question. "You can't... you can't exactly blame them, can you?"

"God, no." Sirius made eye contact for the first time. "No, never, I... that is, don't think I'm complaining about this. It's... I could have gotten James killed, almost got Remus expelled, arrested, _and_ hurt... of course I'm not..." He broke off. "Listen, Lily, you're—you're a stop on the Sirius Black apology tour, so I guess I should just get this over with now. I'm—I'm so, _so_ fucking sorry."

"I know you are," replied Lily quietly. "I know you didn't mean any of it."

"You—you know I didn't mean any of it, do you? How the fuck do you know that? _I_ don't even know that." He made some half-hearted attempt at a laugh.

"Well," began Lily slowly; "You don't want Remus to go to prison. You didn't want James to get hurt, and you certainly don't want to be sleeping—or pretending to be sleeping—on this sofa, did you?"

"But the other part... you're not sure I didn't mean that, are you?"

Lily took a little more time on this answer. "You don't want to be a murderer," she said at length. "And if you had used that ridiculous head of yours for a minute, I think you would have realized that deep down you didn't want Severus dead, either... not by your own hands, at any rate."

Sirius leaned back against the back of the sofa, smirking bitterly; he didn't seem to know how to outright frown. "You're an optimist. I don't know what I _would_ have wanted if I took the time to think, but it seems to me that the very fact that I _did _it—tried to murder him without a second thought... that shows what I wanted."

"All it shows," contradicted Lily, "is that you weren't thinking one way or the other."

"I don't know." He reached across to the end table, where a pack of cigarettes rested. "Do you mind?" he asked, and she shook her head. "I just—I was walking through the hallway and... I'd just had my uncle—not that it's an excuse, I'm just... I saw Snape in Hogsmeade with Regulus, and I knew he was up to something. And he was just being—just a little _bitch... _sorry... but... Sniv—Snape's been after Moony—after Remus for years and... it was like—like any other prank to me, y'know? Like, every time we pulled something, we would do things that... that fit. Like inflating Bertram Aubrey's head, because he's such an arrogant prat. Or making Melinda Kettlegrove's ears gigantic, because she's always eavesdropping. And Snape... he's always trying to get Moony, and it just came to me. I would give him exactly what he wanted. I would tell him how to get to Remus and—" with increased irony, "—it would be perfect."

There was a long silence; he lit the cigarette. "I forgive you," said Lily after some time. "You said you're sorry, and I forgive you."

"For nearly getting you killed?"

"Yes."

"And for nearly killing your friend?"

"Yes."

"And for nearly getting another one of your friends thrown into prison?"

"Yes."

Sirius started to laugh, a little more genuinely. "That's a lot to forgive, Evans. You really _do_ think everyone deserves a second chance, don't you?"

"No." Lily shook her head. "But who am I to say who _does_ deserve one and who doesn't?"

Sirius exhaled the cigarette smoke, a disbelieving but amused expression on his face. "You're fantastic, do you know? I think you're the only person in the world who doesn't loathe me at the moment."

"They have legitimate cases," Lily agreed with a sigh. "But you'll live to sleep in a real bed again. They'll forgive you eventually."

After a long drag: "What makes you so certain?"

"They're your friends," she said, as though it were obvious. "They care about you; they _want_ to forgive you, and when it feels alright, they will."

"A fucking optimist," Sirius murmured under his breath. Then, in normal tones he continued: "I'm not so sure. It _is_ a lot to forgive, and... and I said some things to James that night... things that might be difficult to forget. Plus, he..." Sirius stopped, working on his cigarette instead.

"He what?" Lily wanted to know.

The Marauder averted his eyes, staring into the dying embers of the fireplace. "He doesn't see it like you do, Evans. He's more in my camp on this one. He thinks that..."

"Sirius?"

But he did not directly answer the question; instead, he started on a new, seemingly unrelated strain: "Do you know, it is pure _chance_ that I'm sitting here right now? I mean, if I had chosen a different compartment that first day of school... six years ago, if I had just taken five more steps and gone into the next compartment, I wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't have become James's friend on the train, I probably would have been sorted into Slytherin, and—and everything would be different."

"I doubt that you would be in Slytherin," Lily argued thoughtfully. "You don't strike me as the ambitious type."

"It wouldn't matter... my whole family has been in Slytherin. Even cousin Andromeda and... and Professor Black, and they weren't exactly good and proper members of the Noble House of Black either. They've all been in Slytherin, because from the moment we're conscious that something called Hogwarts exists, we're told that when _we_ go there, we'll be in Slytherin. Just like James was told that Slytherin house is for cutthroats and traitors, I was told that it's the house Blacks are sorted into. And that's it. It's... it's like a religion. But when James started talking about Gryffindor house—" Sirius seemed only slightly conscious that he was talking to Lily now, "—he made it sound like... fucking heaven. My mum, she always made it seem as though to be a Black, I had to be in Slytherin, but James made Gryffindor sound like... like being human and being alive and... having a little goddamn fun for once. And if he hadn't... if I'd taken five extra steps and gone to the next door, which I could just as easily have done, I would never have been here... I didn't care about politics or blood or family back then. I just wanted to... have fun. And if I hadn't gone into the compartment where James was, I would have put on the Sorting Hat and asked to be in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor, and I would be—I'd be just like them, torturing muggleborns and calling you 'mudblood' and feeling superior because I'm..." with heightened bitterness, "Sirius fucking Black." He ashed the cigarette absentmindedly. "Turns out, not even James's enthusiasm can circumvent destiny. I may wear the gold and red tie, but I'm _just _like them."

"You're not," said Lily with conviction. She thought of Mulciber and repeated: "You're not like them."

"What's the matter?" (That same bitter smirk, as he turned his grey blue eyes on her) "Don't you believe in destiny, Lily? Don't you think it's possible I have a destiny to be Slytherin, no matter _what _color necktie I wear?"

"No, I don't," said Lily firmly. "Not the second part, anyway. I think that—that the only things we're _meant _to do are good, and we choose whether or not we want to fulfill that. And you... you've made half the choice. You've chosen not to hate muggles and to defend those who can't defend themselves. But you've also chosen to..."

"Murder Snape."

"You've made mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes, but... but you're _Sirius fucking Black,_ so your mistakes are just... on a larger scale."

"Such a fucking optimist," Sirius muttered again. "Lily, I've had _every_ opportunity in the world to be a so-called 'good person.' I'm in Gryffindor. I have—I _had_ loyal friends. I had my uncle and my cousin. I had the Potters. I'm smart and talented and good looking..."

"And humble."

"My point is," Sirius pressed on, "I've had every opportunity to turn out alright, and you can't just blame it on being a stupid teenager, because James—James is in the same boat I am, and _he_ was the one _rescuing_ Snape. You've got to admit that there's something fundamentally _wrong_ with me."

He finished the cigarette and threw it into the fire. Lily was quiet for a long while.

"I have good news and bad news," she went on at length. "The good news is that there's nothing _intrinsically _wrong with you. You have a harder time at being good, that's all. And a lot of people have that, so there's the bad news. Just because your family is... fucked up, doesn't mean you've got an excuse to give up and do whatever the hell you want. You've got a responsibility to do the right thing, even if you don't want to and even if it's difficult. That's just all there is to it. You have a choice—you _always_ have a choice."

"So," said Sirius, "I _chose_ to kill Snape."

"Maybe," said Lily frankly. "You certainly chose to play a stupid prank. But Potter was there to clean up the mess. No one died. You aren't expelled. Remus isn't expelled or imprisoned. Dumbledore didn't even find out about... about the Animagus part. You have another chance, Sirius."

"Not unless they forgive me," the Marauder reminded her. "Not unless Lupin and James and even Peter can forgive and forget like you can, Evans, which is _highly_ unlikely."

"I'm not saying it won't take time, Sirius, but... they'll forgive you. You're the... you're the bloody Marauders! You're practically girls, what with how close the four of you are."

Sirius smiled, a little more sincerely. "A fucking optimist."

"A realist," Lily corrected primly. She was about to say _goodnight _when she noticed a letter, addressed to Sirius, sitting on the table before them. "What's that?"

Sirius shrugged. "'Dunno. It's from the Ministry. I got it this morning, but I'm afraid to open it."

Lily shook her head and arose from the sofa. "You get some sleep."

"I'll try."

"Good."

She smiled tiredly and then disappeared up to the girls' dormitories. Sirius sat alone, staring into the fire for a long while. At length, he reached over and picked up the parchment envelope with its Ministry seal. Tearing it open, he read the first of two pages enclosed.

_Dear Mr. Black,_

_Due to your current location at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you were unable to attend the reading of Alphard Black's will, which occurred on Friday, May the 21st. As executor of the will, I apologize for the delay in the reading, but there was some confusion over the location of the will. In any event, it is my duty to relay the following information to you, as a beneficiary of Mr. Black. Enclosed is a copy of the portion of the will pertaining directly to yourself. All funds mentioned will be transferred to the Gringotts vault listed by your uncle no later than Friday, May the 28th._

_My sincerest condolences on the passing of your uncle, and please send an owl should you have any questions regarding Alphard's last requests._

_Sincerely,_

_Edmond Prewett_

_Department of Magical Law-Enforcement_

_Sub-Department of Law_

_Committee for Magical Currency_

The second page had a mark of a duplication charm in the corner, was dated for late March, and was written in Alphard Black's hand.

_To my nephew, Sirius Orion Black, I leave the majority of my monetary funds to the amount of four-hundred seventy-five thousand galleons, to be paid to him on my death. With love and best wishes to my brave and worthy nephew._

* * *

Even if he hadn't known beyond a doubt that Sirius's bed was empty, James thought he would have been able to tell. He lay in his own bed, staring listlessly upward and reflecting that six years in the same dormitory had given him a strange familiarity with the typical nightly sounds. If he concentrated, James could isolate which of his roommates was snoring, which was breathing too loudly, which one made his bed squeak by rolling onto his side, and which usual addition to the nocturnal symphony was missing. It sounded—it _felt_—different. James had spent too many sleepless nights in this dormitory not to notice.

The clock on his bedside table claimed it was six minutes passed three o'clock; he had already tried reading, counting kneazles, his Herbology homework, and reliving his History of Magic O.W.L., and yet James simply _could not_ sleep. All he wanted was to drift into unconsciousness as his roommates had done (_even Remus managed to sleep, goddamn it_), and yet his bed began to feel uncomfortable, and he thought the back of his neck was inordinately itchy.

If only he could get his mind to shut up, then the rest of his body might shut off all right. But he couldn't stop thinking, and he couldn't stop feeling awful.

Sirius. Yes, Sirius was there (in his brain) of course. Sirius betraying them, Sirius telling Snape, Sirius off the Quidditch team, Sirius out of the Marauders...

"_He's going to go down there, get through the willow, see Moony, and—can you imagine_?"

Reliving that night was bad enough, but the worst were the inevitable thoughts of what might have been... if he had been too late... if Remus had bitten Snape, or if he'd killed him...

For the past week, James had doubted a lot of things—his friendships... the Marauders... every prank he'd ever pulled... everything he had done with Sirius for the last six years... but he hadn't, not once, doubted the clarity he had come to immediately after _that night_. Not once had he second-guessed the fact that Sirius was—that Sirius had to be_—out_. Out of the Marauders, out of his family...

So why couldn't he sleep?

_"Don't pretend that you would care one bit about Snape if it wasn't for her_..."

James _knew_ that wasn't true. But he also knew that he had felt an inexplicable need to prove that it wasn't true. And he'd been so angry with everything and everyone. He'd needed another target, and, Merlin help him, he'd meant everything (or almost everything) he'd said to Lily. Everything about Snape, anyway.

Still, he shouldn't have said it, and, regretting it as he lay there, James shifted onto his side and closed his eyes, willing himself to erase the memory.

Lily hated him now. She really, truly hated him, probably more than ever before. She'd thought he had changed (he hadn't, not really); she'd thought that maybe... but it didn't matter, did it? Sirius was out; he was no longer to be a key figure in James's life. Without hope of redemption, Sirius would drift on the periphery of James's consciousness, eventually giving up his attempts to be forgiven and then disappearing entirely. That (the thought) was unpleasant... painful, really. Almost as painful was the knowledge that he, James, had done the same thing. With regards to Lily, James knew that he, like Sirius to the Marauders, was _out_.

* * *

Lily didn't hate James.

At six minutes past three o'clock a.m., Lily acknowledged this fact. She didn't hate him. She just _didn't_.

She was still reasonably angry, of course, and she couldn't think of the incident without wincing, but she didn't hate him. At the same time, she recognized two inalienable truths.

First, that she would _never_ be friends with James Potter.

It was impossible. For the last year, she had thought that maybe, somehow, they could be friends after a fashion. She had thought that possibly James was someone whose friendship she would not at the very least oppose. But that was before—now, they had fought, and he had said those things, and it had all been exposed like an ugly wound she had tried unsuccessfully to conceal with bandages.

There had always been taboo subjects in her interactions with James: Snape being one, and James's former (or, apparently, not so former) affections for her being another. But angrily and without regret, both of those subjects had been revealed and fleshed out, and they could not un-ring the bell. They had said everything—_everything_.

And so, the second truth:

With James, unfortunately, there was nothing left to say.

* * *

**A/N: **on _that _cheery note...

Please, please don't hate me for the Lily-James turmoil. I promise, the next chapter will start new and shipper-y things for them. Promise.

To the anonymous reviewers:

**LEJP** (gracias), **Anon **(Anon ftw—your review made me laugh out loud), **Nix **(Why thank-you, and that didn't sound mean; The next few chapters mark a serious turning point in the Lily-James relationship, which will increase their together-ness—proximity wise, at least—for the rest of the story), **FoggyMoon **(why thank-you; glad you enjoyed), **Mire** (gracias), **Mia** (thank-you; have a lovely summer yourself), **Ahhreelmonsters **(incidentally, love the penname, and thank-you; I love the Marauder bro-mance, so adding angst to that is a lot of fun for me), **thatchesirecat** (aww, thanks so much!), **anonymous** (thanks—yeah, I typically find James-tells-Lily-he's-a-stag scenes awkward, so I thought it would work better with Lily finding out on her own), and **LIZZY** (more Lily/James coming up, I promise. And can I just say that I love you for calling Charlie "Charles?" For real, I'm gonna have to use that).

This chapter was horrible for the friendships of this fic, and the next chapter will be both good and bad in that area. Two friendships will be/stay decidedly broken, one will be mended, one will sit in limbo, and one will evolve (form? Hmm...) with shipper implications. Other things to look forward to include flashbacks (lots of 'em), reasonably legit interaction between Shelley and James, and decisive info on what exactly went down between Marlene and Adam. Also, it's the last chapter of 6th year, so summer holidays are coming up... and _that_ will be fun—especially if you're a Lily/James shipper, have ever fantasized about working in a pub, or love (love-to-hate) Carlotta. Oh snap.

Reviews are going to bed just after you shaved your legs, so the sheets feel way nice.

Love and cookies,

Jules


	23. To End a Year

**A/N:** Nostalgia for anyone who read ITISNS: I accidentally opened the wrong file on my computer and clicked on the document titled "23," but instead of opening up this, I opened chapter 23 of ITISNS, entitled "The Lord and the Outlaw." Aw, James thinking Lily is dead and getting tortured in the Forbidden Forest—good times.

**Disclaimer:** Copyright Jo-Ro.

**Before**: At the beginning of the year, Nicolai Mulciber tests Snape's loyalties to Slytherin by having him disarm Lily, but James intervenes and punches Mulciber. Also, Adam McKinnon and Carlotta Meloni tried to kill themselves. But not really. Adam tells Marlene he loves her; she rejects him and totally fails "Unrequited Love Level One." Donna and Lily haven't been friends since Donna belittled Lily's dad's death. Meanwhile, Donna has been hooking up with Ravenclaw Charlie Plex, who has a girlfriend named Cassidy, but when Charlie reveals that he had actual legitimate feelings for Donna, she decides to do the right thing and cut him loose. He's pissed. Lily's ex-boyfriend Luke is devastated when his death-eater brother Logan is killed by aurors, so Luke decides to quit school without taking his N.E.W.T.s. James kicks Sirius out of the Marauders and the dormitory because of his Whomping Willow prank on Snape. Lily and James have a major fight; James says Lily used him to help her with Luke because she knew he liked her, and that she only used to reject him to prove a point to Snape. Lily says she rejected him because he was a jerk. Lily figures that as far as her relationship with James goes, there's nothing left to say.

Dedicated to **BigBangMeteor8612**, who is responsible for the fast update, because I'm just a sucker like that. Happy belated Birthday, BBM!

Chapter 23- "To End a Year"

Or

"One Love"

In the Gryffindor boys' dormitory for their year, there lived five wizards. They were James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Adam McKinnon.

From day one, James Potter and Sirius Black were best mates.

Fate works in funny ways sometimes. If, on his first day of school, Sirius Black had not sat down in Compartment B on the first car of the Hogwarts Express... if, instead, he had taken a few extra steps into Compartment C or, or if he had climbed onto a different car, he might not have met James Potter that morning. Later, he might have asked the Sorting Hat to put him in Slytherin instead (because, after all, that was where his whole family had been sorted), and James Potter and Sirius Black might never have been best mates.

Or maybe they would.

Because fate works in funny ways sometimes.

But the truth of it is, Sirius Black _did_ meet James Potter in Compartment B, and he _was_ sorted to Gryffindor, and they _did_ become best mates. And _that_ was the beginning of the Marauders. The very beginning.

It is not, however, the whole story.

Once again: in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory for their year, there lived five wizards, and by their second April at Hogwarts, James Potter and Sirius Black had been best mates for well over a year. Peter Pettigrew floated on the perimeters of several social circles, belonging to none. Adam McKinnon was a nice enough bloke—James and Sirius decided—but he was rather rule-abiding, and he had friends outside of the dorm. Remus Lupin's story was more or less the same, except that he was far less "normal" than Adam... there was definitely something off about Remus.

He was quiet; he kept to himself. Where did he disappear to every month? Why did he always look so ill, and where did his creepy scratches come from?

There was something off about Remus Lupin, but until April of their second year, James and Sirius did not know _what_.

"He's a cool enough bloke," whispered Sirius to James one evening in Astronomy, while Professor Dawton chattered on about the properties of some star cluster or other. "But he's a bit odd, don't you think? I tried to invite him into the Gobstones game last week, but he looked at me as though I'd tried to hex him instead."

"He _is_ weird," James agreed. "But he's not so bad—he covered for us in Potions last week, when we exploded Snivelly's cauldron."

They both snickered at the recollection.

"Hey, Pettigrew," muttered Sirius, elbowing the tiny wizard at the telescope beside his. "What d'you reckon is Lupin's story? He's missing _another_ Astronomy class."

Peter shrugged. "He _does_ seem to miss a lot, doesn't he? McGonagall says he goes home to visit his mum."

Sirius snorted. "He looks so ill when he gets back, it's more like he's gone to visit_ my_ mum."

"Well there you are," chuckled James. "We've found our answer."

Before Sirius could respond, Professor Dawton interrupted the conversation. "Potter, Black, Pettigrew—quiet there," he warned with an unconvincing show of sternness. Professor Dawton really was too nice for his own good. He returned to the lecture, pointing out various items of interest in the night sky. The three second years nodded obediently, and James noticed Lily Evans rolling her eyes not far away. _Her_ telescope was right beside that prat Snivellus's. Whatever did she _see _in the slimy git, anyway?

"Stop ogling Evans," Sirius whispered, causing James to scowl.

"I'm not," he insisted, and Sirius grinned.

Peter stifled a yawn. "I hate Astronomy," he grumbled in an undertone. "Why do we have to have class at _night_?"

"Because that's when the stars are out, genius," retorted Sirius. "'Sides, it's not so late. James and I were out much later last night... we found the Kitchens."

Peter's eyes grew large and round like saucers. "The Kitchens?" he whispered, almost reverently. "You used that cloak again, didn't you?"

James and Sirius exchanged pleased looks, and the former nodded. "Maybe we'll take you out with it sometime, yeah?"

"That'd be _brill_," Peter breathed.

"_Boys_," Professor Dawton spoke up again. "Really, now. If I have to ask for your silence again, you won't be allowed to leave early with the rest of the class." Dawton always dismissed the class early on full moons, because, he said, the brightness of the moon made star observation difficult.

"Yes, Professor," chorused the three boys. "But you'll still let us have Marshmallow Moons, won't you?" added Sirius, beaming. Dawton—an enthusiast for celestial events—handed out sweets to his students on full and new moons. This was the former.

"Please, just pay attention," said the professor, and he again resumed his lecture. The three Gryffindors were quiet for a short while, and then Peter spoke once more.

"Too bad Dawton only hands out Marshmallow Moons. I'm sick of those."

"Don't complain," murmured James. "If you don't like 'em, give 'em to Lupin. Heloves them, and he never gets any on account of his having to go home."

"Now," Dawton went on, "if you'll please direct your telescopes northward..."

"You know," said Sirius, peering through the lens of his telescope as instructed, "I don't think he _does_ go home. Last month, he disappeared like he always does, and his first day back he had a letter from his mum at breakfast... why would she write to him if she'd just seen him?"

Neither James nor Peter responded, however, for Professor Dawton was looking in their direction and they were compelled to be quiet. Shortly after that, class was dismissed and—with several packages of marshmallow sweets in hand (James and Sirius had, of course, disregarded the instruction of "Take one, please")—the Gryffindor boys returned to their dormitory.

Adam McKinnon went directly to sleep, and Peter went to bed with the same intent. However, he was awakened very shortly by voices. James and Sirius sat near the window, chewing on their Marshmallow Moons and talking—probably plotting—in poorly concealed murmurs.

"Pettigrew," greeted Sirius, spotting Peter as he looked through the curtains of his four-poster for the source of the disturbance. "Come on, then. Have a Marshmallow Moon. We've got plenty."

Drowsy, but determined not to refuse an invitation from _James Potter _and _Sirius Black_, Peter stumbled across to the window seat. He unwrapped one of the sweets in the small pile between James and Sirius and then sat down on the floor. James picked up a few himself and tossed them onto the nearby desk. "For Lupin," he explained. "He always looks so cheerful when you give him some. It's like _giving_ candy to a baby."

Sirius snickered. "If he wants them, he should come to class once in a while."

James merely shrugged. He leaned his head against the wall and stared idly out the window at the sky. "Funny, isn't it?" he mused vaguely, "Lupin always seems to miss the lessons where Dawton gives out sweets..."

There was a long moment of silence, and then—

"_Oh, my Merlin_," said Sirius and James at the exact same time. Peter looked at them bewilderedly.

"_What_?"

But they were ignoring him.

"Oh, my Merlin!"

"Bloody hell!"

"You don't think...?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it?"

"But Dumbledore wouldn't..."

"Maybe Dumbledore doesn't know..."

"Of course Dumbledore knows! Dumbledore knows everything!"

"But how could...?"

"The teachers must be...?"

"But where does he...?"

"I don't know—but I bet we could..."

"Find out. If we use the..."

"Cloak, exactly."

"Oh my Merlin."

"Oh my _Merlin_."

Peter stared. "What are you two talking about?"

But again, no one answered him—at least not at once. Eventually, James and Sirius recovered from their own self-congratulations long enough to clue in their third roommate. In the mean time, Sirius's face broke into a huge grin, mirrored on James's face immediately.

"This is _so_ cool."

(Present)

And so time passed, as it is usually wont to do. In a blur of lethargy and nothingness, the days slipped by. Lily had never guessed that one person's mood could influence the entire school, and yet so it was that James Potter's lassitude towards everything and everyone suddenly turned pandemic. Never had a May passed with so little excitement—even the thought of upcoming exams had little effect on the students at large. As busy as they all were, no one really seemed to be doing anything much at all.

Sirius stopped sleeping in the Common Room, but he did not return to his dormitory. Rather, he removed himself to another location, which he would not disclose to Lily, though he did reply to her many inquiries that he was not subjected to a cold, stone floor—unless he wanted it. Lily had not the slightest idea what he meant by that, but Sirius remained resolutely enigmatic.

Luke Harper was gone of course, and a tidbit in the paper about Logan said that Luke would be spending time abroad with his mother and one of his other brothers. However, only days later, a new article appeared concerning the Harpers. They had returned to London with plans to demand an investigation on the aurors involved in the Hogsmeade attack. Lathe, apparently, had been correct about that, too.

The Quidditch Final came up in the last weekend of May—Gryffindor verses Slytherin. Sirius was not allowed to play, of course, and Lily felt rather sorry for the back-up Chaser: he never stood a chance. Perhaps it was their Captain's infectious bad mood, or perhaps their own personal dramas that bothered them, but the Gryffindor team played with what appeared to be zero motivation to win. Everyone on the team, it seemed, had a reason to be unhappy, and that, combined with a replacement Chaser whose instruction was at best apathetic, resulted in Gryffindor's most miserable loss to Slytherin in recent history. It was a dark day in Gryffindor Common Room. James's mood worsened, and Gryffindors took to referring to Quidditch simply as "The Q-Word."

Exams seemed a distant, uncertain concept, and yet, very suddenly, the first week of June drew to a close, and they were only days away. The O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students had become slaves to their books, and Lily did her very best to work equally hard for her own tests, but her attention drifted. She couldn't focus. The weather was getting warm, and she found herself thinking of her own O.W.L.s—what had transpired by the lake one June day almost exactly one year prior—and various other unhappy thoughts, often involving Luke Harper, Logan Harper, or James Potter.

It was all very confusing, and, strangely enough, the only one of her friends who steered clear of the relative melodrama that was her life just then was Severus Snape. So it was that she did most of her studying for the upcoming Potions final with the Slytherin, earning the witch even more glares from James.

"You're not paying attention," Snape accused indifferently, as Lily's gaze once again wandered out the library window. It was Friday evening, and the final was on Monday.

"No," agreed Lily. "Everything is rotten. Besides..." Closing her _Advanced Potion Making, Level 6 _book, "I know all of it." This—while not strictly speaking _true_—approximated the truth, and she _really_ did not feel like studying. She felt like talking, and it was her great misfortune that every topic worth discussing was strictly unmentionable with Snape.

When had _that_ happened?

"Do you want to try Defense, then?" offered the Slytherin, a little bored.

Lily shook her head. "I don't want to study. I don't want to think."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. I just want to lie down and disappear."

Severus sighed. "I don't know how I'm supposed to talk to you when you're like this, Lily." He sounded weary... and he _never_ sounded weary with Lily. She looked at him. "Can we just finish the Potions?"

The redhead shrugged. "Fine. Potions." She opened her book, but it was to a random page, and she didn't read the words.

"You're not paying attention," said Snape again.

"No," agreed Lily.

(Cassidy, Part One)

Cassidy Gamp had a lot of shiny, curly hair, roughly the color of macaroni and cheese. She was petite, gentle, and feminine, with large doe eyes, a delicate chin, and a button nose. She was exactly the sort of girl that boys her age fancied: sweet tempered, virginal, needy, intellectually average, and quite capable of making a member of the opposite sex feel thoroughly masculine. She was, in no uncertain terms, Donna Shacklebolt's polar opposite.

This realization was by no means new to Donna, who could not help but notice from across the Great Hall as Cassidy Gamp strived and failed to gain her boyfriend's attention. Charlie Plex was far too busy sulking into his supper to pay attention to Cassidy's desperate chatter.

In one sense, Cassidy's existence was loathsome to Donna. She was pretty, and while not precisely _stupid_, not exactly bright either. What's more, she wasn't the sort of girl to be kept up at night thinking about death eaters. She wasn't the type of girl to have nightmares (_real_ nightmares) or genuine worries or complex concerns. She was uncomplicated. She would finish Hogwarts with good grades and might or might not pursue a career of some kind, but give it up in a few years when she found a wizard willing to get married. Uncomplicated.

In another sense, Donna knew that she had absolutely no right to dislike Cassidy, for as foolish and naïve as the girl had been, she had also been treated absolutely abominably—by Charlie and by Donna herself, and that did not make Cassidy contemptible. That made her sympathetic.

As she sat at Gryffindor table, eating her supper alone, Donna wondered what exactly Cassidy Gamp would do if she ever found out about Charlie. She would probably make quite a fuss; she would probably forget her pride and call attention to herself; she would probably hex Charlie, or try to anyway, and she would almost certainly turn every female in the school against Donna. That was how Donna knew that Charlie had not told his girlfriend; if he ever did, _she_ would know very soon.

Charlie looked away from his supper long enough to glance in Donna's direction, and he caught her staring. She looked away quickly, but not before she saw Charlie's eyes flash angrily. After that, she avoided Ravenclaw table altogether.

(Fifth Year, Part One)

"I failed," stated Donna. "I failed. I know I did. I got every question wrong. I failed. They're going to have to make up a new letter for how badly I just did."

Mary, Marlene, and Lily all rolled their eyes. "You did not fail," Lily assured her, as the girls walked through the crowded Entrance Hall. "You _always _say that, and you have yet to actually fail anything."

"This time I mean it, though!" Donna protested. "I just _failed_ my Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.!"

"You did _not_," insisted Marlene. "And stop fishing for compliments. You already know you're brilliant in lessons, if a little daft in actual life. Are we going outside?"

"It's too hot to stay indoors," said Lily. "And I couldn't possibly study for Transfiguration right now."

"I agree," said Mary, who was cheerful now that the exam was finally finished. "Let's go outside. We can sit by the lake."

And so, destiny—in the tones of a heat-stricken Mary Macdonald—beckoned the girls outside with most of the other fifth years. Sitting on the bank of the black lake, Lily kicked off her shoes, peeled off her socks, and dangled her feet in the water; Mary and Marlene followed, though Donna protested on the grounds that "Agrippa only knows what's in _that_ water."

"Liam Lyle asked me out last week," Mary told them all, as they basked in the sun. "To the Hogsmeade weekend coming up," she clarified. "I might say 'yes,' but I haven't decided."

"Don't toy with Liam Lyle," reprimanded Lily almost automatically, glancing across the lawns to a solitary figure, reading under a tree. "He's a nice bloke."

"I don't _toy_ with blokes..."

Marlene snorted. "Mary, dear, you're my best friend, but I have two words for you: Devang Patel."

"Alright, I toyed with Devang a little," Mary allowed. "But only because he was so convinced that I was such a sure thing."

"Aren't you?" said Donna dryly, earning her an elbow from the tiny brunette.

"_No_."

"Speaking of blokes who are mad about certain witches..." said Marlene, following Lily's glances.

"Who?" asked Donna, before noticing to what the blonde referred. "Oh. Snape."

Lily started at the sound of his name. "Sod off," she retorted with dignity. "He's not mad about me; actually, we've had a row."

"Of course you have," said Mary. "That's why you're here with your lovely friends, rather than over there dying of boredom with a Transfiguration book."

"Right," muttered Marlene a bit darkly; "I'm _sure_ that's just a simple Transfiguration book."

"Quiet," Lily ordered. "He's still my friend."

"Merlin knows why," added Donna.

Lily sent them all warning looks, and they knew better than to continue the discussion. "Well," said Mary, her eyes wandering towards another tree, where different wizards amused themselves. "What about James Potter? _He_ fancies you, Lily."

"I hope that's a joke," replied the prefect, sending a look towards the Marauders. James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew sat in the shade of large tree; Sirius and Peter seemed to be laughing about something, Remus was reading, and James played with a Snitch he had undoubtedly filched from the school.

"He _is_ cute," chanted Mary, and it was a familiar conversation. Mary _always_ reminded Lily of James's undeniable (though Lily adamantly denied) good-looks. Donna was next.

"And he's a damn good Quidditch captain," Donna predictably contributed. Marlene would follow.

"And he fancies you like mad," continued Marlene. "How many times has he asked you out this week?"

"Twice," Lily replied. "It's been a nice, slow week."

Marlene and Mary laughed appreciatively. "Shelley Mumps would _kill_ to be in your shoes," the latter pointed out.

"If giving her my shoes would get rid of Potter, I would gladly go barefoot," said Lily. "Unfortunately, not even tripping hexes and constant rejections have worked so far, so my faith in shoe-less-ness is rather weak."

"Oh, how she suffers," said Donna sarcastically.

"Poor Potter," mused Marlene. "He hasn't a chance, has he? Not really Lily's type."

"Not at all," agreed Lily. "I mean, look at him, showing off with that Snitch..."

"Well, we can't get Jay Gatsby or Paul Newman," said Mary, "So Hogwarts boys will have to do."

"There are Hogwarts boys and there are _Hogwarts boys_," Lily pointed out. "And is it so terribly wrong to want a bloke who is romantic and soulful and maybe just a bit poetic?"

"Oh _no_," murmured Donna, and her eyes were directed across the lawn.

"What?" asked Lily.

"Nothing." Donna shifted uncomfortably. "Nothing at all. What were you saying? Soulful?"

But Lily would have none of it. She turned and saw the scene unraveling a short distance away. James Potter and Sirius Black stood with their wands drawn, and their target was, of course, Severus Snape.

The heat and anger rose in Lily's face; almost automatically, she got up, shoving her sockless feet into her school flats and starting towards the group.

"Here we go..." muttered Marlene.

"Leave him ALONE!"

James Potter's hand that wasn't occupied with holding his wand—in the process of producing pink, bubbles in Snape's mouth—moved instantly to his hair, ruffling it unnecessarily. "All right, Evans?"

"Leave him alone," Lily seethed. "What's he done to you?"

"Well... it's more the fact that he _exists, _if you know what I mean..."

Others laughed; Lily's blood boiled. _Conceited arse_...

"You think you're funny," she said coldly. "But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him _alone_."

James seemed utterly unperturbed by her insults; without the slightest indication that he recognized the fury, the pure dislike, in her tone and her eyes, the wizard quipped, without missing a beat: "I will if you'll go out with me, Evans."

Lily might have been surprised, but it seemed James's arrogance knew no bounds.

"Go on..." he continued, " go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."

Disgusted: "I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid."

And then, maybe for half a second, James finally seemed to register the fact that Lily Evans, at that moment, loathed his existence, as much as he loathed Snape's.

"Bad luck, Prongs," said the nearby Sirius, obviously not as bothered as James by the rejection. Anyway, he had bigger problems: _"Oy!"_

Too late was Sirius's warning, however; a flash of light, and then James was bleeding—a large, deep gash had appeared on the side of his face. An instant later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air. Several people cheered.

Lily summoned all her energy. _It wasn't funny_. "Let him down!"

The emotion—real, honest emotion—that had briefly flickered across James's face was gone... long forgotten. He smirked and cocked his head. "Certainly."

Snape crashed to the ground, but before he could properly recover, Sirius directed a spell in the Slytherin's direction, and he keeled over once again, rigid.

"_LEAVE HIM ALONE!"_ Lily shouted, drawing her own wand. Her two house-mates looked at her uncertainly; apparently, the prospect of dueling an armed Lily Evans was far less appealing than assaulting Snape.

"Ah, Evans," James almost pleaded, "don't make me hex you."

He _would_ too, she thought.

"Take the curse off him, then!"

James sighed. He released Snape from the _Locomotor Mortis _that Sirius had cast. "There you go," James said, annoyed; Snape stumbled to his feet. "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus..."

And then it happened. Snape's black eyes flashed, flickering from James to Lily to the surrounding students. There was still soap on the front of his robes, and his typically pallid face flushed red. And then it happened.

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"

An eternal few seconds passed; out of the corner of her eye, Lily noticed Marlene, Mary, and Donna approaching the scene. The spectators had gone quiet. James seemed almost more confused than anything else. Remus actually looked up from his book. The world waited for Lily's response, but she wasn't quite ready to give it.

_Mudbloods like her_.

"Fine," she managed to say, quite coolly; Snape had gone pale again; "I won't bother in the future."

_Mudbloods like her_.

"And I'd wash your pants if I were you, _Snivellus_."

James had regained his temper. "Apologize to Evans!"

_Arrogant, hateful, conceited git..._

Lily rounded on him. "I don't want _you_ to make him apologize! You're as bad as he is...!"

"What? I'd NEVER call you a..." He hesitated awkwardly: "You-know-what!"

But Lily was so furious, her hands were practically shaking as she clenched them into fists and snapped: "Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can—I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with _that_ fat head on it! You make me SICK!"

She turned, moving blindly away as fast as she could.

_Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood, mudblood…_

"Evans! Hey, EVANS!"

But Potter was light-years away; she barely heard him, the blood pounding in her ears, the hurt and anger pulsing through her veins, that word echoing in her brain... James Potter might not have existed at all...

_Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood, mudblood, mudblood, mudblood..._

"_Lily_."

She had reached the castle doors, and someone grabbed her arm. Marlene.

"Lily," repeated the blonde, softer. Donna and Mary stood at a distance.

But Lily couldn't stay. "Not here," she murmured. "The dorm..."

Marlene nodded. "Lily, I'm so, _so_ sorry..."

She wanted to cry. No, she wanted to throw something. She wanted to hit someone as absolutely hard as she could. She wanted to...

"It's fine."

She turned and walked through the castle doors... her feet moved beneath her, carrying her through corridors and up staircases, and only one thought transmitted.

Mudblood.

(Present)

There had been a surprising number of significant moments in that library, Severus Snape considered, as he waited for Lily at the usual table, way in the back corner. The most recent, least pleasant of which had to be that which occurred the day before...

But he couldn't have _known_ that Lily was in the library, and she might not have heard too much of his conversation...

Still, from the look in her eye as she had stalked away, Severus gathered that she had heard enough. He wasn't altogether sure that she would even show up for their previously scheduled study meet.

Lily did show up though, looking flustered. "I can't stay," she informed him. "Madam Pomfrey asked for older students to volunteer in the Hospital Wing, on account of all the stress related problems with exams, and I promised I'd help out for a few hours..."

"Lily," interrupted Sev, frustrated. "You're angry, aren't you?"

"No," Lily insisted. "I'm just running late."

"I know that you heard Mulciber and me yesterday," the Slytherin continued, rising from his chair. "There's no point in denying it."

"I'm not denying it," she retorted. "I'm avoiding it, because frankly, I don't know how I feel about it yet—except really, _really_ ticked off, and if I discuss it now, I'll probably end up shouting at someone. But that's not why I have to leave now... I have to leave now because I _promised_ Madam Pomfrey that I'd be in the Infirmary thirty seconds ago."

_"Lily_," pleaded Severus, as she turned to leave once again. Lily paused, her shoulders dropping as though she were sighing heavily.

"Yes?" she asked, turning slowly back to him.

Her expression was weary, her pink lips pulled into a frown and her eyes fixed on Severus like she was waiting for something. She _was _waiting, and he knew it. She was waiting for him to say something that would earn him absolution, that would alleviate her doubts and fix this.

"I didn't say that word," he muttered. "Mulciber did, but _I_ didn't..."

Lily stared at him, almost disbelievingly, for a moment longer. Then, shaking her head, she smiled rather mirthlessly. She was disappointed. "You just _don't _understand, do you, Sev?"

He had failed, Severus realized, as Lily attempted to leave the library once more. He had completely frustrated all her hopes that he would be able to earn pardon, and now—because she was _Lily—_forgiveness would have to be given without justification. Severus stepped in front of her.

"Don't leave angry," he requested.

"I'm not..." But Lily broke off; she ran one hand through her thick hair, eyes cast heavenward, as she worked through something internally. "I'm not angry, Sev," she finished at last. "I can—I can meet up with you on Wednesday, okay? Here, after the Defense final. We'll study for... Charms, or whatever. Okay?" Sev nodded. "Now I really have to go."

She moved swiftly past him out of the library. Severus sat down at his table again, dissatisfied but resigned to the fact that that was all he was going to get for now.

(Run)

The first time he had transformed, James had hated it. Of course, he'd read that the first time a wizard became Animagus was always the most painful, but he hadn't expected it to be so excruciating. He'd felt as though his muscles were ripping and splitting apart, that his bones were shattering and his heart bursting open. And, if he thought about it, that wasn't too far from the truth.

But after the initial transfiguration, the muscles and bones and organs remembered how to reshape themselves, and James was able to pay attention to the details—like how the beating of his heart changed, and how different the wind felt against his skins, and how surprisingly natural it felt coordinating four legs rather than two. The best part of being Prongs was the galloping, though. James enjoyed running in his human form, and he _loved_ flying, but neither was quite like galloping.

Precisely what he loved about flying (the open, emptiness of the skies) thrilled him in its absence when he moved at inhuman speeds through the forest. It was a game of reflexes, dodging trees and clearing rocks. The speed, the instinct, the concentration, the wind filling his ears—it _was_ rather like flying sometimes, but it was also very different. For one thing, it wore him out much more quickly.

As he had learned very early on, Prongs could handle rather more exertion than plain old James could, and usually he was careful not to wear out the former, as that would typically render the latter inert. Anyway, Padfoot and Wormtail wouldn't be able to keep up. Tonight was different, though.

James landed a jump with a crash, his hooves skidding against the rough dirt path so deep in the forest that he reckoned even Hagrid's knowledge of the area was hazy at best. It was dark—pitch black, as the waxing moon was still slight, and the overhang of trees counteracted starlight.

As he slid, James closed his eyes and concentrated. An invisible force overtook him, pulling his body in different directions, and—as predicted and intended—the adrenaline was phenomenal. The rush of blood to the head... the tingling of his fingertips... the weightlessness of his entire being that was so great it overcame even the pain he ought to have felt, as his now human body tumbled onto the dirt, striking his neck against a rock and one of his legs against a log, before it ended up, flat on its back in ferns and dust.

James could have gone to sleep right there. He barely had the energy to pull his riding-up t-shirt down over his abdomen. He could hardly tilt his head to one side. A beetle crawled along the ground beside his face, and James smirked weakly at it.

"It must be very _simple _to be you," he murmured, almost enviously. "Is one bug's life any more fucked up than another's?" The beetle, predictably, kept quiet. "I didn't think so."

He would be so, so sore in the morning, and he was already weak enough that there was a very real possibility he would collapse before he made it back to the castle, and yet, James mustered strength from an unknown source and pulled himself upward. He wobbled unsteadily on his feet for a moment and had to push his sweaty hair from his eyes, but the exhaustion... it wasn't a bad thing. Agrippa's sake, it was the reason he was out there at all tonight.

Becoming an Animagus had taught James several things; it had made him far more aware of his own movements, of how it felt to have blood pulse through his veins, or to see things through his own, admittedly imperfect eyes. It had also taught him two more very important things as well. One: that no matter how exhausted he was, he would always be a little stronger than he thought. No matter how draining a full moon excursion was, if he really tried, he would be able to summon the strength to rise the next morning and act as though all was normal.

The second thing was that this fatigue worked in his favor. If you were tired enough, exhaustion became intoxicating. It slowed the brain, it dulled the senses, it blurred the world. And even if every transformation were as agonizing as the first had been (they weren't), that intoxication would have made it all worth it. Besides the fact that it would almost guarantee that he would sleep that night (and lately, that was incentive enough), an empty mind, thought James as he forced his feet back along the path, was a rare gift, and one that never lasted long enough.

(Astronomy Tower)

The library and the Common Room were out of the question due to the risk of encounter that they posed, and Mary was in the dormitory, which made studying there impossible. As a result, Marlene felt stranded and homeless, wandering the corridors with a heavy book bag in search of solitude and a place to study.

Perhaps the Astronomy Tower was not the obvious choice on account of its reputation as a "social" spot, but Marlene was in luck that evening. Apparently the usual number of amorous couples who frequented that spot had decided to take to their books with exams so imminent, and the tower was empty.

Marlene sat down on the floor, dropping her book bag beside her and leaning her back against the wall. The night sky constituted her ceiling, and maybe the spot was uncomfortable—with the stone floor and humid summer air—but at least she was alone.

She opened her Potions book to one of the procedures Slughorn had promised would be included on the final (the Calming Draught) and began to read. Within ten seconds, Marlene was thinking of Adam. They'd worked on the Calming Draught essay together.

"Damn it," swore Marlene loudly and to no one in particular.

Of course, scowling at the stars, she realized that this was almost certainly the wrong place to go to avoid thinking of Adam. It was not without a twinge of pain that she thought of what had quite nearly happened here nine months prior.

Marlene pushed her books onto the floor and got to her feet. She strolled to the ledge and looked out across the grounds—Hagrid's hut in the distance, the Forbidden Forest, the towers and rooftops of the castle... She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what he—what Adam—had seen that night when he had almost fallen. She used the word "fallen," because it didn't really count as jumping, did it?

She'd always been good with heights; that was probably why she liked flying so much, and now, leaning over the wall and staring down, while others might have been dizzy, Marlene relished the feeling of a cool breeze on her face and the vague weightlessness of standing so far above the ground. Without knowing why (and fully realizing that it was probably rather stupid), Marlene swung one leg up onto the stone ledge and pulled herself up.

There she stood, arms outstretched mostly for balance, at the mercy of gravity, as the wind whipped gently at her robes and uniform. If she were a little saner, she thought, she would have been quite a bit more frightened, and yet...

"_Marlene_?"

Startled, Marlene opened her eyes and turned her head, loosing her balance just a bit and swaying.

"Marlene!"

She had barely registered that it was Adam McKinnon calling her before he had grabbed her hand and pulled her back onto the floor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Adam demanded.

"I was just..." Marlene broke off, for she had no real explanation... "It was nothing," she dismissed. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Oh, y'know... reliving happy Astronomy Tower memories."

"Don't be sarcastic about that."

"Says the girl who was prepping for a swan dive."

"I was _not_ prepping for a swan dive. I was—er—taking in the view."

Then, both Adam and Marlene realized that he was still sort of holding her in his arms, and they sprung apart suddenly and awkwardly.

Adam cleared his throat. "Is—is there a reason you felt the need to climb up there?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck and not quite looking her in the eye.

"I don't know," replied Marlene; she, too, looked away with determination. "I j-just... was. I thought I'd see how it felt."

He raised his eyebrows. "And how did it feel?"

After some reflection: "Liberating."

Adam snorted. "Right."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Marlene continued, somewhat accusatorily. "Do you come up here a lot? I don't think that's healthy. After all, you _did_ nearly... well, you know, and..."

"I come up here to think, that's all," interrupted Adam. He noticed her books. "Are you doing homework?"

"Trying to study. Unsuccessfully."

"And that's what spurred the suicide attempt?"

"It wasn't a suicide attempt!"

"Yes, if I'd been a minute later, it would have been a suicide _success_."

"I have _excellent_ balance, actually."

"You almost fell!"

"Only because you startled me!"

They were both quiet for several seconds; finally, Adam shook his head and spoke. "Fine. I'll—let you get back to your studying. Just... don't climb anymore ledges, please?"

He started to leave.

"Wait. Adam." The wizard paused and looked at her, and Marlene knew that she had no right to say it, but, _Merlin,_ she _needed_ to. "I miss you."

(Three and a Half Weeks Earlier)

The sun was low in the sky, coloring the Quidditch pitch in orange and pink light. Still, there was a curious blaze in Adam's blue-green eyes that could not be explained by the sunset.

And then he said it.

"Marlene, I love you."

Compulsively: "Adam, wait..."

"No, I can't," he rushed on. "You don't understand—I've been waiting forever. I can't wait anymore. I love you. I mean I'm _in_ love with you. I've been in love with you since fourth year, and... and I know we're mates, but, Marlene, it's... impossible for me to keep acting like that's all I want. I can't do that anymore... I want to be with you."

Several seconds or several minutes may have passed. Marlene's voice had stopped functioning, because several times she tried to bring herself to speak and found the words choked in her throat. Meanwhile, her brain was working so hard, it might as well have not been working at all, for all of her many thoughts and emotions and impulses blurred together in the panic.

She felt the heat rise in her face. She was vaguely aware of being afraid. She was more than vaguely aware of the frenzied manner in which her heart was beating. She had no idea of how she ought to (or how she wanted to) reply.

"_Please say something, Marlene_."

But she couldn't, because if she couldn't say she loved him too, she would rather not say anything at all. And she _couldn't_ say she loved him, too. She just couldn't.

Oh, God, she had to say something...

"I—I'm sorry, I just..." More hesitation, then, "I don't know what to say, Adam. I didn't—I didn't know."

But that, she realized suddenly and horribly, was a lie. Of course she had known. Of _course_ she had known he loved her! She had denied it and suppressed it and made up neat little excuses for Mary and for herself, but _she had known_. A girl—she thought—always knows.

"Adam," she began, still shaken by her unhappy epiphany. "I _can't_. Listen, y-y-y-you're one of my _best friends_..."

He didn't look surprised by that line (_and it _was_ a line_); he didn't look hurt, either, or crestfallen; but something indefinable changed in his expression, and Marlene knew that he understood exactly what she was saying.

"And that's all," Adam interjected, with no question in his tone. "Just friends."

Breathless, and with a curious and awful aching in her chest: "Isn't that enough?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, isn't—isn't friendship enough?"

"I don't know," said Adam. "But I—I don't think I can do this anymore. I can't be like we've been... it's too painful for me, Marlene."

"What do you mean you can't 'do this' anymore?" she asked, alarmed. "You can't—can't be my friend?"

"Mar, I just told you I loved you. Don't you think that changes anything?"

Marlene's heart pounded in her chest. She knew what was happening; she was about to lose Adam... No, she had already lost him. He was right; it changed everything. _He_ had changed everything.

"Listen," said Adam, after she was silent for a while, "let's juts forget about this. Let's just forget about the whole thing. If we agree it never happened, it never happened, right? And everything..."

"We _can't_," Marlene interrupted suddenly. She got unsteadily to her feet, and Adam imitated the gesture. "We can't go back to normal! I can't forget about this! It already happened—it's already out there!" Tears grew in her eyes and her head throbbed in pain; she rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers, willing her head to be calmed. "How can we possibly be friends now?"

Adam just looked at her, stunned.

"Why did you have to do this?" she said, and then she wished she hadn't. _Oh, God,_ please let her take it back. Please let her never have to see Adam wear that expression ever again. Please, please, please, please...

"I—I'm sorry," he said quietly.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no_...

There were a million things Marlene wanted to say—anything to fix this, anything to take it all back. But, God, she didn't know _what_ to say, and she couldn't see him like this; she couldn't bear to see that look on his face another minute.

"I h-have to go," she stammered. Tears slipped from her eyes as she turned and hurried away, pulling her robes close around her middle. Adam didn't stop her.

_Adam loves me_, she thought, and it occurred to her, _really hit home_, for the first time that _she_ needed _him_.

(Present)

"_I miss you_."

Adam just stared. "What?"

"You were my best friend. You _are_ my best friend... with Mary," she amended, rolling her eyes, "But... we don't talk now? If that's my fault, I'm sorry..."

"It's not your fault," sighed Adam. "It's mine."

"No, don't say that. It's _not_ your fault. I shouldn't have said what I said."

"I shouldn't have said what _I_ said."

Marlene took a minute to analyze that. What _he_ said? He hadn't said anything unkind... so that meant... was he taking it back? Did he _not_ love her after all? But why not? Marlene reprimanded herself for that thought and then pressed on:

"So... what are you saying now?"

"_I'm_ not saying anything," Adam pointed out. "_I_ was going to leave, remember?"

"I don't want us not to be friends." She was practically pleading now.

"You were the one who said we couldn't. And I think you were right."

"No!" She stepped forward. "No, I wasn't! If you still want to be friends..."

"Marlene..."

"_What_?"

Adam exhaled heavily; he brushed his floppy, light brown hair from his eyes and shifted his weight. "I wish you would make up your mind about what you want."

"Me too," agreed Marlene glumly, and he smiled a bit, as though he were trying not to.

"I don't want us to not be friends anymore, either," he allowed, after a while.

"Really?"

"Do you think we can just forget what happened?"

"Do _you_?" She waited anxiously for a response. At length, Adam nodded.

"I think I can."

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

They both just looked at each other. "Okay," said Marlene eventually. "So—friends?"

With only very little hesitation: "Friends," Adam agreed. But there was something in his eyes—something in his expression and the way he looked at her as he uttered the word—something that told her that everything had changed.

_Friends_.

The tragedy of the thing, Marlene thought as they said inelegant goodbyes, was that they both knew it was a lie.

(And Remus)

"So—some Herbology final, yeah?"

Remus Lupin looked up from his Defense Against the Dark Arts book and smiled weakly as Lily took the vacant chair across from him at the library table.

"How do you think you did?"

Remus merely shrugged. "Alright, I suppose. You?"

"Same, I guess." They sat for a moment, and then Lily went on: "I haven't seen you around much. I've been wanting to talk to you for ages, but—you're never alone. I never see you in the Common Room or at meals, either... finding you here was purely the result of diligent stalking."

"I've been having most of my meals in the Kitchens," said Remus softly. "And in the Common Room there's always the chance I'll run into Sirius, so..." He looked down at his book. "And, to be honest, I've kind of been avoiding you."

Lily nodded. "Yeah... I sort of thought so."

"I'm just... not really sure what to say to you," Remus continued. "Besides the others—James, Peter, Sirius, y'know—no one... I mean, I've never had anyone _'find out'_ about me. With Snape knowing, there are problems, but it's not as though I really care about his personal opinion of me, y'know? But I—with you, it's rather different."

Lily nodded again. "I'm glad I didn't know," she told him. "I mean, before. It would've been very complicated with Sev, and I understand why you wouldn't want to tell me... since he was my best friend and your worst enemy..." She sighed.

"Right."

"But that's not why I wanted to talk to you." Remus shifted uncomfortably. "Are you feeling alright? I mean, I can't pretend I'm an expert on..." She lowered her voice: "...lycanthropy, but it can't be very pleasant. I've read that lunar events can take an awful toll, and the next full moon is coming up, and... well... you already know all of this, of course."

"I'm fine," said Remus. "And, Lily, believe me, I get it."

"You get it? You get what?"

"You don't owe me anything, Lily."

"Remus, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Remus sighed. "I lied to you, and—it wasn't just something stupid or insignificant. It's the sort of secret that you should have known... that anyone considering whether or not they want to be my friend or spend time with me—that they have a right to know."

"Well, to be fair, you never said you _weren't_ a werewolf," Lily joked, but when Remus's smile was—at best—half-hearted, she continued more seriously: "Remus, you don't have to apologize for not telling me. And you certainly don't have to apologize for... for having _that_."

"What about for trying to tear you limb from limb?"

"Eh. I've had worse nights." Remus continued to look un-amused. "Oh, c'mon, you're not laughing at any of my jokes," Lily complained. "Are you angry with _me_?"

"No, I'm not angry with you," he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I' m just—I just feel guilty when I'm around you."

"Well, don't. You have nothing to feel guilty about. None of this is your fault."

"That doesn't change anything."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." He deliberated, then continued: "I mean, it doesn't change the fact that I'm the sort of... creature... that respectable people avoid."

"_'Creature,'_ Remus? _Really_?"

"Lily, they have lectures about my kind during Care of Magical Creatures class. I had to answer questions about _me_ on my Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. I'm not a good person to have as a friend. I'm just _not_."

"What about James and Sirius and Peter?"

Remus sent her a significant look.

"Well, James and Peter, then?" she amended earnestly. "What about them? _They're_ your friends."

"It's different. They've known since second year."

"And in four years, I'll have known for as long as they have now!"

"I know, it's just..."

"Just _what_?"

He hesitated. "If you had found out some other way... if Sirius hadn't told—told _Snape_, no less—then things would be different. It would be enough for you to say that you're okay with it. I would probably even be relieved that you know."

"_But_?"

"But Sirius told," replied Remus with a shrug. "My best mate used me in some ploy for revenge, and right now, I don't trust _anyone_ with the secret. Not even James and Peter, and that's awful, but it's just the way I feel. For the first time in years, I wish they didn't know. I wish no one knew. Before Sirius told, I didn't realize how much I was dying to just get up in front of everyone and tell them all the truth, because I _hated_ keeping this stupid secret, and I loved the fact that there was someone—three someones, to be more precise—who knew the truth. But now I know why I can't tell anyone. I'd rather keep this gnawing secret then... then the alternative."

Lily nodded slowly, and after some time half jokingly offered: "Do you want to obliviate me?"

Remus snorted. "I feel guilty enough about not trusting you... actually acting on that would just make it worse."

"You _can_ trust me, Remus."

"I know that... it's just... difficult."

"Okay." Lily rose from the table. "We're still friends, though... right?"

"I—I would like that," replied Remus. "Assuming you're willing..."

"Of course." Lily chewed her lip, before adding: "If you need anything, I'm here."

"Thank-you." The witch started to leave. "Lily," Remus called softly after her, and she paused. To avoid anyone overhearing, he rose and approached her, leaning close as he spoke. "I know you've been spending time with Sirius..."

"Remus, he has_ no_ friends..."

"No, it's not that," interrupted the other. "I just—I want to warn you. I know you think you can trust him—that his heart's in the right place. That's what I've always thought. But you can't. You _can't_ trust Sirius Black."

Lily met his eye. "I do, though."

Remus frowned, pain shining through on his pale, tired face. "Be careful, Lily."

She knew that he meant those to be parting words, but Lily stepped closer, abolishing the distance between them and hugging Remus tightly. When she released him, she said: "It'll all be okay, you know. Sirius, Potter... all of it. Promise."

Then, because Ms. Sevoy was sending them funny looks, Lily gave Remus's hand a final, comforting squeeze and left.

(With Certainty)

Even the euphoria of being with Frank was not enough to fully resurrect Alice's spirit in the wake of her first day of N.E.W.T. testing. On Monday evening, the witch lay sprawled out on Frank's bed, surrounded by books and class notes, none of which she had the energy or will to pursue any longer.

"I'm going to fail the Charms N.E.W.T.," she informed her boyfriend. "I just am. Hope you have a fun time with the aurors, Frank, because I'm going to end up a waitress."

The Head Boy, who sat, slumped, at his desk as he tried in vain to read another chapter on plant growth charms, shook his head. "You'll do fine. You're clever in Charms."

"No, I'm really not. I'm just a convincing phony."

"Oh, I doubt that very much." Smiling, Frank rose from the desk and switched on the wireless, before moving to the bed and laying down beside Alice. They remained still and quiet for some time, while an old song drifted across the room with promises of undying love and endless devotion.

"Ally," murmured Frank presently; "What if—what if we weren't aurors?"

Alice looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if we don't make it into the program? Or if we—decide to do something else instead?"

"Why would we decide to do something else instead?" pressed Alice. "Is there something else you're thinking about?"

"No," he admitted. "No, I don't know."

"Frank, what are you talking about?"

The Head Boy sighed. He pulled Alice closer, considering his reply carefully before delivering it. "I've always wanted to be an auror," he began slowly. "I've never thought about doing anything else with my life. But that—that was when I had _you_."

"You still have me," Alice pointed out. "And I have you."

"Yes, I know. But I've... I've _not_ had you now; I know what that's like. I don't want to do it again, and if—if we weren't aurors, if we could just go away somehow..."

"Frank," Alice interrupted softly; "I know. I've thought about that, too."

"And...?"

"And I don't have an answer for you. I don't have a reason for us to stay here, except that _I_ know that I have to stay—that I have to be an auror... that I have to fight. And I can't be certain, but I think you'll find that you feel the same thing."

Frank did not reply. The song on the wireless ended, and the announcer read a brief news update: a death eater attack in Wales, two muggle-born witches dead, a brief message from _Mrs. Scower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover_, and then, back to the music...

"Frank?"

The wizard was pulled from his trance and smiled down at Alice before sitting up. "I guess we'd better get studying then."

Alice mirrored his smile and nodded. "I guess so."

Frank leaned over, kissing her softly on the lips. "I love you, Alice Griffiths."

"I love you, too."

(The End)

The strangest thing about the whole situation was the complete lack of ceremony. It was the Wednesday of exam week, and Lily finished her Defense final within minutes of Severus Snape. They were supposed to meet in the library for a bit of studying for the Charms examination, which was that afternoon, but Sev kept her waiting.

Finally, he arrived and took his place at one of the few available tables, but it wasn't the usual, out-of-the-way table in the corner, but one of the central ones, surrounded by dozens of industriously cramming students.

"Can't we sit somewhere else?" asked Severus, and Lily didn't miss the wary glance towards a table of fifth year Slytherins.

"Why?"

"Too noisy here," murmured the other. Obviously a lie—everyone was far too absorbed in preparing for the last days of finals to bother with chatting.

Lily looked annoyed; no, she looked worse than annoyed. She looked angry. "No," she said simply, and she continued to review her Charms notes.

Frustrated at the witch's stubbornness, Severus pressed: "Why not?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"_Because_."

Snape glowered. "That's not a reason."

Lily folded her arms across her papers and met Snape's black eyes defiantly. "Because aside from a handful of people in this room who are probably thinking the word 'mudblood' at this moment, I don't see any reason for us to move."

"I see," sneered the wizard. "So you're testing me."

She didn't deny it. "How do you think you did?"

"Lily," began the Slytherin, "we're _supposed_ to be friends..."

"But we're not," she interrupted suddenly. "We're not, are we?"

Finally shaken: "W-what do you mean?"

"We used to tell each other things," Lily continued. Her voice was hollow—not without feeling, but somehow bare. "We used to _know_ what was going on with one another. You didn't used to hide me, and you didn't used to use our friendship to get your way—like a petulant five-year-old... or maybe you were just better at it then, so I didn't notice." There was a hint of anger in her slightly shaky tone now. "We're not _friends_, Sev—when was the last time we've really, honestly been _friends_?"

"Lily..."

"I don't know what you said to Mulciber the other day," she went on. "I don't know whether or not you agree with him about blood status and death eaters... but I don't trust you, Sev, and you don't trust me."

"I _do_ tr..."

"You don't tell me things anymore. I don't know what's happening in your life... what goes on when I'm not there, and you certainly don't know what's going on in mine—and that part is as much my fault as it is yours, because I don't tell _you_ things either. We talk sometimes, but we don't say anything. We avoid things, and skirt around issues... we lie to each other..." She thought of the full moon incident and Severus's account of Mulciber's attack on Mary. "We're not friends," she finished in a whisper. "We haven't been friends for a long time." A solitary tear fell down her cheek, and Lily threw her study materials into her book bag.

She was out in the corridor before Severus pursued her.

"Just like that?" he snapped, catching up. "Just like that, _we're not friends?"_

"_Just like that_?" echoed Lily ironically. "This isn't 'all of a sudden,' Sev. A year ago, you called me a 'mudblood' in front of our entire year..."

"It was an accident, and you said you forgave..."

"Of course it was an accident!" Lily cut him off loudly. "It just slipped out, I know, because we'd quarreled, and because you were embarrassed, and because you were angry, it just _slipped_ out! And I said I forgave you, that's right, but I didn't! I tried to—I even thought I did at times... But there's a reason I haven't confronted you about your unsubtle attempts to hide our friendship before now, and it's because I knew... I've known ever since that day after O.W.L.s that you _won't_ pick _me!_ And that night in the Entrance Hall—first day of the school year, when Mulciber made you pick... if James hadn't hit him, you would've sided with them, wouldn't you? You would've taken my wand..."

But Snape seemed to have gone deaf after a point. "So he's _James_ now?"

"Oh, _God_, shut up!" she half shouted. "What is it that you two think of me, anyway? That I'm helplessly thick? That I can't be angry with one of you without the other twisting my arm? Why on _earth_ do you think that anything James Potter does justifies _anything_ that you do?"

"It _always_ comes back to him with you..."

"Because _you_ always bring it there!"

Snape's eyes flashed angrily. "I don't have to tolerate this..." he murmured, turning to leave. All that Lily registered was how much _he had changed_... How _different_ he was from the little boy at the neighborhood park who had told her she was magic...

"I was right, wasn't I?" she said softly when he was a short distance away, and Severus paused to listen to her thought. "I said we'd both chosen our paths, and I was right. We'd already picked; we couldn't go back..."

Without looking and without saying a word, Snape resumed his brisk departure. Lily watched him leave; then, hiking up her bag on her shoulder, she turned and moved slowly in the other direction.

(Fifth Year, Part Two)

_Mudblood_.

The word echoed in her head as it had hours earlier.

_You've chosen your way and I've chosen mine_.

Lily clutched her dressing gown tightly around her middle. Fears soaked her face, and her hair was a wreck.

Sev was gone. Gone, gone, gone. Sev had called her a "mudblood." Sev had chosen _them_. Sev was gone.

Lily choked and coughed, grateful at least that she had got out of the dormitory. She couldn't handle Mary and Marlene's sympathy, or Donna's threats to strangle "that worthless Slytherin slime." Right now, she just needed to be left alone, and, while sitting in a corner of the fifth floor corridor at nine o'clock at night could very well get her a detention, Lily found that it was a risk she was willing to take.

_Mudblood_, said the Severus in her head once more, and her heart broke all over again.

"Lily Evans?"

Lily fairly well jumped at the sound of her name. A Ravenclaw sixth year stood quite close (how had she missed him?) looking at the tear-stained fifth year before him in surprise. The wizard was quite handsome, with neatly combed golden brown hair, deep, dark eyes, and a serious, intelligent air. Lily barely knew him—his name was Luke, and she thought his surname might be "Harper."

"You're not going to rat me out to Filch, are you?" she asked, her voice raspy from crying. Luke looked appalled at even the suggestion.

"Of course not. Are you okay?"

"Am—am I _okay_?" she stammered. "Do I _look_ okay?"

Other boys would have been offended, or taken this as an indication that she was quite crazy and they had better steer clear; James Potter would probably have made a comment that she always looked quite fit, but Luke Harper simply looked apologetic. "I'm sorry." Then, much to Lily's very great surprise, the Ravenclaw sat down beside her. "Did—did someone die?"

"What? Oh, no." Lily shook her head. "Nothing like that. It's my friend Severus... he..."

"Oh, yes, I heard about that. James Potter and the other sixth years..."

"Right."

"Do you—want to talk about it?"

"Not really," sighed the redhead. With sympathy in his melancholy brown eyes, Luke placed a hand on her shoulder. Then, quite unintentionally, Lily found herself speaking: "He was supposed to be my _best friend_," she began desperately. "He was supposed to be—we rowed a few hours before, and he was frustrated with me... he was angry because of the Marauders, embarrassed because of _Potter_, and he... he just... he _said it_... he was supposed to be my best mate, and no—no matter how angry you are, there are certain things that you can't do... not to your best mate... not to someone you really, honestly care about. What does that say about him? What does that say about _me?"_ She sniffed and went on: "We've been mates since—since before Hogwarts... he was the one who told me I was a witch... He was there when my sister started hating me—he was my first friend besides her... my first Hogwarts friend... I would've done anything for him, but he can't—he won't... he wouldn't do the same for me. But we've been best mates since I was _nine_... what... what exactly am I supposed to do if he's not there anymore...?"

Lily started, as though suddenly remembering that she wasn't actually alone, talking to herself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't—I shouldn't be bothering you with this. I don't even know you."

Luke smiled understandingly; he had a nice smile—a beautiful, classic, even-toothed smile. "Lucas Xavier Harper," he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

Lily returned the smile (though hers was rather watery), taking his hand. "Lily Marie Evans."

They shook. "So," Luke continued, "What else is there?"

"What do you mean?"

The Ravenclaw reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded piece of white cloth. A handkerchief. He handed it to Lily. "What else is there that you do not want to bother other people with?"

Lily stared disbelievingly from the handkerchief to Luke.

"I'm a very good listener," he told her.

"Really?"

"Yes."

She wiped the tears from her cheeks, but held onto the handkerchief as she continued with her story (such as it was). Luke was easy to talk to; he had no opinion on Severus Snape, no specific affection for James Potter... he listened attentively. She reminisced, she mourned, she vented, and—she thought—there was something about Luke Harper... something that warranted a second look.

(Present)

"This is just _sad_," grumbled Alice crossly. "I've been at Hogwarts _seven _years, and I only find out about this place in my last week here?"

She sat in a large, comfy sofa with Lily, while Sirius Black tended to the fire. The three Gryffindors were in a decently sized room, with bare white walls, a few items of mismatched furniture, and a comfortable looking bed. Sirius had at last relented and agreed to show Lily where he had been sleeping for the last few weeks, and Lily had brought Alice along for a much-needed break from studying.

"The house elves call it the Come and Go Room," Sirius explained. "James and I found it in fourth year. We were trying to find a place to stick Mrs. Norris, and this just appeared... mind you, it took us three hours to find her again, so that was less pleasant."

"You might have told a girl sooner," murmured Alice, eyeing her surroundings in awe. "This would certainly have come in handy a few times..."

"I really don't want to know where you're going with that thought, Alice Griffiths," Sirius interrupted. "Especially since I'm pretty certain it involves your boyfriend."

"It frightens me that my mind went to the exact same place as yours, Sirius Black," said Alice. Sirius grinned and moved towards one of the end tables, where he grabbed a paper bag.

"Pumpkin Pasty?"

"Oh, yes please."

Sirius tossed her the bag, before taking a seat in a commanding brown chair.

"Want one, Lily?" offered Alice, holding up the bag to the redhead. Lily, however, was staring into the fire and didn't seem to hear. "Hello? _Lily_?"

She started, as though waking up. "What? Oh, no thank-you."

"You alright, Evans?" asked Sirius. "You're rather quiet tonight."

Lily smiled weakly and shook her head. "No, I'm fine. What about you? How are your exams going?"

Sirius shrugged. "I have more time on my hands to study, but I've got no Lupin around to force me to do it... so about the same as ever."

"I wish you would just tell me what this is all about," Alice complained, biting resentfully into a pumpkin pasty. "It's disconcerting seeing the other Marauders angry with you, Sirius. What, exactly, was this prank that's got the others so peeved?"

"Trust me," Sirius deflected easily; "You're better off not knowing."

"Can _you_ get it out of him, Lily?" asked Alice hopefully, but Lily merely shook her head.

"I don't suppose anyone can."

"Well, then you'll have to work it out of James," the seventh year pressed. "Or Remus."

Sirius watched Lily intently as she made some poor excuse about that. "Anyway," she added, "Potter and I aren't exactly on excellent terms."

"Well, are you ever?" Alice pointed out. "That's your way, though. You bicker, then you have a _huge_ fight, everything blows up, then you lay low for a bit, start to get along alright, then move back into bickering, and so on and so forth. Vicious cycle."

"Maybe not this time," said Lily. "I think Potter and I have effectively ended the cycle this time." There was something in her tone that told Alice the conversation had taken a serious turn. A funny idea occurred to the seventh year, noting the silent understanding between her two companions. Alice got to her feet rather abruptly.

"I'm supposed to meet Frank in a few minutes—I really should get going."

With an encouraging smile to Sirius and a promise to see Lily later, Alice departed the Come-and-Go Room, and the other two were left alone.

"Alright, Evans," said Sirius, lighting a cigarette. "Let's hear it. What's wrong?"

"Most things," Lily replied. "I'm fairly certain I failed Charms."

"Rubbish—you're the best in our year at Charms."

"Except for Potter," Lily added, almost resentfully. "Have you spoken with him at all?"

"What do _you_ think?"

"Fair enough." She watched the trail of smoke emanating from Sirius's cigarette and remembered something James had once told her. _"You have to admit, there's something striking about the smoke_."

It seemed an eternity ago she had sat in the Great Hall with James Potter, while he smoked, and they talked about their dads. They were going to try to be friends then; James was giving her advice about Frank and Alice and Carlotta...

"..._If these two are as destined as you seem to think they are, they'll survive..."_

She had just made up with Sev at the time... she was still with Luke... still _happy_ with Luke... and Donna: she still had Donna...

"What are you thinking about?" Sirius interrupted her memories, taking a long drag from his own cigarette.

Lily didn't exactly answer. She leaned forward and stared into the fire. "Do you think you'll ever make up with them?"

Sirius smirked bitterly. "You were the one who said I would," he pointed out. "Lost the optimism, have you?"

"No. I don't know." She bit her lip thoughtfully. "I think they miss you, you know."

Sirius shook his head. "No, I don't think they do."

"Just because they don't show it, doesn't mean they don't miss you," Lily told him firmly. "It's just difficult, that's all."

We're not talking about me anymore, are we?" asked Sirius, with more genuine humor. Lily met his eye briefly, and then looked away. "It's Snape, isn't it? I heard you two fought."

"How did you hear that?" she asked, surprised.

"Half the library heard _that_, and you know how news spreads around here."

"Right." Lily sighed. "_Right_."

"Miss the git already, do you?" muttered Sirius sullenly.

Lily leaned back against the couch. "A bit," she replied. "But not as much as last time. I miss the old Severus... I don't even _know_ the one that's there now. But actually, I wasn't thinking of him just now..."

"Who then? Not Harper, surely..."

"No, not Luke."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Then who were you thinking of?"

(Cassidy, Part Two)

Donna Shacklebolt moved lethargically through the busy corridors (alone as usual these days), having just finished her Ancient Runes exam. She didn't know how she had done on the test... could scarcely remember a single question she had answered, actually, and was strangely apathetic about the whole thing.

"_I mean, why did we even ever become friends? Can you remember?"_

Lily had been in the exam, too, concentrating whole-heartedly on the test, Donna believed, and not noticing her former friend a few desks away as she struggled to keep her amber eyes and scattered thoughts on the parchment. Donna wondered if Lily had realized or guessed that she was no longer seeing Charlie Plex. Mary had figured it out and briefly attempted consolation before Donna told her to "Go shag a broomstick." So, if Mary knew then Lily almost certainly did, and since there had been no effort towards communication from the redhead, Donna could only assume that Lily just didn't care.

"_You're completely heartless, Donna Shacklebolt. Don't talk to me."_

And Donna couldn't blame her.

She reached the staircase down to the third floor and was moments from descending, when a voice broke through the dull chatter of the dozen or so others in the corridor, and Donna paused.

"_Donna Shacklebolt!"_ someone—a girl—shouted. Donna turned to face whoever had called her name, but she had not rotated fully, not registered the crop of yellow curls or angry flushed cheeks, not responded at all really, when a flash of light filled the corridor, pain shot through Donna's abdomen, and everything went decidedly black.

(Third Year)

Thirteen-year-old Donna Shacklebolt sat down in a vacant, front-row desk of the Ancient Runes classroom. She was more than ten minutes early for the class itself, but she liked to be prepared, and a good professor, she thought, would recognize and appreciate that.

Withdrawing her class schedule from her book bag, Donna smoothed the parchment out on her desk and reread it. She had elected to take Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures, forsaking Divination because her schedule simply _didn't_ make time for it, and because her brother Kingsley said it was all rubbish.

Unfortunately, Herbology with the Hufflepuffs was next, and Donna loathed both Herbology _and_ Hufflepuffs. Actually, she loathed most of the houses, come to think of it. The Slytherins were gits, the Gryffindors were immature, and the Hufflepuffs were all daft. Ravenclaw was alright—she ought to have been in Ravenclaw. _She_ knew it, and everyone else knew it, and she wondered vaguely if there was any way to be re-sorted.

There wasn't really anything _wrong_ with Gryffindor house, of course, but it certainly had not lived up to Donna Shacklebolt's expectations, which were, of course, primarily founded upon her elder brother, a recent Hogwarts alumnus and fellow Gryffindor. There wasn't really even anything wrong with her classmates in the house either—James Potter and Sirius Black were immature buggers, but annoyingly brilliant in all the classes. Remus Lupin and Adam McKinnon were decent, but Donna wasn't sure she'd ever spoken to them beyond "Pass the salt," at supper and "Did you take notes on that Charms lecture?" in the Common Room. Peter Pettigrew was rather afraid of her (most people were, though), so interaction between them had been even more limited.

As for her dorm-mates, Carlotta Meloni was a bubble-headed hippie, Shelley Mumps might as well have been a lost puppy (what with the way she followed Carlotta around), Mary Macdonald and Marlene Price were inseparable (and annoying), and Lily Evans, though bright enough, hung around with that creepy Snape bloke, which just showed poor judgment. As far as Donna was concerned, she herself was the only sensible one in the lot of them.

A few Ravenclaws shuffled into the classroom, and Donna once again wished that she had asked to be in _that_ house. She would be very much surprised if any other Gryffindors in her year bothered with anything as tricky as Ancient Runes.

She didn't precisely have _friends_ at Hogwarts. She was too rough around the edges, and tended to frighten people (especially girls) by being what she called "honest" and most people called "mean." But no one was unkind to her; no one picked on her, and people kind of respected her, she thought. Anyway, they didn't pester her.

"Hey, Donna, can I sit here?"

Surprised, Donna looked up to see Lily Evans standing tentatively nearby, book bag slung over her shoulder and expectance on her freckled face.

"Um—what?"

"Can I sit here?" Lily repeated.

"Oh. Right. Sure."

"I wasn't sure if you were saving it for anyone," said Lily, sitting down in the other half of the desk. "You know, we're the only two Gryffindors in this class, except Remus Lupin, but he had to go home... visit his sick mum or something. Odd, considering it's the first week, but there you are."

That was another thing Donna disliked (or didn't like, anyway) about Lily: she was so damn chatty.

"Right," was the witch's sole response, and anyone else would have been put off by her clear lack of interest.

"Anyway, for me, it came down to choosing between Ancient Runes and Divination, and Divination looks a little barmy if you ask me. I mean, you're either a seer or your not, from what I've read, and staring at tea leaves won't make a difference if you're not. And I most _definitely_ am not; Merlin, I can hardly remember which drawer I put my socks in; seeing into the future is out of the question. What about you? Which classes are you signed up for?"

Donna told her.

"You'll be busy," Lily noted. Donna made no reply, and the redhead was quiet for a time. "Can I ask you something, Donna?" she asked at length.

"Do I have a choice?" grumbled the other.

"Sure, you do," replied Lily. "You _always_ have a choice, don't you?" Donna just stared at her. "So _can_ I?"

"Fine."

"Lovely. So... why are you always such a... well, such a bitch?"

Donna looked at her, wide-eyed. "_Excuse_ me?"

"Well, you are," said Lily, shrugging. "Oh, c'mon, it can't be insulting to you. You clearly do it on purpose."

"W-what?" Donna spluttered.

"I mean, you're always so set on getting everyone to be afraid of you, and you're quite successful, but I was just wondering _why_?" Lily looked at her with large, curious eyes, and Donna could not have been more surprised if the scrawny ginger had just asked her to stand on the desk and dance a jig.

"People aren't a-afraid of me," Donna managed to say at length, knowing that it was a lie.

"Of course they are," said Lily. "You hexed Billy Betwy for looking at you funny. People are downright terrified of you."

"Billy Betwy is a git."

"Neither here nor there."

Donna took a moment to collect herself. "Well, _you're_ clearly not afraid of me."

Lily smiled mischievously. "I'm not afraid of _anyone_."

And, curiously, Donna believed it. "I don't know," she said after a while. "I reckon I'm just used to it is all."

"It's too bad, then," replied the redhead lightly, pulling out her Ancient Runes text. "You have decent taste in books, I've noticed."

Donna was sufficiently dumbfounded by that, and she pretended to focus on her own Ancient Runes book rather than confront the fact. Professor Babble—the teacher—had not yet arrived when the last of the front row desks were taken by a pair of Slytherins, Zabini and Mulciber.

The latter sat immediately to Donna's right, and on noticing the Gryffindor, elbowed his companion and muttered something. Both Lily and Donna noticed, but both pretended not to until the last possible moment. Then, Mulciber leaned over the narrow corridor between desks and spoke.

"Better watch it, Shacklebolt," he muttered. "I heard about your old man."

"Congratulations," she retorted in a quiet, steady voice. "So have I."

"He'd better be careful about what he blabs," Mulciber continued. "'Saying things like that about... about well_, you_ know who. _He_ doesn't take kindly to that.  
Or haven't you heard what happened to Jonah McKinnon?"

"Shut up, Mulciber," snapped Lily. "And seriously, who are you kidding taking Ancient Runes? You'll fail out before Christmas."

Mulciber scowled. "_Filthy mudblood_," he muttered, before slinking off with his housemate to a more remote desk.

Donna scowled at Lily. "I don't need you standing up for me," she said. "I'm not like that Snape friend of yours."

Lily snorted. "You're more alike than you might imagine," she answered. "Anyway, I wasn't standing up for you. I read what your dad said about that—that Voldemort wizard, and I agreed. So, technically, I was standing up for your father." She smirked at Donna's projected annoyance, and then Professor Babble entered, and both girls were compelled to be quiet.

An hour later, the bell rang, and the third years began to gather up their things. "I'm going to have lunch with Marlene Price and Mary Macdonald," Lily told Donna, while filing her three sheets of class notes into a folder. "I know you sort of hate people, but if you want... you could come, too."

Donna didn't have the faintest idea why the offer was tempting, but her reply lacked its typical aloofness: "Marlene Price doesn't like me."

Lily frowned. "No," she agreed uncomfortably. "Though I think that might be related to the fact that you're always calling her a flake. Of course, I don't know how you're ever going to convince her that you're not a complete sod if you don't come."

"I don't care what she thinks of me," said Donna defiantly.

"No? Alright." Lily started to leave, but paused near the door. She turned and folded her arms. "Are you coming or not?"

Donna considered it. Then, picking up her book bag and slinging it over her shoulder, she crossed the room and joined Lily. "Well, if you're going to be a pest about it, I don't see that I have much choice..."

Amused, Lily rolled her eyes but did not argue, and the two witches walked down to the Great Hall.

(Present)

Shelley Mumps threw open the Gryffindor sixth year girls' dormitory door with much enthusiasm, taking Lily utterly by surprise.

"Shelley?" asked Lily, sitting up on her bed, where she was walled in by Transfiguration notes. "What's wrong?"

"M-M-Marlene sent me to f-f-fetch you," panted Shelley. Sweat glistened on her face, and her dirty blond hair stuck to her forehead. Lily got to her feet, walking quickly towards her roommate.

"What's wrong? Is she okay?"

Shelley took a moment and regained herself. "Sorry," she breathed; "I sprinted all the way here, you know."

"Is Marlene alright?" pressed Lily.

"Marlene? Oh, Marlene's fine. It's Donna."

"Donna?"

Shelley nodded. "Marlene and Mary are there now..."

"Marlene and Mary are _where_ now?"

"Oh. Right. Hospital Wing. Donna's in the infirmary. She..." But Shelley had not completed the thought before Lily was out the door.

* * *

Donna's eyes flickered open, and she groaned loudly. "What the _fuck_ happened?"

"_And_ she's awake," said a voice that sounded like Marlene Price's. Donna groaned again as she looked around to examine her surroundings (her neck ached something awful). She was in an infirmary cot; Marlene and Mary sat at the end of the bed, amusement on their faces as they watched her. Lily was standing nearby, arms folded, with a wry expression of her own.

"What happened?" Donna moaned, sitting up; it seemed a 'more tactful' (as Lily would say) question to ask than "What are you doing here?"

Mary and Marlene exchanged smiles. "Cassidy Gamp hexed you," said the latter. "It seems she found out you were shagging her boyfriend."

"And by 'found out,' Marlene means Charlie Plex confessed to her," added Mary. "I think he meant it to be revenge of some kind on you, dear, but he ended up with a lovely set of purple tentacles... Madam Pomfrey only just sent him away."

Donna struggled to comprehend all of this as she massaged her throbbing head. "I'm starting to remember... I was walking on the fourth floor..." She recalled with greater clarity: "That bitch attacked me from behind!"

Lily seemed to be smothering laughter, but Marlene and Mary showed no such courtesy, as they both dissolved into giggles.

"What the hell is so funny?" Donna snapped. Then, worriedly, she added—"I don't have tentacles, do I?"

"No, no," chuckled Marlene. "But it's just so funny! I mean—_Cassidy Gamp!_ _Cassidy Gamp_, that tiny, flakey little Hufflepuff put Donna sodding Shacklebolt in the Hospital Wing!"

"_Really_—who knew Cassidy Gamp was such a firecracker?"

"Well, it's nice to see you were worried," muttered Donna sarcastically.

"Calm down," said Mary. "We were appropriately scared for you... until we heard the whole story. Then we laughed. Madam Pomfrey isn't quite sure what exactly Cassidy tried to use on you... apparently it was an odd mishmash of _Petrificus Totalus_, a Jelly Legs curse, and a stunning spell... the combination of which did nothing but knock you out for about an hour."

"And give me a bloody massive headache," Donna added. "Idiot Hufflepuff couldn't even hex me properly."

"Cut her some slack," said Marlene. "You _were_ shagging her boyfriend..."

"That ended weeks ago," retorted the patient with dignity.

"Oh, well, in that case... it was downright _unreasonable_ of Cassidy to be angry."

"Sod off, Price." Donna made a face at the blonde, and then glanced uncertainly towards Lily. "Hi..."

"Hi," replied Lily, equally awkward.

Mary smirked. "Lily was really worried when she heard you were in the Hospital Wing," she said, earning her a glare from the redhead.

"I wasn't _that_ worried..."

"'_Frantic'_ would be an apt description," Marlene piped up.

"Until I heard you'd lost in a duel to Cassidy Gamp," cut in Lily. "Then I figured you probably deserved what you got."

"I didn't _lose in a duel_... Oh, Merlin, is that what people are saying?"

"Don't worry," consoled Mary. "There were a dozen witnesses who said Cassidy assaulted you. She's lost Hufflepuff half their points, which isn't saying much. Of course..." Mary looked a little nervous for the first time, "everyone in the school knows you were shagging Charlie Plex now."

Donna fell back onto her pillows. "Fantastic. Just _fantastic_."

Marlene and Mary exchanged another look. "I'll go tell Madam Pomfrey you're awake," said the brunette, standing up. "Coming, Marlene?"

The two departed, leaving Lily and Donna alone. The prefect moved hesitantly closer to Donna's cot.

"You okay?" she asked casually.

"Well—I have a splitting headache, my reputation as a force to be reckoned with is completely shot, and every girl in the school will now be whispering about me behind my back, so—no, not so great."

Lily smiled, and it would have been annoying, if Donna were not so grateful that she was there at all. "They'll get over it. They always do. Anyway... I thought you didn't care what people think of you."

"I _don't_. I just—y'know, would rather avoid the drama."

"Right."

"Right."

Lily shook her head and sat down on the edge of Donna's bed. "You know," she began slowly, "recently, you asked me a question—you asked me how we became friends, and I didn't have an answer. But I remember now."

"Me too," muttered Donna. "The first day of Ancient Runes."

Lily nodded. "I think you only agreed to have lunch with us because I complimented your taste in books."

Donna snorted and looked down at her hands. "No," she said. "It was because you weren't afraid to tell me I was a bitch... and because you said it without trying to insult me."

"Really?"

"Really." Silence, then: "Why did you invite me to lunch in the first place, though?"

Lily considered the question before answering. "I tend to get really chatty around strangers... and even though we'd already shared a dorm for two years, we were pretty much strangers. I kept talking and you... you didn't tell me to shut up, like I expected."

"I wanted to," Donna confessed.

"I know."

They looked at each other for a minute, and then Donna continued quietly: "I'm sorry about what I said. Really, I am."

"I know," said Lily again.

There was a lump growing in Donna's throat, but—along with her pride—she swallowed it. "I miss being your mate."

Lily nodded. "I miss you, too."

"So... you don't want me to stay away anymore?"

The redhead smiled again. "What is it people always say? Life's too short?"

"I suppose... although there's this bloke... Nicolas Flamel... he's about six hundred years old, and y'know, a healthy witch or wizard could easily live to be..."

"Donna."

"Right. Figure of speech. I get it."

Mary and Marlene returned, Mary carrying a vial of something liquid that looked rather disgusting. "Madam Pomfrey is busy with panic-stricken O.W.L. students," said Marlene. "We're supposed to have you take this to ward off unpleasant side effects of Cassidy's attack."

Mary handed Donna the bottle. "Have you two made up then? Or should we subtly leave for a few more minutes?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Donna with as much dignity as she could muster. She swallowed the potions and looked as though she were going to gag.

"You can stay," Lily told the other two. "Everything's back to normal."

"Perfect," said Marlene gleefully. "Because I'm not sure how I would shun Donna when there is all this opportunity for mockery."

"Oh, don't take it too hard, Donna," Mary comforted seriously. "After all, I'm sure there are some first or second year Hufflepuffs who wouldn't be able to take you down."

"Maybe if we catch some new firsties next year," suggested Marlene. "Y'know—in Diagon Alley, before they've bought their wands..."

"Maybe an unarmed muggle..." added Mary.

"A _blind_ unarmed muggle, perhaps..."

"Oh, yes, you two are just hilarious," snapped Donna, but even Lily was giggling. "Agrippa's sake... _Cassidy Gamp_. I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

"Oh, Donna," sighed Marlene. "No. You're not. But it's _so _cute that you thought you might."

(Pocket)

"Mary?"

Mary Macdonald turned to see Hufflepuff Reginald Cattermole advancing towards her. He looked much as he always did—small and thin, with non-descript brown hair, cut like most of the boys that age (in varying degrees of inferiority to and imitation of David Cassidy).

"Hi," she greeted, genuinely pleased to see the Hufflepuff. Only one day of exams remained, after all, and shortly thereafter they would all be returning home: she _would_ like to say goodbye. "What are you doing here?"

"I was up to see Professor Dawton about my Astronomy exam."

Mary waited for Reginald to reach her before responding. "And how did you do?"

"Quite well. I'm very good at Astronomy."

"I was always rubbish at it," replied the Gryffindor. "Too much arithmetic."

"What are _you_ doing here, though?" Reginald asked, his green eyes darkening strangely. "I thought you weren't taking to the hallways alone..."

Mary sighed, holding up her already drawn wand indicatively. "Baby steps, I suppose."

"Oh. Right."

They were quiet for a moment, and then Mary added: "Of course, if you _wanted_ to walk me to Gryffindor Tower, I wouldn't object..."

"No?"

"Nope."

"Well, alright."

They continued on in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, chatting idly about nothing in particular. "Stebbins is taking me to a Q-word match in July," said Mary cheerfully. "Not that I care about the game, except as far as the house teams go, but he seems excited, and it's a nice gesture, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," agreed Reginald. "But, Mary, it's a little strange that you call your boyfriend 'Stebbins.'"

"It would be much stranger if I called him by his first name."

"Why?"

"Because it's Umbert." Mary winced, and so did Reginald.

"Umbert?"

"Umbert."

"Alright, 'Stebbins' isn't so bad."

Mary laughed. "Says the wizard named _Reginald_."

"For my father."

"Nonetheless."

Reginald shrugged, his hands in his pockets. "You still haven't decided what you're going to call me, you know."

"I know," sighed Mary. "It's a very difficult process... I rather liked 'Cat,' but Potter appears to have usurped that one. Give it time; I'll decide eventually. I am _quite_ indecisive, but I always arrive at conclusions." She winked one heavily painted eye, and then continued: "What about you, Reginald Cattermole? Any recent romantic developments?"

Reginald snorted. "_No_," he replied, blushing.

"Hogwarts birds are idiots," Mary consoled knowingly. "But I wish you would tell me who this girl is that you fancy... I don't see why you shouldn't. I can keep a secret if I try."

"I don't believe it."

"It's true! I kept a very big secret for Donna Shacklebolt for _ages_... right up until Cassidy Gamp told the entire school..." Reginald continued to look doubtful, and Mary scowled. "C'mon—you've got to tell me. It's not fair!"

She pouted rather childishly, and Reginald relented. "Lily Evans," he mumbled, and though it was little more than a cough, Mary caught the name.

Oddly enough, it bothered her immensely. She took a moment to analyze this, arriving at the conclusion that she felt rather sorry for Reginald Cattermole, as he most certainly did _not_ belong with Lily Evans. No, not at all.

"I know it's idiotic," Reg continued in an unhappy, rushed undertone; "I wouldn't stand a chance, would I? She's _Lily Evans_, after all."

"Oh, it's not that," said Mary quickly. "But Lily is... well... she's very complicated, you know."

"I only fancy her a bit," the Hufflepuff vowed.

"Well—what... what do you fancy about her, exactly?"

Reginald looked surprised at the question. "She's perfect, isn't she? She's pretty, and brilliant, and clever... she's always been very nice to me, too. Always very polite, even back in fourth and fifth year..."

_I'm_ _pretty_, Mary could not help but think. Not amazingly clever, though, she knew... at least, not in school. She was good at making things, though, and good at taking care of people, and... well, not like Lily, of course. Reginald was right about that. Lily was perfect. And _she_, Mary, had not always been particularly nice to Reginald... not before this year. Mary realized that it was quite smart of her never to compare herself to Lily (or anyone, really) for the last six years... Why on earth did this only occur to her _now_?

"Well, you couldn't have picked better," Mary eventually chirped. "Lily is fantastic, isn't she?" And the witch quickly changed the subject. "I'm thinking of dyeing my hair blond."

The majority of the remaining walk to the portrait of the Fat Lady was occupied with Reginald convincing Mary _not_ to dye her hair blond or any other color.

"This is me," sighed Mary, when they arrived at Gryffindor Tower's entrance. "Thanks for walking me."

"You're welcome."

"Sleep well."

"You as well."

They both smiled, and then Mary hugged the Hufflepuff briefly. "Have a good summer, Reg."

"You, too. Be sure to write?"

"Of course." She paused before giving the Fat Lady the password. "Reg," she repeated thoughtfully. "I suppose that's what I'll call you."

Reginald smiled. "It's taken you all year to decide on _Reg_?"

Mary merely shrugged. "I like to be thorough with the big things," she declared. "Goodnight, Reg."

"Goodnight, Mary."

He retreated in the direction from which they came, and Mary turned to the Fat Lady and gave the password: "Amathia."

She was no longer thinking of her conversation with Reg as stepped inside the Common Room; she had already moved on from it, but she had not forgotten. Rather, as with all things concerning Reginald Cattermole, Mary put it in her pocket, saving it for later.

(Second Year, Part Two)

Twelve-year-old Remus Lupin had very good cause to look at his three roommates as if they were insane, because—quite frankly—they were acting rather batty.

"Lupin," greeted Sirius mysteriously.

"Er... hi." Remus held up the scrap of parchment he had found pinned to his bed that afternoon. "Did you three write this?"

"That depends," said Peter, matching Sirius's enigmatic tone. "What does it say?"

Remus frowned. "How many notes do you think I have pinned to my pillow every day? It says... '_Lupine_,' spelled L-U-P-I-N-E incidentally... '_Lupine, if you know what's good for you, you'll be in the unused classroom on the first floor outside the Great Hall at nine p.m. tonight. If you can't find that room, you should ask someone for directions. P.S. If you do ask for directions, don't tell the person that you ask why you're looking for the classroom. In fact, don't tell anyone. Nine p.m. Unused Classroom. First floor.'_ And then there's a picture of something that might a unicorn." He folded his arms.

"Okay, it's _clearly_ a dragon!" Peter protested, and Sirius and James glared at him.

"'If you know what's good for you?'" echoed the latter. "Really, Pete?"

"We weren't trying to _threaten_ him!" agreed Sirius.

"And you misspelled my name," Remus added.

"And really, Pete, a unicorn?"

"It's _obviously_ a dragon! Look! Look at it—it's a _dragon!_"

"Wow, okay." Sirius crossed his arms. "Peter is officially off note-writing duties."

"You didn't tell me what to write! I had to be creative!"

"A _unicorn_, Peter?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Okay, well, if you lot aren't trying to blackmail me or steal my money, why _did_ you want me to meet you here?"

Sirius and James seemed to remember the task at hand, while a sulking Peter sat down in a nearby desk. "Well, Remus Lupin," resumed James seriously, "we asked you to come here, because we wanted to..." He looked at Sirius for help.

"We wanted to tell you that..." Sirius looked back at James.

Remus cocked his head to one side, waiting for more information. None of his roommates spoke. "_Well_?"

"Sorry," James apologized, sighing. "This is a lot trickier in real life, y'know? Alright, here's the thing, Lupin." He sent Sirius another purposeful look, and the two boys chorused: "_We know_."

"You... know what?" But Remus's confidence was clearly shaken.

"We know where you go every month," elaborated Sirius. "We know that you're... that you're a werewolf."

Remus went very pale. His grey eyes grew wide with fright, and he had to take several steadying breaths before he could speak again. "H-how... how do y-y-you know?"

"We followed you," said Sirius, glowing with pride.

"No we didn't," James cut in.

"Yes, we _did!_"

"No! Well, yes, but that's not how we found out. We didn't follow him until _this_ month. We figured it out because of the Astronomy thing."

"We still followed him."

"Only to the Whomping Willow," Peter added, rejoining the others. "We couldn't get beyond that, though."

"The tree broke Sirius's arm," James volunteered, and Sirius scowled.

"It was a minor sprain."

"You were crying."

"I was _not!_"

"There were tears."

"It's not _crying_ unless the tears are out of your eyes, Potter."

"So you admit there were tears?"

"_No_."

"_Guys_," interrupted Remus, and the three suddenly remembered why they were there. The young werewolf looked positively terrified. "What are you going to do?" he asked shakily. Sirius frowned.

"_Do_?"

"_Yes_. You just found out you live with a werewolf... are you going to... to write your parents? Have me kicked out?"

The other three were quiet for a time. "Could we even _do_ that?" Peter wanted to know, and James shot him a supercilious glare. "_What_? I was just wondering..."

"Of course we're not going to have you kicked out!" said Sirius. "Why on earth would we do that?"

"Because—because I'm a monster!"

James rolled his eyes. "You're being dramatic. You _fold your socks_, Remus. Forgive me if I'm not trembling at the sight of you."

Remus looked at them all incredulously. "So you're not—you're not afraid of me?"

"You _do_ fold your socks," agreed Sirius. "And why would we be afraid? You've got no cause to eat us, do you?"

Remus exhaled heavily. He crossed the classroom and sat down in a desk. "It's not like that. When I—when I transform, I'm not myself. I can't control anything."

"Is that why you scratch yourself up?" asked Peter, sitting down as well. James and Sirius followed suit.

"I'm alone," replied Remus quietly. "When I transform, I go to the Shrieking Shack... no, it's not haunted. The sounds that the villagers hear is me... once a month. On the full moon. There's nothing else to attack in the house, so I—I scratch and bite myself."

There was a long, pregnant pause. Then—

"This is _so_ cool!" exclaimed Sirius, and Remus looked at him as though he were crazy. "Not the scratching and biting yourself," Sirius amended quickly. "Obviously that's... rather not cool. But, mate, you turn into a _wolf_. A bloody _wolf!_ And you're _our_ roommate!"

"It is rather cool," James agreed. "So, now, when you transform, do you...?"

"Wait a minute," Remus interrupted, rising abruptly. "You three—you don't mind that I'm a werewolf?" They shook their heads. "You don't... but... but, I mean... werewolves, they're not exactly... popular... And, for all you know, I could be dangerous!"

Sirius exhaled wearily. "Really, Lupin, what part of 'you fold your socks?' isn't getting through? We're not afraid of you! We think it's... cool."

"Well it's _not_," retorted Remus. "It's bloody awful. Transforming hurts, and scratching and biting myself isn't exactly a laugh either. I'll never have any mates, because I'm a freak, and I'm always afraid that someone's going to find out and have me expelled. It's bloody _awful_ being a werewolf!"

Another silence, and then Sirius spoke: "We're your mates," he said. "The three of us. We're your mates. We won't tell anyone, and what's more, we'll make sure no one else finds out either."

"Exactly," acceded James. "And, hey, if you're scratching and biting yourself, maybe we could go with you to stop..."

"Hold up," Remus interrupted again. "Are you out of your bloody mind? Werewolves are frowned upon for a reason, you know! I can't control myself, and, no offense, but the three of you are no match for me on a full moon. I'd have bitten one of you within five minutes, _believe me_."

"It's alright with me," said James. "I think it'd be neat to turn into a wolf once a month."

"You're mad!" cried Remus. "It's _not fun_! And anyway, it's illegal for a werewolf to turn someone else, even if they wanted it. Plus, your whole life, you'd have to transform every single month... you wouldn't be able to get a proper job when you're through with Hogwarts... I know you like Quidditch, James; you think they'll let a _werewolf_ on the national team, do you?" He looked pointedly at James, who sighed.

"Fine. Turning us into werewolves is out," the wizard allowed, and Peter looked extremely relieved. "And you won't let us come along with you... but it's bloody unfair you have to do it all on your own and rip yourself up like that. Can't be safe, either. There must be _something_ we can do?"

"There isn't," Remus insisted. "Listen, it's really nice of you to say, but..."

"Well, it's not important," Sirius interjected, hopping to his feet and casually waving off Remus's disparaging remarks. "We'll think of something."

"But there _is_ nothing."

James scoffed. "Really, Remus. This is _us_. There's always _something_. And trust me, _we'll _think of it."

Remus didn't seem convinced, but he made no more argument. "Listen," he began presently, "there's one thing I have to ask. I understand if you can't, but... if you wouldn't _mind_ keeping this to yourselves..."

"Sod's sake, of course we're not going to tell anyone!" laughed James. "Honestly, Lupin, we're not _thick_."

"You just asked me to turn you into a werewolf..." Remus pointed out. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Right now, we'll make a pact," he said, gesturing for James and Peter to rise from their own desks and follow him. The four boys met in the middle of the dark, empty classroom. "None of us will _ever_ tell that Remus is a werewolf. No matter what. Not even if they torture us with a thousand and ten _Cruciatus_ curses."

"We should make an unbreakable oath!" suggested Peter. James and Sirius took up the idea with enthusiasm, until they realized that none of them had the faintest idea how to perform an unbreakable oath.

"Well, it'll have to be a plain old regular oath," resigned Sirius. "But all the same, it's a bloody huge deal, alright?" He extended his arm so that his hand rested in the middle of the circle formed by the four boys. James slapped his hand on top of Sirius's, and Peter followed.

"You too, Remus," James instructed. "Of course, it's _your_ secret, so you can tell whomever you like, but all the same, it feels like you should be a part of this."

"Absolutely," Sirius agreed. "C'mon on then."

Hesitantly, Remus placed his hand on top of Peter's, and all four boys stood like that for a few seconds, before James spoke. "We four wizards of Gryffindor," he began quite solemnly, "vow to keep the secret of Remus Lupin's... problem—his _furry problem_—we vow to keep it a secret for as long as we live, except Remus, who can tell whomever he likes. _But_, he has to let us help him in whatever way we can."

"And the rest of us," Sirius resumed, "vow to do whatever we can to help him so that he doesn't scratch and bite himself on the full moon, because _we're_ his mates..." He grinned in Remus's direction, "whether he's a human or a wolf."

"You guys don't have to..."

"Hush up, Lupin, we're _vowing_," said James. "How should we end it, then?"

"_This we do vow,"_ said Peter gravely. Sirius made a face.

"That's cheesy. How about... in the name of Gryffindor..."

"_That's _cheesy," said James.

"How about 'one for all and all for one?'" suggested Remus. The others looked at him. "It's from a muggle book."

"How about we each say, _I promise_, at the end, and then we break," said James. The other three shrugged and nodded. "Alright. Who goes first?"

"I will," said Remus. "I, Remus, promise."

"I, Peter, promise."

"I, Sirius, promise."

"I, James, promise." Pause. "Break."

The four boys withdrew their hands a little awkwardly. "Remus, Peter, Sirius, and James," Sirius listed amusedly. "That's a mouthful. I feel like we should have a collective name."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Why? Because we'll become _so_ infamous, that people will talk about us _so_ much, and it will be an inconvenience just to list our names?"

"Exactly," said Sirius.

Remus snorted. "Right. Like _that'll_ ever happen."

(Present)

The Marauders' very last exam was in Transfiguration on Friday. After the written portion of the final, each student took a practical test as well, and with Professor McGonagall calling their names in alphabetical order, James found himself waiting till fairly close to the end. Remus left for lunch as soon as he was finished, but Peter waited around outside the classroom.

"Nice work, Pete," said James as they walked. "Your transfiguration sure has improved."

"Well, if you can become an Animagus, you can do most things in that area I suppose," replied Peter. James nodded—he didn't look like he was listening too intently; his hands were in his pockets and he watched his shoes as he walked. Peter exhaled wearily. "Prongs, you can't be angry forever."

James looked at him, surprised. "What are you talking about?"

"Things have to get back to normal _eventually_," Peter continued. "But you're trying to put that off, and it's throwing everyone."

"I really have no idea what you mean," James insisted. "I'm not trying to..."

Peter stopped walking and spoke with unexpected passion: "Moony barely talks to anyone. He's not himself. You don't use the nicknames anymore. You don't care about anything—not even the Quid...Q-word final! We lost to _Slytherin_ and all you did was yell at Bertram Aubrey!" James scowled. "You have to pull yourself together, Prongs, and you have to fix this!"

"I'm _not_ making up with him..."

"I'm not saying _that!_" replied Peter heatedly. "But, c'mon, we're the Marauders..."

"We're not the Marauders..."

"We _are!_" James just stared, and Peter went on: "Don't say that the Marauders never existed, because they did! They _did_, and that's why it's so rotten that Padfoot told Snape! But we _really _were mates all along... we were! You can't say that we weren't, because before the Marauders... before the Marauders, I was just some scrawny little prat that the Slytherins picked on. You and Sirius adopted me, and no matter what Sirius did later, you can't erase that! We were best mates, and Sirius was your brother, and that happened, and now _you_ need to fix this!"

"You keep _saying_ that, Pete... fine, Wormtail, whatever. You keep saying I need to 'fix this.' What _exactly_ do you think I have to fix?"

"_This! _Moony... Remus! He's not himself. He's closing up again, like before, when we were kids... you and Sirius were the ones that got him to open up! You have to fix Remus, and you have to fix Gryffindor, and you have to fix everyone else, too!"

"Everyone else?" echoed James. "You want me to fix the whole school?"

"Yes!"

"And how exactly do you propose I do that?"

For the first time, Peter's confidence faltered. "Don't you know?"

James was seriously starting to question his friend's sanity. "Know _what_?"

"How should _I_ know? I don't know! But you're James Potter! _Everyone's_ looking at you—that's why we lost the Q... bugger, _Quidditch_ final when _you_ were depressed... the team couldn't bloody well hold it together if _you_ weren't in the mood to play, could they?"

"Hey, I scored more points than any other chaser in that..."

"But it didn't help Gryffindor catch the snitch, did it? You're one of the few people that everyone in this school looks to... even the Slytherins, whether they like it or not. But you've done nothing but mope and sulk for weeks, and I sodding hate it! You're James _sodding_ Potter, Prongs, and I wish you'd bloody start acting like it!"

They both just sort of stared at each other for a few seconds. Then, Peter concluded: "I'm going to lunch. Whatever it is that you need to do to be _you_ again... do it." With that, he left.

Stunned, James remained for almost a minute. Peter didn't talk like that... he certainly didn't speak to _him_ like that. Then again, it was _possible_ that maybe Wormtail was right—at least partially.

James entered the Great Hall and sat down between Remus and Peter, who were both eating in silence. He looked between the two, and, rather than serving himself food, addressed the former in a serious tone: "Moony."

Remus glanced up, a little taken aback by the use of the taboo nickname.

James hesitated, then—"Whatever you need... for your... furry little problem... Pete—Wormtail and I are here."

Uncertainty in his grey eyes, Remus nonetheless nodded. "Thank-you."

James half smiled, and Peter looked pleased as he poured himself pumpkin juice.

"_Whatever it is that you need to be you again... do it._"

There was something else, too. James peered up Gryffindor table, to where Lily Evans sat, talking animatedly with Donna Shacklebolt and Marlene Price. Maybe she wouldn't forgive him... maybe she didn't want anything to do with him... maybe he was permanently and irrevocably _out_... But maybe not.

And he had to try, right? It was, after all, what _James Potter_ would do.

(Fifth Year, Part Three)

Sixteen-year-old Lily entered the Common Room, surprised to find that she did not feel absolutely terrible anymore.

Mostly terrible, yes, but not _absolutely_.

Luke Harper—he wasn't a bad bloke, really.

Unfortunately, Lily's reprieve from misery was short lived, for as she walked further inside, the fifth year realized she was not, in fact, alone. On noticing her, James Potter—who had been reclining on the couch—jumped up.

"Evans..."

"Go away," snapped Lily, before he could say anything else. "I'm serious, Potter, you do _not_ want to bother me tonight."

"I only wanted to apologize," James replied; he hopped over the back of the couch to meet her at the bottom of the stairway to the dormitories, characteristically impeding her path. "Honestly, Evans..."

"What do you imagine you could _possibly_ say to make me forgive you?"

"Well, I dunno..." He half grinned. "I'm sorry?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "You're pathetic. _Move_."

He _did_ move, but only to further block her path as she attempted to circumvent him. "C'mon, Evans," he insisted, "Alright—I _could've_ been nicer..." Lily let out a disbelieving "Ha!" before managing to slip underneath James's outstretched arm and onto the staircase behind him. "But, y'know, I have just as much reason to expect an apology as you do!"

Lily, who was by this time halfway up the steps, halted, turning on James once again. "You _must_ be joking."

Pleased with himself for having triggered a reaction and taking the steps at an easy saunter: "Well, Evans... you weren't very polite, turning me down like that. And the Giant Squid comment was just downright unfriendly."

For several seconds, Lily could do nothing but stare incredulously at the wizard before her. James Potter was an evolutionary improbability, she thought. No one could be that arrogant; no one could be that clueless. And no, his stupid, cheesy grin, strong jaw-line, and glittering hazel eyes did _not_ compensate for that fact.

"You're mad," she informed him, when he had arrived on the stair directly below hers. "You're bloody insane, if you think I am _ever_ going to apologize to _you_. I realize this is going to be difficult for you to grasp, _Potter_, but try: I don't like you. And I don't mean that I don't fancy you, _which I don't_, but I just do not like you one bit. I do not like your inflated ego, or your stupid pranks, or your idiotic so-called wit. I am not impressed by the fact that you're Quidditch Captain, or by your grades, or by the fact that you are a complete and utter _git_." James didn't look hurt—more annoyed, as she continued: "Do you honestly believe that I care one bit about your stupid offer for a date? That's... that's just incredible, really. I lost my _best_ friend today..."

"Snivellus is a..."

"Shut up, shut up, shut _up!_" cried Lily, her hands flying through her hair in exasperation. "He was my best friend—not that you have _any_ idea what that means!—and because of _you_, I've lost him!"

"Hey, _I_ didn't make him call you—call you _that_!"

"_Mudblood_, you mean?" snapped Lily. "No, you didn't—but you're always bullying him, pushing and prodding... never leaving him alone, and then trying to get me just to get under his skin..."

"I don't..."

"_Leave it, _Potter," she interrupted furiously. "Haven't you done enough damage today?" Then, she turned on her heel and disappeared up the stairwell.

James stayed put for a minute; he was glad that Sirius and Remus and Pete weren't there; he was glad that he was alone in the dimly lit Common Room. For all his talk, ultimately, James Potter was a human being, and—in many respects—human beings are a sensitive lot.

He sat down on the couch by the fire again, crossing his arms and feeling some combination of annoyed and—well, frankly, _hurt_.

"_She's just a bird,"_ Sirius would say. "_Seven for a sickle, honestly_."

"_You _were_ being a bit of a twat_," Remus would then contribute, followed by Peter's more encouraging: "_Better luck next time, Prongs."_

But—James reflected—there would be no next time. No more asking out Lily Evans—no more flirting or provoking or anything. No more Lily Evans. He had made this promise a dozen times previously (and would make it a dozen more times over the next year) but this time he meant it. Really, honestly, completely.

As of that moment, James Potter was off Lily Evans.

The anger, guilt, resentment, and dissatisfaction that merged in his chest, producing an important, compelling ache were enough to convince James that this was the truth... that he was really and honestly done. It would take him more than two months and a punch to Nicolai Mulciber's jaw to make him realize otherwise.

But, of course, you already know about that.

(Present: Gobstones)

Three Marauders sat by Gryffindor Common Room's fireplace. Remus and Peter had books that they were ignoring, and James was toying with the snitch that he had nicked about a century ago. Well, perhaps "toying with" was the wrong phrase; he was holding it, at any rate, pulling at the wings and glaring at the ball as if it had offended him.

That was the scene that Marlene observed when she entered the Common Room from the girls' dormitory and sat casually down in a vacant chair next to Remus's (James and Peter sat on the sofa).

"Hullo," greeted the blond, and they murmured their replies. "So... you lot excited for the summer holidays?"

"Sure," said James.

"Yeah, I suppose," said Peter.

Remus merely shrugged.

"I can see _you're_ in a lovely mood," Marlene went on dryly. "Why are you fighting with Sirius anyway? Everyone's saying different things, and I don't believe any of it." The Marauders looked as though they did not want to discuss it, but Marlene ignored this fact. "Well—when are you going to make up with him for whatever it was?"

She was met with more silence.

"I guess that means you have no immediate plans..."

"When are _you_ going to make up with Adam McKinnon?" Remus countered, eyebrows raised.

"We _have_ made up," she informed them. "Two days ago."

"You couldn't do it earlier?" grumbled James. "He's been in an awful mood."

"Because you lot are just regular rays of sunshine," the blond retorted.

Mary entered the Common Room at that moment. She almost at once took a place on the arm of Marlene's chair. "Hullo, lot," she said, cheerfully enough. "What are you all talking about?"

"Marlene's the loquacious one," said James lightly. "Ask her."

"They're all in bad moods," Marlene told Mary indignantly.

"Nothing new there," replied the brunette. "I blame the Q-word."

"Not a bad guess," James allowed.

"Well, don't let _that_ get to you," Mary continued. "It's our second-to-last night here. I was rather hoping for some kind of prank or something from you before we leave. You're the Marauders, aren't you?"

"No," said Remus.

"Yes," said James.

Mary rolled her eyes. "_Boys_."

Besides the sullen sixth years by the fire, the Common Room was busy with excitement, as the other Gryffindors chattered happily about their summer plans and their relief over the end of final exams. Carlotta Meloni and Shelley Mumps entered through the portrait hole, arguing.

"Oh, Shell, don't be so negative," Carlotta was saying, relishing her lack of uniform with a skirt that displayed the vast majority of her thin, inexplicably tanned legs and a blouse that did the same for her chest. "Of course Raphael Walker wants to see you tomorrow. It'll be fine."

"He was only polite about the date because _you_ were there," Shelley replied dismally. Carlotta rolled her eyes, then noticed the Marauders and her two roommates by the fire.

"Thank-you for the help in Transfiguration, James," she said, approaching the group. "I would have failed for cert without you."

"No problem."

At the sight of James, Shelley had gone pale white, but Carlotta paid no heed and took a seat on the sofa beside Peter. "Sit down then," she invited to her friend, whose physical awkwardness compared to the nymph-like Carlotta was only heightened by her stiff posture next to the relaxed others'.

"I thought we were going upstairs," Shelley mumbled, with a significant glance at James. The Quidditch Captain was once again enthralled with the snitch, however, and didn't notice.

"We're almost finished packing," Carlotta pointed out. "_C'mon_, Shell."

Blushing now, Shelley took the chair opposite Mary and made a point of not looking at James Potter.

"So, what are the summer plans?" asked Carlotta. "I'm home through July, then my parents insist on dragging us all to the house on the coast."

"Oh?" said Marlene, faux courteous. "Isn't that where you tried and failed to steal Alice Griffiths' boyfriend last year?"

Carlotta glared, and Peter rolled his eyes. "If you girls are going to bicker..."

"They're not," Mary intervened. "Haven't you two made peace yet?" she added, scowling between her friend and Carlotta. "It's the end of the school year, you know, and we've got a whole new one ahead. The least you could do is stop fighting, for the rest of our sakes. Now—summer plans: that was a good subject. _I_ am going to help out in my parents' store. Shelley?"

"Oh, I don't know," sighed Shelley. "I think my mum wants to go to Venice. She's Italian, you know."

"Well that should be lovely," said Mary, determined to keep the conversation going. "Remus?"

"No plans," he sighed. They were quiet, and then Peter spoke up to alleviate the discomfort of the silence.

"I'm staying at James's for a bit, aren't I?"

"Yeah," replied the Quidditch Captain. "Of course. But I think we'll be at Godric's Hallow for the first few weeks, so you might be a bit bored."

"What's Godric's Hallow?" Marlene wanted to know.

"The parents' country house," said James. "There's not much to the town though."

"You have a _country_ house?" Mary asked. "How many houses do you _have_?"

James shrugged. "Three or four. There's the main one, the flat in London, Godric's Hallow, the place on the coast..."

"Oh, the one you lent to the Longbottoms last season?" asked Carlotta. "Oh, shut up, Marlene."

"I didn't say anything!"

"I saw your face—you were _thinking _it."

"Thinking is a crime now?" asked Marlene. "No wonder you've never been arrested, Car."

"_No fighting_!" Mary reminded them. "Honestly, you two." She then glanced resentfully at the three, relatively quiet Marauders. "Why is it that the boys seem considerably less into this than the girls?"

"In my experience, it's the reverse," muttered Marlene, and Carlotta snorted appreciatively.

"Progress," sighed Mary happily. Adam McKinnon came downstairs, dressed in pajamas and carrying a small wooden box.

"To whom does this Gobstones set belong?" he asked. "Because everything is packed up or accounted for in the dormitory, and this was just sitting on the desk. Are they Sirius's?"

"He doesn't own a Gobstones set," James said. "I think we borrowed those from someone."

"We ought to return them," Remus noted. "Who did we borrow them from?"

"Frank Longbottom?" Peter suggested.

James shook his head. "That was a chess set."

"Roger Diggory?" Remus guessed.

James frowned. "Who's Roger Diggory again?"

"Y'know—Hufflepuff... used to play Quidditch but stopped so he could 'focus on his studies.'" Still, the Quidditch Captain looked puzzled. Remus rolled his eyes. "Flatface."

"Oi, Flatface!" said James, recollection in his hazel eyes. The girls laughed. "Yeah, I remember. But no, we didn't borrow those from Flatface. I borrowed some broom polish from him once... I don't think he likes me very much."

"Maybe it's because you used all the broom polish," said Peter.

"Maybe it's because you call him 'Flatface,'" said Marlene.

Even James could not suppress his amusement there. "He has very flat features!"

"You're just jealous of his perfect hair," said Mary. "Y'know, I think I snogged him once."

"Me too," said Carlotta automatically. They looked at each other, and a brief but rather awkward silence followed. Adam put the Gobstones on the low table between the sofa and the fireplace, and then sat down himself on the floor.

"Well this is uncomfortable," he pointed out conversationally. The boys, Marlene, and Shelley smiled, but Carlotta shuddered.

"New topic," suggested Mary.

Lily and Donna, the last of the Gryffindor sixth years except Sirius, appeared on the staircase from the girls' dormitory, wearing dressing gowns and both carrying several items. Lily held two records, while Donna carried several books, all of which they presented to Remus.

"All the things we borrowed from you," Lily explained.

"When did I lend you _The Wailing Wailers_?" asked the Marauder, looking over one of the albums Lily had given him. The redhead winced.

"Maybe October?"

"Nice."

"Sorry."

"These are all the books I've borrowed for exams this week," Donna informed Remus, setting the stack on the end table. "I think you'll find there are none missing, but in case you believe otherwise, I have the list that you signed and approved on Monday." She pulled out a slip of parchment from the pocket of her dressing gown and handed it to Remus. "That _is_ your signature, but I can do a verification charm, if…"

"It's fine, Donna," said Remus. "I only signed that because you kept insisting on it."

"I like to be thorough," she replied defensively.

Lily had taken a seat on the floor next to Adam and was drumming her fingers against the mysterious Gobstones box. "Were you going to play? I happen to be a Gobstones expert."

"No, they were in our dorm," said Adam. "We were trying to figure out whose set it is."

Lily examined the box, while Donna sat down beside her.

"Maybe we borrowed them from Liam Lyle," suggested Peter. "I really think we did."

"Who?" asked James.

Remus sighed. "'Happy Hair,'" he said, resigned. James nodded in recognition.

"Good old Happy Hair."

Lily looked at the others. "Do I want to know?"

"No," said Remus. "Maybe it was Malcolm Davies. Or, if you speak James, _Ravengit."_

"No, it wasn't Ravengit," said Lily.

"How do you know?" asked Peter curiously.

"I can just tell. The aura of the box is not that of a Ravenclaw. They're definitely Gryffindor Gobstones. In fact..." She closed her eyes dramatically and held her hands over the game. "I would say that these belong to... Damacus Weasley."

"Oi, that's right!" said James, remembering. "Yeah, we borrowed those from him because Si... someone accidentally blew up my set while practicing a new hex."

"But how did _you_ know?" Carlotta asked of Lily.

"I am _very_ powerful."

They all looked at her skeptically, and Lily held the box upside-down for them all to see. "Damacus Weasley" was carved distinctly in the wood.

"Actually, I can I read," she said dryly. "Well, c'mon then; who wants to play me?"

Adam shrugged. "I will."

"Me, too," agreed Mary. She slid of the arm of Marlene's chair to the floor, scooting closer to the table.

"I'm in," said Marlene, and Carlotta sat down at her side of the table as well.

"Why not?" said the brunette with a shrug. "Come on then, Shelley."

Shelley obediently followed.

"Remus? Peter?" Lily invited, pointedly ignoring James. Peter agreed, but Remus looked reluctant.

"I'm not in the mood for a game," he said. He looked rather pale, too.

"Come on. _One_ game," coaxed Carlotta. "James, you too."

Donna scooted closer to the table. "As long as everyone else is playing, I suppose..."

James cast an awkward glance in Lily's direction, but she was occupied with setting up the game and didn't seem to notice. He moved to the edge of the couch, close enough to partake in the match.

"I'm going to win, you know," declared Donna matter-of-factly. "Really, I always do."

"You _do_ not," argued Lily.

"Let's just hope you play better than you did in the Q-word final," chanted Marlene. Donna scowled, but most of the others laughed.

"I'll go first," said Peter. "No one ever gets sprayed on the first turn..."

One hour, three games of Gobstones, and two trips up to the boys' dormitory for sweets later, there had been little or no uncomfortable incident. Enough people played the game that Lily did not have to directly speak to or interact with James, and even Marlene and Carlotta managed not to fight. Actually, things were going quite well, until, around eight thirty, the portrait hole opened and admitted the last Gryffindor sixth year.

Sirius glanced at the group, but made quickly for the dormitory staircase. Lily looked from Remus to Peter to James, and then decided that she just didn't care.

"Sirius!"

Everyone looked at her.

"Gobstones tournament. Want to play?"

"_Lily_," muttered Remus.

"It won't be all of us if he doesn't play," retorted Lily in an undertone. In a louder voice, to Sirius, she added: "We're halfway through this game—you can be on my team. I've won once already."

Sirius hesitated, then shook his head. "No, thanks. I was actually just going to go grab some things I left in the..."

"Rubbish, come on," spoke up Marlene. "Don't play on Lily's team, though. She's doing _horribly_ this round."

"Not _that_ badly..."

"You haven't knocked one out of the ring yet!"

"Come on, Sirius," Carlotta added. "You might as well play. To celebrate the end of finals and all that!"

"Three attractive girls have asked you," Mary continued. "It would just be _suspicious_ if you declined now."

James kept his expression utterly neutral as Sirius sat down on the floor, between Donna and Lily.

"Wonderful," said Carlotta. "If only we had butterbeer..."

"Right?" agreed Lily. "I was just thinking that." She dodged an assault from the Gobstones, but not before a bit of the green gunk landed in her hair. "I don't think that counts..."

"Of course it counts," smirked Remus. "You're out, Evans."

"But girls have more hair than blokes! It's an unfair advantage!"

"Sore loser," said Marlene. "Donna's turn. Go..."

* * *

"Two galleons says Peter gets hit next," said James, throwing the money on the table.

"Carlotta just got hit," argued Adam. "There's _no_ way..."

"Seriously," agreed Mary, but at that moment, the stones emitted their green acid, and Peter Pettigrew could not dodge it quickly enough.

"God, Potter," Adam complained good naturedly; "You're too damn lucky." He tossed James his money.

"Never bet against me," said James with a grin. He took one of his Gobstones and made his throw at another in the game's ring, successfully knocking it out.

"Damn it," swore Lily, who—with James and Remus—was among the few left in the game. "That's six for Potter, is it?"

"Right," said Carlotta. She placed three galleons on a bare spot of the table. "I'm on James for the win."

"Nah, it's Lily," argued Sirius. "She's only one down, and Potter always stutters for his seventh stone." James pretended he didn't hear.

"I'm going with Lily, too," said Donna, placing her money in the pool. "Five in a row is a streak to bet on."

"I love you, Lily, but I'm betting on James," said Mary.

"I like an underdog—three for Lupin," said Adam. He added his money. It was Lily's turn, and she knocked her sixth stone out of the ring. Remus followed, successfully gaining his sixth Gobstone as well. As he did so, the stones sprayed their foul smelling acid, but Remus managed to duck under the table before any actually hit him.

"Nice one, mate," said James. He aimed his stone carefully and then threw, and while it did strike one of the few rocks remaining in the ring, the Gobstone merely rolled to the perimeter, not escaping the circle. "_Damn_ it."

"Told you," Sirius whispered to Carlotta.

It was Lily's turn again; she held her thrower in her hands as though it were a pair of die, but as she prepared to toss it into the ring, the stones once again struck, spewing the acid in her direction. Lily ducked and successfully evaded the liquid, but her turn was forfeited.

Remus prepared for his throw; he aimed carefully, turned the Gobstone over between his fingers, and then—

"_Yes!"_ cried Adam, punching the air. "Thank-you, Remus Lupin!"

The others groaned, as Adam collected his winnings, and Remus grinned at his small victory.

"Good job, mate," James congratulated, leaning back against the couch (he had relocated to the floor three games ago). "Wasn't I right about the blue stones? They're the best for throwing."

Shelley stretched and yawned, and it suddenly occurred to the sixth years that it was getting late. The Common Room was dark, except for the fire, and everyone else had gone to bed.

"I should be going," said Sirius, getting to his feet. "See you tomorrow, everyone."

The other sixth years—with the exception of James and Remus, who determinedly looked away—bid Sirius goodnight, and, with an unreturned glance at his two former friends, he slouched out through the portrait hole.

"We really _ought _to go to bed," Lily observed slowly. "It's rather late..." There was a moment of silence, and then... "One more game?"

"I'm in," said Mary, straightening up.

"Me too," said Adam.

"Yeah, I'm game," said James.

"I've got to defend the title, I suppose," agreed Remus.

Everyone gathered close around the table, and Lily reset the circle.

Donna was the next person to depart for her dormitory, leaving immediately after the next match had finished. Peter went off to bed a quarter of an hour later, then Mary, Carlotta, and Shelley, and then Adam. Marlene won the last match, and, yawning, she got unsteadily to her feet.

"I'm beat," she announced. "See you in the morning, Lily. 'Night, James." With that, the blonde trudged up to the stairway to the dormitories. Lily put the Gobstones back in Damacus Weasley's box, and slowly rose herself. She dimly toyed with the idea of saying 'Goodnight' (or maybe something else) to James, but then decided against it and started for her room.

"Listen, Lily..." James began suddenly. She rounded on him. "I just..." He hesitated, and Lily interrupted.

"It's late," she muttered. "I should get some sleep." Then she turned and was gone.

(How it Goes With James Again)

Perhaps fantastically, given the insane number of distractions presented to them, the sixth years all passed their finals. Lily's Ancient Runes grade was not as high as she might have liked, and Donna swore that Professor McGonagall had a vendetta against her, but, all in all, the last day at Hogwarts was not quite as awful as it might have been.

The farewell feast was delicious, as it typically was, and Slytherin, aided by their victory in the Quidditch Cup, won the house cup as well. Gryffindor came in third, but only because Cassidy Gamp's assault on Donna had damaged Hufflepuff's standing beyond repair.

Though she procrastinated as long as she could, Lily finally finished the last of her packing that evening and spent the majority of the night with her friends in her dormitory. Having stayed up so late the night before, most of the girls turned in early, but Lily wasn't tired—or she couldn't sleep, at any rate—and, taking the only book that she hadn't already packed away, the prefect headed down to the by then empty Common Room. At a few minutes past eleven, however, Lily's solitude was disturbed.

"Would it make any difference if I apologized?"

James Potter—in flannel pajama trousers and a Puddlemore United t-shirt that ought to have been looser—walked towards her and managed to look apologetic and apathetic at the same time.

"Depends," replied Lily, returning to her book after a brief once-over. "Do you give me permission to impale your foot with a sharp object? I think _that_ would make a difference."

Sighing, James dropped onto the sofa beside her. "I'm sorry," he said with enough sincerity that Lily looked up. "I shouldn't have said the things I said."

As tired as she was—of everything—Lily was not about to accept _that_. "Is that it? You should write cards. You could call them Non-Guilt Accepting Apologies by James."

"I'm accepting guilt," replied James steadily. "I meant what I said, but I shouldn't have said it."

"_Ineffective_ Non-Guilt Accepting Apologies by James."

James didn't reply. He just sat there for a long time, looking at his hands. Lily was about to ask him to leave (or demand it, anyway), when he asked: "What are you reading?"

"A book."

"What book?"

"This one."

He snorted. With his arm slung over the back of the couch, James leaned over to read the title, and in the process, his hair—wet from his shower—grazed against Lily's face. She pulled away from the scent of shampoo (fresh and agreeable as it was) and made a face as though smelling something unpleasant.

"Move over. You're getting me wet," she accused, and James snorted again. "Oh, shut up."

James complied in one respect; he leaned back. "_Emma_?" he asked, in reference to the book title. "Never heard of it."

"It's muggle," Lily informed him. "It's the only book not stored at the bottom of my trunk at the moment, and I felt like reading."

"Of course you did," James muttered. "Well, what's it about then?"

Resigned to the fact that James—with his stupid shirt and his stupid hair—was not going anywhere, Lily responded after brief deliberation: "It's about a girl that gets everything wrong."

"Better than a girl that gets everything right, I suppose."

"Well, who wants to read that?" More uncomfortable, shampoo-scented silence, then: "You haven't accepted my apology yet."

"You haven't made an apology worth accepting yet."

"Fair enough."

...

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Well, are you going to apologize better?"

"No."

Lily scowled. "Are you going to leave me alone with my book?"

"No."

"Are you going to go upstairs and get me some of the sweets I know you must have stored away somewhere, so that at least your presence is moderately more tolerable?"

James grinned. "I'll be right back."

"Don't rush."

The Quidditch Captain disappeared up the stairwell, and Lily tried unsuccessfully to return to her novel. Then, the portrait hole opened, admitting Shelley Mumps.

"Hey, Shell," greeted Lily, a little confused by the witch's late arrival. "Where were _you_?"

"You're not going to deduct points, are you?" asked Shelley anxiously. Lily promised she wouldn't—not bothering to point out that deductions would be rather meaningless at the stage in the year. "I fell asleep in the library," Shelley explained, trudging across the Common Room dismally. "I was supposed to meet someone, but they didn't show."

"Who?" Lily wanted to know.

"A boy. Raphael Walker."

"That cute seventh year? Way to go, _Shelley."_

Shelley shrugged. "Not really. Like I said—he didn't show. Carlotta tried to fix it up... he probably thought she would be there, and when he saw she that wasn't, turned around and left."

"I'm sure that's not it," said Lily, shaking her head resolutely. "Y'know, he's a seventh year—it's his last day. He probably got busy with getting ready for his sending up." Shelley only shrugged again, clearly unconvinced. "Don't worry about it, Shell," Lily consoled. "Blokes at Hogwarts aren't worth your time."

"Some of them are," replied Shelley a bit wistfully.

As if to prove a point, James appeared on the staircase again, this time with a brown paper bag of something that Lily hoped were Jelly Slugs. He took the steps two at a time, and Shelley suddenly looked as though she had swallowed a _real_ slug.

"As per your request," said James to Lily, tossing the bag onto the coffee table and resuming his old seat. "Hullo, Michelle. Want one? Jelly Slugs, you know."

Lily repressed a smile at the choice of candy, and Shelley grew pale. She shook her head.

"Why don't you join us?" Lily offered, grateful for the opportunity of putting a buffer between herself and James's shampoo. (Agrippa—what was _wrong_ with her tonight?) "Potter was just telling me about his new greeting card line and refusing to leave a girl in peace."

Shelley shook her head again.

"You sure?" asked James. "Evans might enjoy having someone to speak politely to, since she's morally obliged to hurl only insults at _me_."

"You're _lucky_ that's all I'm hurling at you," Lily replied lightly.

They both made faces, and Shelley managed to squeak: "No, thank-you. Good night," before trotting upstairs to the girls' dormitory. Lily picked up the bag of sweets and selected a bright blue slug.

"_Michelle_?" she quoted derisively. "_Really_, Potter?"

"What? That's her name."

"If you're reading her name for the Sorting Ceremony, it is. Everyone calls her 'Shelley.'"

"How do you know 'Michelle' isn't my nickname for her?"

"Your nickname for her is her real name? Imaginative."

"It's ironic."

"It really isn't."

"Well, I don't really talk to Michelle... er... Shelley that much. I don't think she likes me... she's always really quiet and glare-y when I'm around."

Lily bit a new slug in half. "You really do amaze me sometimes, Potter," she said, sighing and shaking her head. "And not in a good way."

"You know, I just brought sweets. You have to be nice to me."

"After everything you said the other night, I don't have to be nice. I'm not sure I even have to be humane." When James gave no witty reply, Lily looked up at him from her book. He was watching at her, evidently bothered. "What?"

"I really hurt your feelings, didn't I?" he asked quietly.

Surprised, Lily debated several answers, and then decided to show mercy. "I'll survive," she said. "And the Jelly Slugs help." She offered him the bag, and James picked out a neon pink sweet.

"Alright, Evans, don't go easy on me."

"I had no intention of it."

"You're right, too. My apology was rubbish. Would it make a difference if I tried again?"

She considered it. "Give her a shot. I doubt it will _hurt_ your chances."

"I'm sorry," said James again. "Really sorry. And I _did_ mean some of what I said, but I shouldn't have said it."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "Isn't that the exact same apology you made before?"

"Let me finish."

"Fine."

"I know that you didn't—you didn't try to manipulate me into helping you get to Hogsmeade." Lily's expression changed (softened) at the bluntness of this statement. "And I know you didn't use Luke, and I shouldn't have yelled at you. But I _did_ mean what I said about Snape."

He watched her carefully, probably attempting to gauge her reaction, but Lily sat very still and did not speak at once. Finally, she replied: "So did I." Neither knew what else to say, and to fill the silence, Lily ate another Jelly Slug.

"I heard the two of you fought again," James began again at length.

Lily nodded. "You were right about one thing—I _did_ lose him anyway. Sev and I haven't... we haven't honestly been friends for a long time. We were... we were just pretending."

"I'm sorry."

She looked at him doubtfully. "You hate Snape."

"Yeah, I do," he allowed. "But you don't, so... I'm sorry."

Lily took a long time to say what she felt she needed to say next; "I didn't always turn you down because of Snape. Really and truly, I didn't." She met his stare with determination. "But he was always... he was always so upset about the way you asked me out. Honestly, I thought that's why you did it in the first place."

"But..."

"I let _you_ finish, Potter."

"Fine."

"The truth is—I would have said 'no' anyway... but sometimes, I was—I was a little more... um... _vehement _than I might otherwise have been..." She hesitated, and then plunged, because, after all, they had already said everything else, hadn't they? "And that was because of Snape. Because I wanted to assuage his doubts, I suppose. Anyway that was part of it... the other part being that you just kind of drove me mad."

James smiled down at his hands. Lily bit her lip.

"What I'm trying to say," she went on, "is—apology accepted."

He looked up at her. "Even though it was lame?"

She shrugged. "The Jelly Slugs helped."

James once again summoned his courage, and so—fidgeting with the hem of his _Puddlemore United_ shirt—he pressed on: "I haven't been very nice to you this year... most of the time."

"I had a few less than stellar moments myself."

"Yeah, but I was worse. I mean..." He snorted, "I punched Mulciber, let you take the fall, and then got angry with you for doing it."

It seemed so long ago; the recollection no longer bothered or annoyed Lily. It was almost funny, actually.

"There's a reason for that," James continued. "There's a reason I've been a bit more of a git this year." Lily waited expectantly. "I was trying to get over you."

Lily suddenly felt as though she'd had the wind knocked out of her. Merlin, that boy could just say anything he was thinking, couldn't he? She felt a blush creep up in her cheeks, but managed to ask: "And did you?"

Long, tense nothingness, and then—"Yeah."

Lily breathed again. "Okay."

James considered the redhead beside him carefully—in her thin green t-shirt and baggy pajama trousers, with her ginger hair pulled up sloppily at the back of her head and her skin tinted in the firelight.

"You've changed," she said, as though reading his thoughts.

"So have you," he replied.

Lily nodded slowly, not debating it as he had expected. "It's been a long year," she said. "Not always a very good one, either."

"No," he agreed. "Not at all."

She wondered what he was thinking about—probably Sirius. "Next year will be better," she told him.

"You can't know that."

"How could it be worse?"

James smirked. "You might be right about that. Still..."

"Still? Still what?"

"I dunno. I'm just—just wondering if there's any point to coming back next year. You don't need to take N.E.W.T.s to play Quidditch, and anyway, I'm loaded, so it's not as though I'll be hard up to find a job if I _don't_ play."

"You _have_ to come back next year!" protested Lily, appalled. James arched his eyebrows. "How can you even consider that?" she went on. "It's _Hogwarts_. You _love_ it here."

He shrugged. "Everything here is—Sirius. Five beds in the dormitory... every secret passageway in the school, we found with _Sirius_. Even the map—it says Moony, Wormtail, _Padfoot_, and Prongs. I met him on my first day, and we've spent every day here together ever since. I just—I dunno, right now. I just want to be away from that."

"But you _have_ to come back," Lily maintained. "Honestly, Potter, it's... it's Hogwarts! And it's been a rotten year, but... but... but Hogwarts has to redeem itself!"

"Redeem itself?" inquired the amused Quidditch Captain.

"_Yes!" _she continued, impassioned. "This year... Professor Black dying, Luke, Logan Harper, Roland Urquhart hanging that pureblood propaganda... Carlotta and Adam at the beginning of the year... Marlene's attack, Mary's... losing the Quidditch Cup to _Slytherin_... your fight with Sirius, mine with Donna, _Sev_... James, it's been a bloody _lousy_ year! And if you leave now, then _this_ year—from Mulciber to Sirius—is going to be your last! You don't want that, do you? If you don't come back and have a seventh year, all your memories of Hogwarts will be tarnished; all the good ones won't matter as much! You have to come back and try for a better year..." James looked at her oddly. He did not answer at once, and Lily chewed her lip. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Slowly, he began to smile. "You might be."

Lily matched his expression. "Of course I am."

James shook his head. "Listen, at the risk of tempting fate..."

"Friends?" she interrupted. He nodded.

"Right."

"Friends," the redhead agreed. "And about time, too."

James leaned back on the couch, propping his legs up on the table they had played Gobstones on the evening before. "What a way to end a year, yeah?"

"Yeah."

A briefer, more comfortable quiet followed, and then James grabbed the book from Lily's lap. "So tell me about this Emma character. Is she fit?"

Lily just laughed.

It was a few hours later—nearly one o'clock in the morning—before they actually ended up going to bed. James walked with Lily up the stair, until they came to the landing that split off towards the girls' and boys' dorms respectively.

"Goodnight, then, I guess," said James.

"Goodnight," replied Lily.

They looked at one another for a very long, lingering moment. Lily wondered only vaguely whether or not she would see anything of him over the summer holidays, for her brain suddenly seemed to have gone soft... soft and silent.

Of course, she had no way of knowing _exactly_ what the next few months would bring. She could not have known about the protest, or about Sam, or that she would be attending not one, but two weddings... She could not have known that before she boarded the Hogwarts Express again for her seventh year, she would experience the strangest thirty-six hour period of her life to date, which would end in James Potter's arms.

No, indeed, she knew none of this so, and so, with a last smile, she said: "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Reckon so," agreed James. And they went their separate ways.

It was only as she crawled into bed with an odd, warm feeling in her stomach, that Lily realized something important—it was not, as she had thought, that there was nothing left to say with James, after all. It was that there was nothing left that _could not_ be said.

* * *

**A/N: **I have no idea how Gobstones is played—I took my vague recollections from the books, added the slight information provided by hp-lexicon and a Google search, and made up the rest. If this is completely wrong, I'm sorry, but I did my best =P.

So, I'm trying to work in a Remus centric chapter—he'll feature heavily in the next chapter, but I'm not sure if that's going to be "his" or not. At the moment, Chapter 24 is tentatively called "Contra Mundum." Some nice Lily/James there, and a cameo by a canon character that I always liked, despite her underdevelopment.

Thank you to the fantastic anonymous reviewers: **RosethornEverlasting **(Gracias! Anything I can do to encourage poor behavior in Math class...), **Ahhreelmonsters** (thanks so much. Yes, the Marauders might take some time to heal... also, James, Remus, and Peter might arrive at forgiveness at different times), **I Have a Faerie Ring **(I wish you many, many strawberry banana smoothies. So glad you read, reviewed, and enjoyed!), **anonymous** (long chapters? Okay. This one was 66 pages), **thatchesirecat **(some Lily and James happiness here! And more to come), **Underbabe **(Thanks! Goodness, I really try with the UK speak and ANY tips are greatly appreciated, though at a certain point I just have to accept that I'm writing several cultures removed from these characters: they're "wizards," in a different country, thirty-five years ago...), **Madeline **(Aw, thank-you! Hope you liked the update =D), **popcorn **(why, thank-you), **readerrr **(I'm glad you decided to read this, despite its incomplete nature; Lily and James's relationship is just kind of getting off the ground now, so it will move at a reasonably quicker pace from here on out; the summer holidays bring good things for them), and **Nix** (though I loathe digging around for my HP books, I've found that I really enjoy re-writing canon scenes... well, I'm not really re-writing, so much as elaborating; it's a lot of fun to allow the things that JKR expounds upon speak for themselves, and then explore the emotions behind the things that JKR allows to speak for themselves. It's just fun).

I didn't reply to _all_ the logged in reviewers, because if I had, there would be no way for me to update today, and I really wanted to. But I love and appreciate all of you =).

Reviews are whipped cream.

Cheers,

Jules


	24. Contra Mundum

**A/N:** Listened to the Lion King soundtrack while finishing this chapter. EPIC. I am SO sincerely sorry for taking this long to update, and I really want to thank everyone who has tolerated me and reminded me to get this damn thing up. You guys have been very helpful, and I love and appreciate you.

**Disclaimer:** Copyright Jo-Ro. And the Lovin' Spoonful.

**Before:** Remus is a werewolf (although, if you didn't know that, you shouldn't be reading anything other than Prisoner of Azkaban right now). Everyone heads home for the summer holidays. James, Remus, and Peter still refuse to see/speak to Sirius after his Whomping Willow prank on Snape. Lily's friendship with Snape ends, just as she reboots her friendship with James.

Concerning Geography: I do, in fact, own a map and realize where Manchester is, and the geographical errors in this chapter are primarily a result of my hazy memory of the first chapter of book one (forgetting Hagrid's "Bristol" reference). If I get around to it, I might edit later on, but I have not the time nor energy at the moment, and I must beg your forgiveness in the mean time.

Chapter 24- "Contra Mundum"

Or

"Summer in the City"

Once upon a time, there was a young boy, five years old and happy. His name was Remus Lupin.

In those days, Remus was a spirited child. His mother, a muggle, loved her son very much, though his frequent outbursts of accidental magic always came as something of a shock. His father, a wizard, doted upon him.

He grew up near Rochdale and easily made friends with the other magic children in his area. He enjoyed the outdoors; he liked the sea and the sun and the wind. He laughed easily and frequently; he was clever, reading early and demonstrating considerable potential in magic.

Remus was unspoiled, polite, and talkative. There was, Mary Lupin maintained, something about her little boy that drew people towards him—something special.

But one night, when Remus John Lupin was five years old, when he was still young and contented, when he remained unaware of the shadows of the world, when he was mischievous and carefree, when the name _Voldemort_ was nothing more than a whisper, uttered only in the darkest corners of wizarding England—one night, the course of Remus Lupin's promising life was changed.

As long as he lived, Remus remembered the first part of that evening in great detail. He recalled with horrific clarity the feel of grass on his bare legs, the warm summer air, the gentle _crunch_ of leaves underneath his sandals as he walked through the park. He remembered the first twinge of alien fear (for very few things scared him back then) at an unfamiliar, out of place sound, somewhere amongst the trees.

He remembered the eyes—the yellow, hateful eyes that stared him down, elected him, unblinking and terrifying.

The murmur of the wind, the swing in the park that squeaked as it swayed, a brief, easily repressed pang of guilt with the knowledge that he was disobeying his father's explicit order, faint and distant voices as someone on the block switched on a radio...

And then blood.

Of the second part of that evening, Remus remembered very little.

* * *

The worst were the mornings.

Every inch of his body burned and ached; blood obscured his vision in one eye; the other was swollen and sore. He could feel each of his bones—each wracked with a unique pain, each rattling with the quick, uneven beating of his heart. He gasped for air.

It occurred to him that he was no longer in wolf form. He was Remus again. But all that it really meant was that he could now properly understand the physical agony of his transformation, and no amount of anxiety or procrastination could delay that inevitable truth.

Morning always came.

"Get up, Freak," a voice echoed in his brain, until Remus realized that the voice came from across his cold, dark cell. A beam of light and a blurry shape indicated that the magically reinforced door to the room had been opened. "I said _get up!_" the voice repeated, louder... it was that Healer, the one who had shoved him in here the night before, berating with unmasked malice the St. Mungo's policy of anonymously accepting any werewolf who volunteered himself to be locked up for the full moon. Remus's room was roughly the size of two small broom cupboards. "We take you in for the night," barked the Healer—a broad-shouldered, brutish-faced wizard with all the bedside manner of a bloodhound. "There's no guarantee for the rest of the day. So _get up_."

"I—_c-can't_," gasped Remus, sitting up with great difficulty. "I th-think my leg's... broken."

"Then you can go and wait for a bed like everyone else," snapped the wizard.

"I c-can't m-move," Remus croaked—_move_? He could scarcely breathe! The Healer was silent for a minute, and then let out a sound of extreme irritation.

"Fine. I'll try to find someone who doesn't mind touching vermin like you."

The door closed. The light vanished. Remus felt one of his arms supporting him weaken, and—so he would not collapse—the young lycanthrope lay back down on the cement floor. The burning of his skin, he realized, was the result of his sweat, which was dripping over onto his fresh, open cuts. But he was too weak to attempt anything about that just now. So, cold, naked, and broken, he waited for someone to return.

The worst were the mornings.

(Two Weeks Later)

Remus made a lot of noise about coming out of his bedroom, giving his mother just enough time to empty her glass and make her way over to the kitchen sink, where she hastily rinsed it out under the tap. Still, the faint alcoholic scent lingered in the air when Remus entered the room, and both mother and son _knew_. Perhaps worse was the fact that both knew that the other knew, and neither would say anything about it.

Remus sat down at the kitchen table while Mrs. Lupin finished cleaning the glass, and when she turned around to face him, she was smiling weakly.

"Hello, dear," she greeted, faking normality. "Sleep well?"

It was just after eleven, and Remus had been awake for hours, but he saw no need to enlighten her on this matter. "Yeah," he lied. "You?"

"Oh, well enough," Mrs. Lupin replied, sitting down in her chair at the head of the small, rectangular table. "You slept in this morning. You're not starting to... to feel it already?"

"No. I was up late doing my summer homework."

"I see." An awkward pause, and then: "Would you like some tea, dear?"

"I'll get it." Remus rose abruptly to fix the tea.

Mary Lupin was a small, thin woman, quite pale, with wispy brown hair and large grey eyes, like Remus's. She had a quiet, unassuming demeanor and a soft voice. Life had aged her beyond her thirty-eight years, and deep lines ran beneath her eyes and around her mouth. But there remained something unshakably pretty in her, despite her weary air and the increasing white streaks that she combated with dye in her hair.

"Do you have any plans for today?" she asked, nervously fidgeting with a muggle newspaper left on the table. The Lupins had lived in a muggle neighborhood for nearly eleven years, since Remus's affliction complicated life among magic folk. A muggle herself, Mrs. Lupin was perhaps the only one pleased by this aspect of the situation, and—though she never said it—Remus thought it was the _only_ aspect of the situation that comforted her at all.

"I'm going to see James this afternoon," said Remus.

"Oh, yes, you told me." He had... three or four times. "Say 'hello' for me, will you?"

"Sure."

"You know... you could bring your friends over here, if you like," Mrs. Lupin continued. "You never do, but it would be no trouble. And I'll be at work this afternoon, so you needn't worry about your old muggle mother embarrassing you..." She turned in her chair to smile at the joke, and Remus reciprocated half-heartedly.

"James is just getting back from the country," Remus told her. "He'll probably just want to laze around, y'know?"

"Oh." She nodded slowly. "I see." The tea kettle began to whistle. "No leaves, I'm afraid, dear; you'll have to use a teabag." Wordlessly, Remus prepared the tea, and Mrs. Lupin continued: "Of course, our house isn't so very grand as the Potters'..."

"Mum..."

"No, I understand. I had a friend like that in school: Tracy Minelow. Her father owned half the town, you know. We always wanted to stay at her house." Mrs. Lupin lowered her eyes and added: "Of course, I haven't seen Tracy since I married your father."

Remus sat back down at the table. "Does she still live nearby?"

"Oh, no, she's in London by now, I think. Married a very rich gentleman years and years ago."

"You should... you should go and see her sometime," said Remus encouragingly. "Or any of your old friends. Just because dad's a wizard doesn't mean you're not allowed to have muggle friends..."

"No, no. I wouldn't have anything in common with the girls these days. Besides..." Mrs. Lupin stood and leaned over to kiss her son's brown hair. "I have everything I could need right here." She straightened up. "I had better change for work."

Remus watched her as she started to leave. "Mum..."

She paused near the corridor. "Yes, dear?"

But he changed his mind. "I—I won't be out late."

Mrs. Lupin nodded. "Yes, dear."

The whiskey smell was all but gone, and Remus took a sip of tea.

* * *

_You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of_

_Petunia Elaine Evans_

_And_

_Vernon Walker Dursley_

_On Saturday_

_July the Twenty-Fifth_

_Nineteen Hundred and Seventy-Six_

_3 o'clock p.m._

_St. George's Church_

_Chorley, Lancashire_

The words, delicately printed on elegant white paper, glared menacingly up at Lily as she reread them for what must have been the fiftieth time. Try as she might, the seventeen-year-old could not muster up anything but dread for the happy event.

"Aren't the invitations _lovely_?" crooned Nancy Wiggins, sitting on the parlor sofa beside Lily. Clearly, Nancy had helped herself to the champagne at the bar, or she would never have been so cordial with Petunia's "freak" sister. Nancy, like Lily, was one of Petunia Soon-to-be-Dursley's bridesmaids, and her presence was, like Lily's, required there today, as Petunia hosted something called a "Bridal Luncheon."

Lily smiled falsely and nodded. "Oh, yes, lovely."

"Petunia has _such_ taste," Nancy continued, presumably with regard to the invitations. "Of course, you know all about that, growing up with her and what-not..." (She sounded downright envious), "but the wedding—oh, the wedding will be just _beautiful_. The flowers..."

"Roses for the bride, miniatures for the bridesmaids," Lily interrupted, before she could help herself. "Pink roses and white petunias for the church, and white rose boutonnieres for the groomsmen. Yes, I know. Nancy, there isn't a single thing you could tell me about this wedding that I don't already know."

"Oh, I'm sure that's true," said Nancy, unperturbed. "But all the same, it _will_ be lovely, won't it? Have you seen the dress you'll be wearing?"

"Several times."

"Such a lovely shade, don't you think? Petunia has _such_ taste..."

And she was off again, praising Petunia's standards of elegance and refusal to let money stand in her way when planning the perfect wedding... Lily had never come so close to contemplating suicide.

The Evans' sitting room was crowded at the moment. Besides Lily and Nancy, there were the other bridesmaids (Yvonne St. Clair and Marjorie Dursley), as well as Lily's mother, a handful of female relatives, and more than a dozen of Petunia's "closest friends," whom Lily had never met before. Mrs. Dursley—a fleshy, pug-nosed woman of about fifty and the groom's distinguished mother—was also in attendance, with four or five of _her _friends, several of them eying everything in the Evans' house with varying degrees of aversion.

Lily wondered vaguely if the Ministry would snap her wand should she hex anyone...

Since Lily's return from school just over two weeks prior, almost every moment had been occupied by Petunia and Petunia's wedding. The elder Evans daughter's flat lease had run up at the beginning of June and, since she would be marrying Vernon in July, Mrs. Evans concluded it made most sense for Petunia to return home in the intermediate months before the wedding. Since the house in Surrey that the Dursley's had purchased for their married life was as of yet unready for inhabitance, Petunia agreed. It would be convenient to prepare for the wedding from home, even if it meant living with The Freak. Unfortunately for Lily, Mrs. Evans, Ira the cat, and anyone who happened upon the Evans house at that time, Petunia's bridal mania was far-reaching and unstoppable.

She removed all bread from the household and enforced (or tried to enforce) a no-sugar diet for all of her bridesmaids. The icebox was now stocked with lettuce and an unpleasant looking brown soupy concoction that came in a bottle labeled _Protein Power!_ Lily very quickly learned that the reason her mother had taken to attending Church up the road every morning was the visit to the corner bakery that it afforded her on the way home.

Edie Evans—Lily decided—was either a saint, or else she was simply so pleased to see her daughter getting married that she could tolerate the insanity it spawned.

"I know she's being difficult," Mrs. Evans consoled Lily one morning at breakfast; "But it's her _wedding_. We just have to be patient."

But Mrs. Evans seemed to possess an abnormal amount of patience, and Lily did not. If Lily had not known that Petunia would never intentionally risk her wedding photos, she might even have suspected that her sister had selected pale pink for the bridesmaids' dresses just to clash with Lily's red hair.

Still, Petunia was Lily's _sister_, and the younger girl thought she would have been able to put up with it all, were it not for _everyone_ _else_ involved with the wedding.

First, there was Vernon Dursley, whom Lily had honestly and truly _tried_ to like, failing miserably.

He was a tall man, with dark hair, a mustache, and broad-shoulders. He was built thick and boasted an excellent boxing record from his school days. After his sending up, Vernon had gone to work for a company that made drills, a connection made through his wealthy, nose-in-the-air parents. He wore expensive, if tasteless, clothes and drove a nice car. He had put a pretty ring on Petunia's finger, and never failed to draw attention to his own superior means when in the Evans house.

Usually, Lily wanted to punch him.

The other bridesmaids, Yvonne, Nancy, and Marge, were no great comfort to Lily either. Yvonne and Nancy had gone to school with Petunia, and Lily had known the both of them for a long time. In their secondary school days, Petunia—the tallest, prettiest, and first to develop a figure among the three—was the de facto leader, with Nancy her faithful second-in-command, and Yvonne the slightly plump minion.

But, Lily noticed, there seemed to have been a change in power since those days. Yvonne was now some twenty pounds lighter and—perhaps by no great coincidence—the maid of honor.

"Thank God Yvonne's lost all that weight," was one of Nancy's many observations to Lily that afternoon, as the maid of honor in question slipped suspiciously to the loo after tea. "She'd look positively ridiculous next to a slim thing like Petty if she hadn't." When Yvonne returned, flush-faced, some ten minutes later, Lily felt as though she were going to be ill herself.

Aside from her being vapid, self-absorbed, and in an unnatural awe of Petunia, Lily bore Nancy no ill-will. She didn't even dislike Yvonne so very much, though Yvonne certainly loathed Lily enough. That, she presumed, was largely due to Petunia's influence.

"It's too bad Petty's sister is a ginger," Yvonne noted during one of Petunia's dress-fittings, while Lily sat quite nearby. "It risks the entire look of the wedding photos."

But no one in their right mind could argue that Lily was any more of a threat to the "look of the wedding photos" than Marge Dursley.

Marge was a shorter, thicker version of her brother. The bridesmaid's dress was not flattering for her figure, to be sure, but with the help of a corset and the mandatory diet, Petunia was confident that Marge wouldn't stand out _too_ much by the wedding day. However, Nancy confidentially whispered to Lily that, a month ago, Petunia had planned on expelling Marge from the wedding party if she didn't slim down. It seemed that the bridesmaid diet was mostly for Marge's "benefit."

Lily might have felt sorry for the woman, except that Marge was quite possibly the least likeable person she had ever encountered—_including _her brother.

"You're Petunia's sister, are you?" Marge grunted, on their first meeting. Lily smiled mechanically and nodded.

"That's right. Lily."

Marge did not take the offered hand—evidently, she had heard that there was something wrong with Lily, too. "Where have you been, then?"

"I've been away at school."

"Oh? Where?"

"Saint Elizabeth's," replied Lily; that was what they typically told people.

Marge snorted. "That's R.C., is it?"

Lily wasn't sure, but she nodded anyway, and Marge looked even more displeased. "Never approved of those types of institutions," she said with a sniff. "A regular _breeding_ ground for sapphists and freaks."

And that was when Lily decided that she did not like Marjorie Dursley.

"You know, if you don't pick _exactly_ the right pink, the effect is _all_ wrong," Nancy continued to chatter on, while Lily nodded mutely in reply, "but Petunia chose _perfectly_, in _my_ opinion. And we're to have our nails done the afternoon before, you know, and..."

"Lily, dear," asked Mrs. Evans, mercifully appearing, as though she had sensed her daughter's distress at the hands of Nancy Wiggins, "will you give me a hand in the kitchen?"

Lily practically jumped to her feet. "Yes, Mum. Sorry, Nancy—got to run."

She hurriedly followed her mother away from the party and into the kitchen, where Mrs. Evans began to prepare a new pot of tea.

Edie Evans was petite, with short, strawberry hair, which might have been Petunia's natural color, if peroxide had not interfered for the last six or so years. She had lovely blue eyes, and a warm, smiling face, lined by more than fifty years on the earth, to say nothing of two daughters.

"There are more teacakes in the icebox, Lily," said a distracted Mrs. Evans, preparing the teapot. "Get them, won't you?"

"Why does _Marge_ have to be in the wedding?" Lily whined, unhappily complying with her mother's request. It was a stupid complaint, but all of the important things were too serious to moan about. "The woman's an oaf."

"_Lily_."

"Mum, it's true. She's rude, she's mean, and she smells like wet dog."

"Lily, really. That's not how I taught you to behave," Mrs. Evans scolded. "Marge will be part of the family soon."

"I see," muttered Lily; she set the tray of teacakes onto the counter and then began to fidget with a bouquet of daisies near the tap. "So you're not losing a daughter, you're _gaining_ the Dursleys."

"_Lily_."

"What?"

Mrs. Evans sighed. She leaned over the counter, and the image (of her in a sophisticated olive dress and pearls, assuming such a casual posture) was oddly incongruous. "I won't pretend that I don't think that, as far as gaining sons and daughters goes, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley might have the better end of the bargain..."

Lily smirked.

"...But Petunia loves Vernon very much, and he loves her. You haven't been here, Lily. You haven't seen them together as much as I have, and you haven't seen them when things are normal."

"What does _that_ mean?" Lily wanted to know.

"Everything goes a bit mad just before a wedding," said the other. "If a couple survives that, they can survive most things, I think, as long as they take to it with the same amount of determination."

"Petunia _was_ very determined about her centerpieces," Lily allowed humorously. Mrs. Evans smiled. She straightened up, walking around the counter and placing an arm around her daughter's shoulder.

"It will all be over in a few weeks, love. Everything will be back to normal."

Lily sighed. "Will we have to spend Christmas with the Dursleys?"

Mrs. Evans frowned, as though the idea only just occurred to her. "Certainly not every year..."

The kitchen door swung open, admitting the bride herself.

"Is that tea ready?" Petunia asked anxiously.

"It's just tea," Lily pointed out.

Petunia scowled. "Mrs. Clayton is getting restless, and I said it would only be a minute."

"Well, if Mrs. _Clayton_ says so, then..."

"Don't belittle my friends, freak, just because..."

"_Girls_," interrupted their mother. "Both of you, _really_. Lily, you're not to belittle _anything_; Petunia, you are _not _to call your sister a 'freak,' do you hear me?"

"Yes," chorused both daughters bitterly.

"Good." Mrs. Evans became businesslike, assembling the tea tray and picking it up. "The tea's ready. Bring the cakes, Lily."

Lily, somewhat grudgingly, obeyed, picking up the tray and following her mother back into the sitting room. She placed it on a table and made immediately for her room, with the intention of checking to see if Marlene had replied to her last letter.

"_Lily_," reprimanded her mother, stopping her near the door. "No escapes. This is your sister's party, and you're a bridesmaid."

"I'll be right back," Lily promised. "I'm just going to see if Marlene's written me. _Please_?"

Mrs. Evans deliberated and then nodded. "Five minutes."

"Ten?"

"Five."

"Seven."

"_Five_."

Lily pouted. "You don't understand how this bargaining thing is supposed to work, do you, Mum?"

"Five minutes," repeated her mother; she leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "It's your sister's day today."

Lily nodded. "I'll be along in a bit."

The five minute guarantee was not as strict as her mother made it out to be, as some guest or other would undoubtedly have Mrs. Evans's attention at any moment, distracting her from her daughter's absence for at least twenty minutes. Nonetheless, Lily wanted to enjoy every second of the free time that she had.

Lily's owl, Niko, had not returned when she entered the room. However, an unfamiliar eagle owl perched expectantly upon the sill. A parchment envelope lay on the window seat in front of the bird. Lily hurried to her desk and grabbed a bag of owl treats from a drawer, tossing a few of these to the owl and then picking up her letter.

While the owl (and it was a rather beautiful creature, with shiny feathers and golden eyes) ate, Lily opened the envelope and withdrew two pages of parchment. They were dated for the day before, and Lily didn't need to skip to the end to learn the identity of the author. That was evident from the opening.

_Dear Snaps,_

_This—the owl—is Elizabeth the Second, named for the lady on the muggle money. My old owl has gone into retirement after an unfortunate run in with my Gran's cat Bertram. It seems that was one cat attack too many, and he now refuses to carry mail._

_I'm up North with my family at the moment, but we're all headed back to Manchester tomorrow, which will be a relief. Pete's here, too, irreparably damaging my bedroom ceiling with a Quaffle, at the moment (he says "hi"), but even still, there's not much to do in Godric's Hallow. He—Pete, that is—took his apparition test on Wednesday. Passed without Felix Felicis and everything..._

_I've started Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration essay twice now and have only written one sentence. So much for not procrastinating. I'll just do it on the train, like always._

_Let's see… what else is going on here? Oh, Pete and I saw the Fresh Bloods play in Spain on Tuesday. My cousin Sam got us tickets at the last minute; it was mad, but brilliant, too. Calvin Shrewt was piss drunk, but he's a god on the guitar. I caught a drumstick, but I gave it to Petey (His Royal Highness Peter Pettigrew formally requests that I stop calling him "Petey," so be sure to call him that next time you use him). The Ministry of Merpeople play in London in August, and I hope Sam comes through for that, too. Hopefully with a little more than twenty minutes advance notice... long story, I'll tell you when I see you._

_Which reminds me—since Petey didn't crash and burn on his apparition test, we should meet up in Diagon Alley or something. Have I mentioned how utterly bored I am? Summer holidays didn't used to be this dull, did they? As much as I loathe the prospect of hastening my entrance to the Dementor-esque soul-sucking so-called "Real World," I sort of which school would start again already. _

_Maybe it's just Godric's Hallow. _

_Anyway, I'm hoping to see the Wasps play Puddlemore next week. In the summer, time is measured in Quidditch matches attended, I think. _

_Oh, Remus is coming up to see me tomorrow. You should write to him. He's miserable, and I'm not sure if it's because his Furry Little Problem is acting up or something more serious. You should write him and tell him to get out of the house. He won't listen to me, and I think he's angry that I sent a singing howler. Don't see what he was so miffed about—I didn't use _my_ voice or anything, and the charm produced a really lovely soprano._

_How is your summer going? I hope you're not wallowing or anything. _

_Merlin—do you realize its only been two weeks since school ended? Have you seen anything of You-Know-Who? Not Voldemort. Snape. He lives near you, isn't that right?_

_Petey thinks I shouldn't ask because it's a sore subject. As if "tact" has ever been my style. _

_Merlin._

_At any rate, I'd better be off now. Mum wants Petey and me to take some shortbread to old Mrs. Bagshot up the road, and she (Mum) is positively having kittens over the fact that I didn't do it this morning like I may or may not have promised. So, I'm off. Have a good week—don't do anything I wouldn't, and if you do, take pictures. _

_Cheers,_

_James Potter_

Elizabeth the Second was out the window by the time Lily had finished James's letter. The witch almost laughed out loud at the mental image of James and Peter standing on "Old Mrs. Bagshot's" doorstep with a plate of shortbread, and she also found herself inexplicably pleased by the vague possibility of "meeting up with" James (and Peter) in Diagon Alley sometime. Perhaps it was the fact that she was isolated in the muggle world, but the prospect excited her more than she cared to explain.

Mrs. Evans had yet to knock on her door, and so Lily sat down on her bed, James's letter in hand. With a background soundtrack of Petunia's distant oration on the wedding dance, Lily stretched out on her yellow blankets and reread the untidily penned page and a half until her mother's voice could be heard from the corridor, and Lily was compelled to return to the party.

* * *

Up until now, James had actually been looking forward to his family's return to the Manchester house. Godric's Hallow was so small and out of the way that he typically grew a little bored after a few days there. Even with Peter staying, James had been anxious to return to the on-the-grid house where he had spent most of his non-Hogwarts life. But now, he stood in the mammoth entrance hall, staring around the art-strewn walls, great staircase, marble floors, and ornamented ceiling, and he wished the Potters had not come home at all.

Almost exactly a year before, Sirius had shown up on that very doorstep in the middle of the night, soaking and anxious and homeless...

"Your bags aren't going to carry themselves upstairs, James," Grace Potter noted, kissing her son's cheek as she passed. She noticed his unhappy expression and asked more seriously: "What's wrong, dear?"

James shook himself. "Nothing." He drew his wand and, grinning, added: "And you're wrong, you know."

"Wrong?"

"Mmm." He flicked his wand and the two leather suitcases bearing his initials rose several feet in the air, floating expeditiously towards the main staircase. "The suitcases _will_ carry themselves upstairs."

"Oh, you're just _too funny_," said Mrs. Potter sarcastically. "Come along—I'm starving. We'll have tea."

"And by 'tea' you mean..."

"I think I left some biscuits in a jar somewhere... and there's definitely some Honeyduke's Best in the cupboard."

James smirked. "Sounds like a plan."

In the end, all they could scrounge up was the chocolate. Mrs. Potter sent the house elves away and prepared the tea, before sitting down at the kitchen counter with her son.

"The house seems so empty without Sirius" she observed softly. "Even _before_ he lived here, he came by so often he might as well have..."

"I don't want to talk about _him_," James declared.

"Dear," replied his mother wryly, "it's not as though he died."

"He might as well have," said the other. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about it." James bit viciously into a square of chocolate.

"Everyone makes mistakes, James," Mrs. Potter continued, ignoring her son's request. "Merlin knows _you_ have."

"_Please_. I've never done anything like what Sirius did... and if I had, you wouldn't be letting it go with a comforting 'everybody makes mistakes.'"

The witch sighed heavily. "No, I don't suppose so, but—James, Sirius hasn't had all of the benefits—the advantages that you have."

"Careful, Mum, you sound like a pureblood."

"Well, I _am_ one. Loath as I am to admit it, I was born a pureblood... into the purest of pureblood families." She paused, and then continued significantly: "_Just like Sirius_."

"I see," replied James. "So when you were a sixth year, _you_ tried to kill someone, did you?"

"He didn't mean to..."

"Like hell he didn't."

"Language, James."

The wizard rolled his eyes and took another bite of chocolate. "Mum, I _don't_ want to talk about Sirius. He's... gone. Okay?"

"He's not gone," retorted the mother. "He's been your best mate since you were eleven-years-old. You've gone through all of Hogwarts together, and I _saw_ the way you looked when you came in here today. You felt exactly what I felt—you probably felt it even more acutely. Like Sirius is missing..."

"Yeah. Just imagine," grumbled James; "actually having some food in the pantry and a little peace and quiet. To say nothing of your liquor cabinet..."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll raid the liquor cabinet just fine without Sirius."

James snorted. "Y'know, Mum, some mothers actually _discourage_ their seventeen-year-old sons from drinking."

Mrs. Potter shrugged. "What's the point? You always do exactly as you like." She leaned over the marble kitchen counter. "It's a good thing you're sensible, James. Other wizards with that stubbornness would get themselves into trouble."

"And I _still_ don't want to talk about Sirius."

"Well, you can't always have things the way you want," said Mrs. Potter. "The point, James, is that I know you're not perfect. You certainly get into trouble a great deal. Merlin knows I've become used to the owls from Minerva saying you were sent to the Headmaster's office for setting fire to the drapes or bewitching the Slytherin taps..." James grinned a little. "...But you're a brilliant young wizard, I think. And I think that for all of your... pranks, you've really got a good head on your shoulders after all. You always... you always know your limit."

"Well, you're my mum—you _have_ to say that," said her son lightly.

Mrs. Potter smiled. "James, when I said Sirius hasn't had all the advantages that you have, I meant that he doesn't always have that ability... to know his limit. And you and Peter and Remus have always been able to help him with that. You've stopped him from spiraling out of control."

James grouchily took a sip of tea. "What makes you the expert on my best mate, Mum?"

Mrs. Potter looked down at her aged hands, and when she spoke, it was with a certain delicacy: "I understand Sirius... you know what my family was like, dear. Purest of purebloods... and the need to rebel... sometimes, you're so preoccupied with resenting where you came from that you forget why you're different from them. You need someone to—to ground you." She smiled. "I had your father..."

"And you almost wouldn't marry him because he was a pureblood, and you thought it wouldn't bother your parents enough," James finished, smirking. "I've heard that story a hundred times."

"Well, it's true," said Mrs. Potter, head high. "I told him I could promise to stay with him forever, and that maybe—just maybe—somewhere down the road, I wouldn't object to a child or two." She laughed at the recollection, her hazel eyes dancing. "But I would _not_ become my mother. I would not be one of those aristocratic old pureblood witches in a big house with a hundred house elves, sitting around arranging marriages and only using magic for domestic spells or glamour charms... if they can be bothered to do even that by themselves."

James shook his head. "So what changed your mind?"

"Nothing!" protested his mother, as though offended. "I've always been resolute about not becoming like that, about my career, and the house elves—especially the house elves. But, in the end, your father had an argument for matrimony that could not be overcome."

"Do I _want_ to know?"

"He said," Mrs. Potter went on, "that the only way to get rid of my pureblood name, 'Dearborn,' was to change it up for another."

"And that _worked_?"

"Well..." She smirked. "I think I was a little disposed towards him anyway. Oh, and there was the ring..." Habitually, she toyed with diamond crusted, white gold band on her left hand. "But oh, did we fight about it. We broke it off three times before we got it right. I was just so terrified of becoming my mother."

"Well, having met Gran, I understand exactly what you mean," remarked James. "Although, you _do_ have the big old house. How do you feel about _that_, Mrs. Potter?"

"Oh, I don't know." She drummed her fingers absently against the counter. "I would've preferred something smaller—more practical. But it _is_ a beautiful home, isn't it? I suppose I decided that I wouldn't change myself just because I was living in the Potter family house. I could still be Grace—simple, plain old Grace. And ultimately, I realized I loved Alex more than I loved London." She had a far off look on her long, thin face, as though her mind was occupied in nostalgia of which James knew nothing. Then, she returned her eyes to her son and straightened up. "So, James, be sure you marry a nice muggle girl. _That_ would royally irritate your father..."

"You're a bad influence on me, Mum."

"It's the reverse, most likely, dear." She finished her tea and unwrapped a bar of chocolate. "And _speaking_ of the girl you're going to marry..."

"Uh-oh."

"How are things progressing on that front?" Mrs. Potter wanted to know. She had a puckish grin on her reddened lips as she rested her chin in the palm of her hand. "You didn't _mention_ any girls in particular, but I can never be sure with you..."

"Well, there _were_ no girls in particular." He took a larger bite of chocolate.

"Solitary and celibate for a whole year? Are you _certain_ you're my son?"

James's expression was pained. "Never say anything like that again please, Mum. You're scarring me." She merely laughed, and he continued: "I had a date here and there—nothing important, though."

"I see. And what of that girl that Sirius—that is, _He Who Must Not Be Named_, always teased you about?"

James rolled his eyes. "That was centuries ago."

"Given up, have you?"

"It's not like that."

"Then how is it?"

The wizard shifted uncomfortably on his kitchen stool. "It's just... different."

"Different?" echoed Mrs. Potter. "Well, now that you've made it so clear..."

"Mum, do we have to have this conversation now? Or ever?"

For a woman of nearly seventy, Mrs. Potter managed a rather convincing show of childishness. She pouted and noted: "You used to talk about things with me, James."

"No, you used to _force_ me to talk about things with you," her son corrected.

"An ability I seem to have lost with age."

"It happens."

She smiled. They sat in silence for a little while, finishing their chocolate, before Mrs. Potter spoke up again. "James," she began, eyes downcast once more. "I hope that you know—I hope that you understand that... that no matter what happens—your father and I will still love you very, very much."

"Don't worry, Mum," replied James seriously. "I'm not pregnant."

Mrs. Potter playfully slapped his hand, resting on the countertop. "My son is a prat," she announced. "I mean it, James."

"I know you do... I just have no idea why you felt the need to bring it into the dialogue."

But his mother only smiled softly and finished her tea.

"What time are the boys coming over?"

"In about an hour."

"I suppose you'll want _real _food, then," sighed Mrs. Potter. "I'll call Twitchet. Merlin knows you never eat anything _I_ cook."

"That's because you're a rubbish cook."

Mrs. Potter glared. "Go upstairs and have a shower before your friend arrive. You smell awful." She slid off the stool and moved around towards the stove, kissing her son on the cheek as she passed. James also got to his feet and started for the door. "And make sure you unpack—I don't want you making poor Peter do it for you!"

"But he's always so _willing_..."

"James Alexander Potter..."

"Alright, alright..."

* * *

"'Morning, Tom," mumbled Sirius, not removing his sun-glasses even in the moderate light of the Leaky Cauldron. The innkeeper Tom smirked, as the younger wizard stepped behind the bar and grabbed a brown apron from a hook.

"Took your work home with you last night, did yeah?" Tom asked knowingly. Sirius shrugged.

"I'm fine. 'Won't be more than two people in here before noon. Anything to report?"

"Nah. Slow night. People don't get out as much as they used to these days."

Sirius only nodded and then stiffly picked up a rag to wipe off the bar.

Tom watched his young new employee. "I've got something for that headache of yours," he said, clapping Sirius on the shoulder roughly. "An' don't you worry about being nice to the customers before luncheon—anyone who steps into a pub on a Monday morning should know what they're likely to get."

Sirius grinned weakly. "Thanks."

"'Course."

Tom disappeared into the back, and Sirius slouched against the bar, pulling off his sunglasses so that he could rub his eyes. The bell over the door rang, as a few young witches entered the pub. They smiled flirtatiously at Sirius when they passed, but did not stop, moving instead towards the back entrance to Diagon Alley. Most people that entered the Leaky Cauldron—especially this early—did the same.

Half an hour passed before anyone seeking Sirius's services entered the pub, and even then, it was only a couple who had stayed in the inn and required breakfast. He sent the order through to the kitchen and then sat down on a stool behind the bar.

Five hours and twenty-seven minutes remained in his shift, but who was counting?

The door opened again, admitting another witch, alone this time. She wore expensive violet robes, but with long, platinum hair, immaculate white skin, and large grey eyes, the woman would have been beautiful in rags. Sirius started at the sight of her—but not because she was lovely. Because she was family.

The witch's eyes landed on Sirius almost immediately after her entrance into the pub; she was as surprised to see him as he was her, but she looked away quickly and, without a word, moved towards the door to Diagon Alley. She had almost reached the back room when Sirius spoke up.

"I heard you're getting married."

Narcissa Black stopped walking. She kept her back to her cousin for a few seconds and then slowly turned to face him. "That's right," she replied with dignity. "_I_ heard Uncle Alphard left you all his gold."

Sirius nodded. "Most of it."

"Madam blasted him off the family tree," said Narcissa. Her voice was strange—forceful and a bit defiant. "Just like you, when you left."

"And Meda," added Sirius mercilessly. Narcissa flinched.

"Yes. And her," she agreed. They were both quiet, and then Narcissa, with a fearful glance at the others in the pub, said: "I'd better go. And you had better quit. If Bella saw you..."

"It's not too late," Sirius interrupted. "It isn't too late for you, Cissy."

Narcissa took one step forward and opened her mouth to say something. For a moment, there was emotion in her eyes and sincerity in her expression. And then she froze up again. "It's too late for _you_, Sirius. Trust me. I know."

"Because of people like Bella—and your fiancé... Malfoy."

Narcissa did not reply. "It will all be over soon," she said instead. "I hope you survive, but... it doesn't seem likely." She turned to leave.

"You're wrong," said Sirius after her. "It's not almost over. It's just starting."

But his cousin said nothing; she hurried out through the back. Sirius sat down behind the bar again.

Five hours and twenty-four minutes remained in his shift.

* * *

By two o'clock, the last of the guests had left, and Lily could not have been more grateful. Even Petunia seemed grateful to have the house returned to near normality, as she collapsed on the sofa, kicking off her heels and throwing her head back. Lily fell onto a chair nearby.

"Tired?"

Petunia looked up, startled. "Yes." She adjusted her posture and then got to her feet, heading for the door.

"Would it really kill you to spend five minutes in the same room with me?" snapped Lily.

Petunia hesitated. "It might," she muttered at length, before hastening into the kitchen.

Lily sighed heavily. She began to follow, but, halfway there, tripped over one of Petunia's shoes and stubbed her toe on an end table.

"_Fuck_." She fell onto the couch, wincing and rubbing the offended toe sourly. "Bloody Merlin," the witch muttered. "I need to get out of here."

* * *

Mrs. Potter greeted Remus with a large smile as she stepped aside to admit him into the foyer.

"Hello, dear," she said, "James is upstairs, but he'll be down in a..."

"Hullo, mate," interrupted the voice of the very wizard in question. He appeared at the top of the great staircase and hurried down, a grin on his face. "How've you been?"

"Alright, I suppose," replied Remus, a bit awkwardly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and took in the Potters' extensive vestibule for the first time since the previous summer. It seemed bigger. "How was the country, then?"

"Lovely," said Mrs. Potter, closing the door behind their guest.

"Boring," said James.

"Don't be contrary."

"I'm not."

Mrs. Potter smiled and shook her head. There was a knock on the door, however, before she could make another retort, and James sidestepped both his mother and his friend to open the door for Peter.

"'Lo, Pete. Long time no see."

"About four hours," said Peter. "But who's counting? Hello again, Mrs. Potter."

"Hello, Peter, dear."

"Moony—how've you been?"

"Not awful."

"There's that Remus Lupin optimism we know and love," quipped James. "Alright, let's go upstairs before Mum starts being charming."

He led the way towards the staircase. "You're just worried I'll tell them stories about you when you were a baby!" she called after them.

"Are you kidding?" James had reached the bottom step. "I've always been this cool."

"Ha! I could tell about the time you played hide-and-seek with your cousins..."

"Bye, Mum!" James spoke loudly over her, waving as he hastily ascended the stair with the others behind him.

"There's food in the kitchen," Mrs. Potter reminded them. "I'm going to drop by the office to make sure they haven't destroyed anything while I was on holiday. Don't make trouble!"

"Trouble?" echoed James, quietly to the other two Marauders. "_Us_?"

* * *

Her hair was still wet from her shower, and she had barely touched her makeup, but it felt wonderful to be out of the dress she'd worn to Petunia's luncheon, and the comfort of jeans, a t-shirt, and sandals was indescribable.

Lily entered the Leaky Cauldron with a touch of trepidation that always afflicted her on first re-entrances into the wizarding world. She sometimes imagined—foolishly, perhaps—that one day she would attempt to pass through the barrier at Nine and Three Quarters or the door to the Leaky Cauldron and find that there were no such places at all... that the last few years had been nothing but a strange fantasy.

Immediately, however, the bewitched (albeit smoky) air of the pub relieved Lily's momentary doubts. The door clicked shut behind her, and she was reassured by the familiarity of the room... the usual witches and wizards, chatting over butterbeers and firewhiskey, the elderly chap with a pipe who seemed to exist only at that same corner stool, the stack of _Afternoon Prophet_ newspapers on the shelf, Tom behind the bar...

But Tom wasn't behind the bar.

"Sirius?"

Her classmate looked up at the sound of his name, and grinned in response when he saw Lily walking towards him. He finished pouring a glass of dark liquid for a pretty twenty-something witch and set down the bottle. "Evans," greeted the Marauder. "What brings you here? Couldn't stay away from me, eh?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "That would be more plausible if I actually knew you were working here..." She sat down on a stool. "You _are_ working here, right? You haven't hijacked the bar?"

"No, although that's a good idea. What can I get you?"

"Oh." Lily hadn't actually thought of ordering something, but now that she was here... "Butterbeer, I suppose."

"Original," remarked Sirius sardonically. "Bottled or tap?"

"Bottle is fine."

"Even _more_ original."

He set the drink before her, and Lily raised her eyebrows. "How long have you been working here?"

"About a week," replied Sirius. The pretty witch a few seats away sent a withering glare in Lily's direction; clearly, she thought she had some kind of claim on the attractive bartender. "I was staying upstairs—the inn, y'know—and Tom said he could use a hand during the day. The two broads that usually work are traipsing around the continent for the summer. Oh—Shack's got a job, too..."

"I know. She wrote me." Lily took a drink of butterbeer. "More than I can say for you."

"Right—I meant to reply... it's only been a few days. Cut me some slack, Red. Oh—another?" This was directed to the wizard with the pipe, and Sirius made to refill his mug. He returned to Lily a minute later, however, and leaned over the counter.

"Are you still staying here?" she asked.

Sirius shook his head. "Got a flat in the Alley. Over the Apothecary."

"You're renting a flat in Diagon Alley? That's got to be expensive."

Sirius grinned again. "Not renting. I bought it."

"Y-y-you bought the apothecary?" Lily spluttered. Sirius laughed.

"No, no, no. Just the rooms upstairs. Didn't even belong to the same bloke. Real nice chap, though—cut me fantastic price, considering... Why don't you look happy for me, Red?"

"I just hate to see you spending your hard-earned inheritance."

"There's plenty left," replied Sirius casually. "Honestly, I'm only working here to fill the hours."

"But you'll be going back to school soon," argued Lily. Then an unpleasant thought occurred to her. "You _will_ be going back, won't you?"

"Don't be thick. Of course I'll be going back to Hogwarts. I'll let the flat out to someone else during the term, I suppose. Or leave it empty, even."

Considering that the last time she had spoken to Sirius—on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, two weeks prior—the former Marauder had been all but despondent, he certainly seemed chipper enough now. She remarked on this fact, and Sirius shrugged.

"Smoked a gram of Manticore Hash on my fifteen," he told her.

"_Sirius," _Lily reprimanded, and he laughed.

"Only joking, Evans." The pretty witch down the bar cleared her throat obtrusively, and Sirius started. "Oi, right. Lily, this is Adelaide. Adelaide, Lily. And I'm Sirius, in case anyone's forgotten."

"Nice to meet you," said Lily.

"Pleasure," replied Adelaide curtly.

Now that this new introduction appeared to be someone of at least mild significance in Sirius's life, Lily gave her a more thorough look. She was very pretty, in a tomboyish kind of way, wearing loose linen trousers and a tightly fitted tank-top. She had tan skin, freckles, long black hair, and sharp brown eyes. Her face had a hard, chiseled element, heightened by her apparent disdain for Lily.

"Adelaide works in the Owlry," Sirius explained. "And I go to school with Evans."

"I see," said Adelaide knowingly. "A Hogwarts girl."

"Did you ever go?" asked Lily.

"Oh, no. I don't believe in mainstream education. It's all a part of the bureaucracy, you know." Adelaide took a sip of her drink. "But if you like it..."

Lily bit back a retort. "You should meet my friend Carlotta," she said instead, and Sirius snorted.

"_Anyway_," said Adelaide, sliding off her stool. "I should be getting back to work. You know..." she added with a meaningful look to Lily, "it's rough for those of us who work."

"Oh, I know," agreed Lily sincerely. "But think of all the good you're doing there. You must be a _great_ comfort to the other animals in the shop."

Adelaide turned red, but, rather than retorting, she leaned over the counter, kissed Sirius on the lips, and then turned to leave. Lily raised her eyebrows.

"You didn't mention _her_ either," she noted, once Adelaide had gone.

"Be nice to Adelaide," joked Sirius. "She might be in my life for a long time... two or three more weeks at _least_. Anyway, she was only rude because she felt threatened by you... I imagine she thinks we're shagging."

"You might want to correct that assumption," Lily told him, alarmed, but Sirius merely laughed.

"Why? She'll probably want to mark her territory or something, and I can only benefit from that."

Lily rolled her eyes. "You're an awful human being, Sirius Black."

"Proudly. Hey, I'm off in twenty minutes. Want to see my flat?"

"I'm not going to help you make Adelaide jealous."

Sirius laughed. "I'll be a perfect gentleman. Promise."

* * *

"Let's get sloshed," suggested James. He sat on his bed, flipping a galleon between his fingers idly, while Remus sat on the window seat and Peter at the foot of the bed.

"Is that your solution to every problem?" Remus asked wryly, and James smirked.

"I have yet to hear a better one."

"It's two in the afternoon, James."

"And what's better than afternoon drunk?"

Remus just rolled his eyes.

"Nothing. Exactly." James sat up, tossing his coin onto the nightstand. "Well, we should do _something_. We could go into London. Diagon Alley, and all that."

"That might not be such a good idea," muttered Peter.

"Don't worry, Wormtail. You passed the apparition test, and if you're still nervous, we can side-along you..."

"No, that's not it." Peter sighed, debating something, and then said: "Sirius is working in the Leaky Cauldron. I went in for butterbeer last weekend, and he was there."

"Oh." James frowned. Remus remained stoic. "Well, it's not as though we have to _speak _to him, if we _do _happen to run into him..."

"I'd rather not go," interjected Remus; James and Peter exchanged glances but made no argument.

"Well, there's always Hogsmeade."

"We _always_ go there."

"Okay—we can do something else."

"I'm not in the mood."

"I haven't even suggested anything yet."

"Yes, but there's a more than decent chance that whatever you suggest will involve smoking something or drinking something, and I'm not in the mood."

Annoyed, James leaned back against his headboard once again, biting his tongue, because if he were to speak, it would surely be angrily. After a tense silence, Peter intervened.

"How about Gobstones?"

"Not enough of us to be any fun," said Remus.

"Chess?"

"Too _many_ of us."

Peter thought about it for a bit, then: "We could play Quidditch."

James agreed enthusiastically, but Remus once again shot down the proposition. "Too windy."

"Of course it is," mumbled James, and Remus caught his tone.

"I'm sorry if I'm not _constantly_ itching to play Quidditch," he snapped. "Some of us have other interests."

"Oh, yeah, like what? Glaring out the window? Yeah, that's a worthy use of your time..."

"Well, there aren't any first years hanging around for me to hex, so..."

"We could always read a book," retorted James. "That's your thing, isn't it, Moony? Reading about things rather than actually experiencing them..."

"You'll forgive me if transforming into a monster once a month is experience enough for me."

"Right, because the fact that you're a wolf one night a month means you have to be a lifeless, pretentious _prick_ for the rest of the time."

"Oh, _stop it!"_ complained Peter loudly. "If you two are only going to bicker, I'm going home."

"You might as well," said James. "It doesn't look as though we're going to be doing anything interesting here today."

Peter scowled. "Fine." He got up from the bed. "Floo me when you two aren't being idiots." He started towards the door, but paused before actually passing through it. "You know, it's bad enough that neither of you can stand to be in the same room with Sirius without making it rotten between the two if _you_ as well."

With that, he exited, and Remus and James were left alone. "I suppose if Wormtail's going..." Remus began softly, and when his host did not cut him off, he added more sharply: "I mean, the _lifeless, pretentious prick _wouldn't want to _bore_ his highness or anything."

"Too late for that."

"_Fine_."

"Fine."

James crossed his arms stubbornly, and Remus got up from the window seat, stalking out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

* * *

"Soyez bienvenus à ma maison."

Lily raised her eyebrows, and Sirius opened the door.

"Welcome," he modified. They stepped inside, and Lily took in the room with interest. They entered a decently sized common room, with the kitchen to the immediate right and a sitting room of sorts in front of them. There were two doors on the farthest wall, one of which was just open enough for Lily to see that it was Sirius's bedroom. The other door was rather narrow, and Lily suspected it to be a closet. There was very little furniture—a square, wooden table with one chair in the sitting room area, positioned in front of the fireplace, and an ugly purple sofa against the wall. Beside the couch there was a small end-table, covered in empty brown bottles, and half a dozen more sat in the kitchen.

Sirius threw his keys on the counter and moved further into the flat. "Ignore the horrendous decoration. I've only been here a week. I had to scrounge a bit, and I'm rubbish at domestic spells. I've been reading up, though. It'll look better in a week or two." Hands in his pockets, Sirius turned to look at Lily and gauge her reaction. "What do you think?"

"I like it," said Lily honestly. "It has character. Although that sofa is awful."

"You should've seen it _before_ I tried to turn it brown."

"You were aiming for brown?"

"I've never bewitched a couch before!" protested Sirius. "I mean, I did _once_, but it's a lot more difficult to turn a couch brown than it is to charm it into throwing people off the seat."

"Of course it is." She walked curiously into the kitchen. "So—besides charming couches and serving firewhiskey, what have you been up to?"

"Not much, really," replied Sirius. He sat down on the sofa, while Lily explored his cabinets. "Transfiguring dishes and pillows, mostly."

"You haven't seen anyone else from school?"

"Oh, four or five Hogwarts students pass through every day. Marlene came through too—said the exact same thing about the sofa, incidentally. And Shack, of course. We've worked a few shifts together."

Lily nodded. "No one... in particular, then?"

Sirius smirked. "You mean, has James come in and begged me on bended knee to be his best mate again? No. Still waiting on that one."

The witch sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No worries," insisted the other. "Really. I'm fine. Not depressed. Not lonely. Adelaide is great company... in more than one way."

"Congratulations. And _ew_."

Sirius changed tact. "What about you, then? Having a ravishing summer?"

Lily moved into the main room, falling into the wooden chair at the table, but with her legs on the side so as to face Sirius. She slouched forward. "I don't know. It's okay, I suppose. Isolated, though. I don't remember always feeling so... detached."

"I know the feeling."

"I guess, before, I had Severus. Then Luke was always over last year."

Sirius nodded slowly. Then, he got up abruptly and moved into the kitchen. From one of the cabinets, he withdrew two dark glass bottles. "Want one?"

Lily shrugged. "Why not?"

He rapped the metal lids once with his wand, removing them, and brought the bottles over into the other room. "Kept cool with the best chilling charms," he joked.

"Only the finest," added Lily dryly. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

They tapped bottles and both took long drinks. Lily set her elbow on the table to her left, resting her head in the palm of her hand.

"So what d'you reckon?" asked Sirius. He stared idly into his own bottle. "As the resident optimist—will it get better?"

Lily smiled. "Unquestionably."

Remus was gone for all of one minute before James rose quickly and hastened to the door. Peter was right—he'd already lost Sirius, hadn't he?"

He threw open the bedroom door. Remus was trudging up the stair back towards the bedroom. They looked at each other.

"I was just..." began James, gesturing vaguely. "You know..."

"Yeah, me too," admitted Remus. He sat down on the top step, and James sat down beside him.

"I'm sorry," said Remus.

"Me too," said James. For a long minute, no one spoke. "Something else is wrong, isn't it?" James eventually continued. "You know you can tell me, right, mate?"

Remus hesitated for a few seconds. "I'm jealous of you," he said at last.

James looked bewildered. "Come again?"

"I _envy_ you," the werewolf reiterated glumly. "You're so—comfortable at home."

"You mean—not the _house_?" asked James uncertainly.

"No, it's not that... it's... it's how you are when you're home. You fit. Your Mum is ecstatic... your family goes on holiday together... you—you belong here, just like you belong at Hogwarts."

"Moony..."

"My mum's miserable when I'm home," Remus interrupted.

"That's not true..."

"It _is_, though. It's not that she doesn't love me or care about me or like seeing me. It's just... a burden for her." He sighed heavily. "And seeing how you are with your mum made me... jealous I guess. It's stupid—I'm sorry..."

James struggled to wrap his mind around this. "Why do you think that? I mean, about your mum..."

"I don't know. I can just tell. Every day I stay it wears on her. She and Dad bicker more. They're just unhappy." Remus stared down the staircase, his face bent in concentration. "When she married my dad, she didn't—she never imagined anything like this could happen. And she doesn't say so, but I know she thinks it. When I'm home, it's like a constant reminder of all the things that went wrong..."

"Remus, stop, that's not...It's not your fault..."

"Of course it is! She—she's right. She should never have had to deal with any of this... Neither of them should have to..."

"It's not your fault!"

But Remus did not appear to be listening. "...How _different_ things would be if I'd just... if I'd just stayed inside—if I'd done what I was supposed to, instead of... one stupid mistake... I was just a kid..."

"Remus, stop it," James cut him off loudly, grabbing Remus's shoulder and forcing him to face him. "You're... you're a fucking _prefect_, okay? You're the kid that all the parents want their kids to be! You're a prefect, you have good grades..." He grinned, "You hang out with the _cool_ kids. C'mon—my mum? She wishes I were half as well-behaved as you are! You're—you're the fucking dream child!"

Remus looked at his hands but didn't say anything.

"Whatever your parents think or feel," James went on earnestly, "they're lucky to have you."

More silence, longer this time, and then Remus rose. "C'mon," he mumbled.

"Where are we going?"

Remus looked over his shoulder, grinning wryly. "Let's get sloshed," he proposed.

James smirked.

(Two Weeks Later)

It was the kind of hot that made people reluctant to eat anything other than ice cream, that was thick and uncomfortable, and that lasted well past dark. It was the kind of hot that tasted distinctly of July, and as eager as Lily had been to leave her house just twenty minutes prior, she was now beginning to regret that decision.

She finished her ice cream cone, courtesy of Florean Fortescue's and looked around Diagon Alley in search of refuge from the oppressive heat. Sirius was working in the Leaky Cauldron... she could always go back there, if it came down to it. But then Lily spotted the bookshop and changed her mind.

It was Friday, almost five o'clock, and Flourish and Blotts was surprisingly crowded. Lily had her toes stepped on twice as she entered the charmed cool first floor, and space was made even scarcer by the chaos that enveloped the store in the form of a sign reading: "_Expansion Underway_."

A great white sheet covered about a quarter of the shop, but over it, levitating objects and ominous sparks were visible... evidently, this was the expansion.

"Miss, miss, please..." one frazzled attendant pleaded with a middle-aged witch nearby, "I _must_ ask you to watch your son..."

The little boy in question was currently knocking books off shelves, apparently for the sheer amusement it provided him. He giggled manically, and his mother scowled at the sales clerk, before launching into a speech on incompetent busy-bodies. Lily felt sincerely sorry for the flushed attendant and sent him a reassuring look, before moving towards the fiction section.

The crowd slowly thinned, and Lily found the shelves sufficiently spacious. She selected a book or two worth browsing at least and glanced about for an empty chair. There was one available in the corner, but Lily did not advance towards it at once, for her eyes fell on a familiar crop of black hair and the wizard in possession of it, leaning against a shelf with a cheap looking paperback in hand.

James Potter.

Lily smiled broadly, inexplicably amused by the sight. She returned her books to the shelf and made her way towards the wizard. Rather than addressing him, Lily walked up, right beside him, and leaned over as though reading a page of his book over his shoulder.

James looked at the presumed stranger and was about to ask her to kindly step the hell away, when he realized who it was currently invading his personal space. "Evans!"

Lily raised her eyebrows at his somewhat overdramatic reaction. "Hi..."

"Hi," replied James, regaining himself. "Sorry—you... startled me."

"Evidently," agreed Lily. "But, hey, look at _you_! I didn't know you could read!"

James grinned. "I can't. I'm just pretending... y'know... to impress birds."

"How's that working?"

"Brilliantly." James leaned his head towards Lily and muttered, "See that blonde in Domestics? She's batted her eyelashes at me every seven minutes like clockwork."

Lily surreptitiously glanced at the witch in question. She was certainly looking at James _now_, and she didn't seem to hold Lily in very high regard. The redhead folded her arms, prepared to evaluate. "I certainly hope you have higher standards than _that_. That's a beginning level book she's reading—or pretending to read, and she's got to be twenty-two at _least_. Probably a spoiled brat raised on house elves."

James pretended to be hurt. "As a spoiled brat raised on house elves, I resent the implications of that statement," he said. "But anyway around it—she's got no nerve. An hour and a half of cross-shop flirtation is just excessive. If she were interesting, she would have come over and said something. Now, what did you say you were doing here, Snaps?"

"Escaping my house," Lily replied, sighing. "My sister is getting married at the end of the month, and she's taking it out on me. Today, I evaded a rant on the color of the waiters' neckties."

"Suddenly I'm grateful that I don't have any sisters."

"Relish it," said Lily. "What about you? What brings you here?"

"Just getting out of the house," answered James with a shrug. "I didn't realize it would be so bloody hot."

"I _know_. It's much worse outside, though."

"I believe it. That's the only reason I've been in here for two hours—afraid to face the elements until it gets dark."

"Two hours in a bookshop?" marveled Lily. "I'm impressed."

"Don't tell anyone, but I'm here every other day," James told her. "The house is dead boring during the day, unless Remus or Pete can come over."

"I see... So... did you come through the Leaky Cauldron?"

"You mean did I see Sirius?"

"I'm not nearly as subtle as I think I am," murmured the witch. James smirked.

"No, you're not. And no, I didn't see him. I came through Knockturn Alley."

"A bit extreme, don't you think?"

"Are you going to lecture me?"

"No."

"Good."

They were interrupted as a group of witches attempted to squeeze past the pair. "It's rather crowded," Lily noted.

"Seriously."

"Hey..." Lily had an idea. "Have you eaten?"

"Not recently."

"Are you hungry?"

"Almost always."

"How do you feel about Camden?"

"Generally positive."

Lily smiled. "Well, c'mon, then."

* * *

_The Lantern_ was a brick, muggle establishment with lighting indicative of its name and a lazy, smoky atmosphere. There was a deck of playing cards on every table, and a vaguely psychedelic song in the background, only just audible beneath the dull roar of the other patrons. The bar was noisier, of course, but Lily and James sat in a booth, some distance away. It was a corner table, so they were not actually seated across from each other, but on the two sides of the table that intersected perpendicularly between the pair.

James bemoaned the lack of butterbeer, but he eventually allowed that cola was as close to an equal as he'd found anywhere and picked up the deck of cards while they waited for their food.

"So why this place?" he asked, shuffling the cards idly. "I mean, how'd you find it?"

"I came here with my sister and her fiancé last summer," Lily replied. She leaned back in the booth, propping one leg up on the empty space in the seat beside her. "There was this rave review in a magazine that Vernon—my sister's bloke—read, so he thought he'd show off and take us all here. But then this little old lady who lives up the road from us got sick, and Mum had to bring her soup or something... she's weirdly charitable like that, so it was just me and Tuney and Vernon."

James nodded. "And I take it from your tone that you're not a fan of the groom."

"I don't need to be," remarked Lily dryly. "He's already his own biggest fan."

"So why is she marrying him?"

Lily shrugged. "Who knows—security, insanity, pregnancy... or maybe to spite me. Vernon _hates_ me."

"Turned off by the witchcraft bit?"

"No, actually. He doesn't even know about that yet. I don't even know if Petunia plans on telling him." Lily took a sip of coke. "She says she's going to—she _claims_ she's not afraid he won't want to marry her, but I don't know. I'm starting to think she reckons as long as he doesn't know, she'll have an excuse not to have me over for Christmas or something."

"Oh. Sorry—I didn't realize things were so... tense. With you and your sister, I mean." Lily made no reply, which he took as confirmation. "Are all sibling relationships like that? It seems to me I don't know anyone who gets along with their brothers or sisters."

"It's complicated," said Lily evasively. James raised his eyebrows skeptically, and she reluctantly added: "Petunia hates magic."

"Hates magic? _Why_?"

Lily sighed. "That's complicated, too."

* * *

Remus turned off the tap, setting down his now clean coffee mug beside the sink, on top his already washed plate and silverware. Supper was done—officially, now that the dishes were finished. He had the house to himself that evening as both his parents worked late shifts, and Remus relished the solitude. The last evening before the full moon was always particularly rough, so he simply didn't have the energy for James—or anyone else—that night.

He had just sat down to conquer a large muggle book when he heard the sound of keys in the front door, and it opened a moment later to admit his mother.

She started at the sight of him. "Remus, dear, what are you doing here? It's getting awfully late, isn't it?"

A moment passed before Remus understood what his mother meant. She thought the full moon was _tonight_. Almost at the same time, Mrs. Lupin realized her mistake.

"That's tomorrow..."

"Oh, yes, tomorrow, of course. I'm sorry." She frowned. Remus raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, dear, I was just—some of the girls were going out after work, and I just popped back to change, but if you're here, I'd just as well stay in..." She set down her purse.

"No, Mum, really," said Remus quickly. "Go out with your friends. It's fine."

"But it's your last night, dear..."

"Mum, _no_, honestly..."

"Rubbish." She moved into the kitchen. "Have you eaten supper? Are you hungry?"

"No, I've already eaten." Remus followed her. "_Mum_, I'm serious..."

"But, there will be other nights to go out with my friends," she insisted, setting a pot on the stove. "And I don't want you to be alone tonight. I see the girls at work, and they weren't going anywhere special, I'm sure..."

"Mum, _stop!"_ interrupted Remus loudly. "Just _stop_ okay? Stop trying to... to fix this! Just go out with your friends, _please_. I can't..."

"Oh, but I don't want to go..."

"Mum, just _go_..."

"Rubbish. It's—it's much more fun spending my time with my only son."

He couldn't stand it anymore.

"Don't say that!" Remus half shouted.

Mrs. Lupin gaped. "Remus, what...?"

"Don't act like this is where you want to be!" he went on.

"But..."

"Stop trying to be okay with this! It's—it's been twelve years—do you think I don't notice? Do you think I can't tell that you would much rather be anywhere else? That all you do is regret... and then try to act like you don't regret anything? Mum, go out with your friends—get away from me, because we both know that it kills you to see me just before the full moon. And, really, Mum, it's not my favorite thing in the world to have you looking at me like—like I don't _know?_ Like I don't _know_ that it's my fault that nothing's turned out like you wanted..."

Mrs. Lupin stared in shock. "Remus," she began forcefully, "I have _never _said anything..."

"You didn't _have_ to say it, Mum! It's so obvious in everything! And I'm sorry! I'm _so_ sorry that I'm to blame for ruining your life..."

"Remus John..."

"It's true though! I _am_ to blame! You never asked for this! You never wanted a freak of a son, and I feel guilty enough without you condemning yourself to being miserable!"

Tears welled up in Mrs. Lupin's eyes, and she began to weep. Remus's anger faded at once, as his mother sank to the floor, face covered by her hands. There would be no fight, no argument from her, he realized, because she knew he was right. He could not begrudge her, though—he could not despise her in her resentment, like he might someone else. She was not a strong woman; she had done her best—born all that she could for twelve years, and he could not ask more of her.

"Mum..." He took a cautious step towards her, but she only sobbed harder.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped through tears. "So sorry..."

Remus sat down on the floor beside her, placing an arm around her trembling shoulders. "Mum, please..."

"I never m-m-meant to... I always tried to p-protect you..."

"Don't," he murmured. "It's not your fault."

She cried silently for a few minutes, and neither mother nor son moved or spoke in that time. Then, she began to calm, and she leaned her head against Remus's shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she whispered faintly. "I love you, Remus."

Remus closed his eyes, sighing imperceptibly. "I know you do, Mum. I love you, too."

* * *

The sun had set, and Camden High Street buzzed with the Friday night crowd, cheerfully queuing up for clubs and restaurants. Lily and James walked with no intended destination, more for the sheer enjoyment of the more sociable evening temperatures. They turned down a quieter alley, and as the electric signs of the main road faded, there was only the street lamps illuminating the street.

On one brick wall, a tattered sign for freak show clung, half ripped, and James stopped to read.

"Don't see the appeal myself," he noted. "Maybe if I were drunk..."

"People like to look at things that they consider weird," Lily replied. "Or things they don't understand."

James read one of the advertised acts; "I doubt it's a real werewolf," he said. "And I would know..."

"I suppose, technically, we would both would both qualify for acts," mused Lily. "Tuney would certainly say so, at any rate."

"And I doubt they have a real magician, too," added James, as they began to walk again. "Just some pudgy bloke with a mustache and quick fingers."

Lily rolled her eyes. "That's the problem with magic," she said. "The magic mind has no sense of awe and wonder with the universe."

"Not true," protested James. "There are many things of which I am in awe."

"Really?" asked the other dubiously.

"Yes."

"Name one."

"Muggle or magic?"

"Either."

"Farrah Fawcett."

Lily rolled her eyes again, but she was laughing. "Prat. That's not what I meant."

"You didn't specify," James reminded her, grinning. "Anyway, what's so wrong with knowing how things work?"

"Nothing," admitted Lily. "It's just..."

"It's just _what_?"

"Well... okay, when a muggle asks 'how did you do that?' and gets the answer 'magic,' there's an assumption that something amazing and clever was done. If a witch or wizard gets that answer, then they know exactly what happened. Someone whipped out a wand, said a few words in Latin, and magic _literally_ solved the problem."

James raised his eyebrows. "_So_?"

"_So_," Lily continued, "there's no mystery."

"Again... _so_?"

Lily frowned. "Well—what if every time someone asked you how you did one of your elaborate pranks or schemes or whatever, you told them exactly how you did it? Then everyone would know the exact procedure, and there'd be no fun in it for you. You wouldn't look clever or impressive or brilliant, would you?"

"On the contrary—if people knew how we actually did things, they'd be even _more_ impressed."

"No, they wouldn't."

James glared half-heartedly. "What makes you say that?"

Lily looked surprised. "Because _I_ know some of your secrets, and I was in more awe of the Marauders when I didn't."

"_Hey_!"James looked moderately offended. "You honestly expect me to believe you weren't impressed by the Animagus bit?" He grinned when Lily looked doubtful.

"Well, fine, not the Animagus bit," she admitted. "But the Map and the Cloak... knowing that you have a map of the school with little dots that represent people is just so much less interesting then thinking you somehow, mystically knew everything. Also, creepier."

"Hey, the map is _complicated_ magic."

"Yeah, I know." Lily shrugged. "It's just, now that I know there's a mechanism behind your invasive understanding of the school, there's no awe-inspiring mystery. I feel like if I spent hours in the library and sneaking around the school, I could be just as clever as everyone thinks _you_ are."

James scowled. "You're hurting my feelings, Snaps."

"It's not an insult," Lily told him. "You are _clever_. You're just not mystifying."

"Not even a little enigmatic?"

"Not even a little."

James considered Lily for a moment, as she idly kicked a stone down the sidewalk. "Fine," he said suddenly. "How about this?" He pulled from his pocket the deck of cards that had been on the table in the restaurant. Lily stared, wide-eyed.

"Did you steal those?"

"No. Well... maybe."

"_James_..."

"I thought we were allowed to take them! Oh, c'mon, don't look at me like that. I left a tip. Just—bear with me for a minute, yeah?"

Lily folded her arms expectantly, and James took the cards from the box, shuffling them with surprising skill. They had stopped walking, and James held the cards between them. "Pick one," he said. Shaking her head and smiling, Lily selected a card. "Excellent. Memorize it."

"Okay..."

"Got it?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

James held out the deck, and Lily returned her card to the deck, which James promptly handed to her. "You shuffle," he told her, and she did. When she returned the deck again, James pulled one card out, seemingly at random, and held it up, with the card back facing him. Lily took it.

"Your card?" he asked. She nodded. "Jack of diamonds?"

The witch tried not to look impressed. "Yes," she admitted. "How did you do that?"

He took the card back and returned it to the deck. "Magic."

"Muggle magic or wizard magic?"

James grinned. "Yes."

Lily laughed. "Alright, you win."

"Why, thank-you. I love winning." He put the cards back in his pocket. "In case you hadn't noticed..."

"Oh, I had." They seemed to be nearing a more populated street, as voices and music once again became audible. It occurred to Lily that she hadn't told her mother she would be out late. "What time is it, anyway?"

James checked his watch. "Almost nine."

Lily sighed. "I should probably go soon."

"Hot date?"

"No, but Mum worries." She glanced at James. "Won't _your_ parents wonder where you've got to?"

James snorted. "Clearly, you don't know my mother. She'll probably be more worried if I _do_ go home; if I'm not out after midnight, she'll assume something is wrong."

"I guess that explains your issues with Hogwarts curfew."

"I prefer to think of such things as a... suggestion."

"Too bad Filch doesn't seem to agree."

"Damn unreasonable." The narrow alley tapered off into a wider, busier street, and Lily slowed to a stop. If she was going to apparate, she had better do it in a quieter area. "Shall I apparate you to your door?" teased James.

"I think I can manage myself, thank-you," Lily replied, smiling. "But I had a good time tonight—even if our waitress was a complete slag."

"She seemed nice enough to _me_..."

"She _was_ nice enough to _you_," countered the redhead indignantly. "In any case—nice running into you."

"Nice running into you, too," said James. He frowned. "That wasn't meant to sound dirty."

"Too late, Potter." She grinned and waved, he saluted in response, and then, closing her eyes, Lily apparated.

Alone, James shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the brick wall behind him. He stood there, thinking for a moment, and then straightened up and ruffled his hair habitually before apparating home himself.

Lily appeared in her usual apparition spot: a narrow, dead end alleyway about a block away from her house. She opened her eyes and sighed, taking a moment to collect herself and analyze anything that needed analyzing.

But she was getting cold (she'd brought a jacket, but she wore only shorts), and so Lily soon made her way onto the street, rubbing her hands together in the brisk air. The neighborhood was quiet, and all but two or three street lamps had gone out ages ago; the town had never gotten around to fixing them. She walked lazily, turning over in her head bits of conversation from the evening, thinking about James, and then about herself, and how very strange it was that they had come to be friends... that they should be eating at The Lantern together, or talking about Petunia, or any of it...

Lily reached her front door, and the porch light was on, but she did not go inside at once. She could hear her mother listening to something on the old record player in the kitchen—Nat King Cole, she thought—and it reminded her of some vague memory from years and years ago, when Petunia was still her friend, and her dad was alive; she suddenly felt very sad and sat down on the front step.

Away at the opposite end of the block, the corner park she had used to play at with Sev was dimly visible. When she was younger, it had seemed so far away—she'd been forbidden to walk there without Petunia holding her hand. But now she noticed that it wasn't really so very distant—just down the road. It wouldn't take her two minutes to walk there; even Slughorn wouldn't apparate the distance.

Lily smiled at her own slightly mean joke and wished she'd thought of it when someone else (like James) were around to laugh at it.

A breeze rustled the leaves of the street's trees; Lily noticed the swings at the park swaying in the moonlight. Her thoughts instinctively turned to Sev.

Once upon a time, he'd be waiting on one of those swings, dragging his feet in the sand and looking very small in clothes that were too large. It was on those very swings, the summer after first year, that the two of them had sworn they'd always be friends (no matter what). They had both believed it, too, so fervently. Then belief turned to hope, and hope into wishful thinking, and wishful thinking into _once upon a time_.

Things never turned out like you expected, Lily thought sadly. If only she had known a little earlier—known that she would lose Severus eventually. She might have done something differently. She might have tried to be sorted into Slytherin, so she could stay with him. She might've made a greater effort... forced him to choose, early on, between his _other_ friends and her—back when he still would have chosen _her_. She might've spent a little less time with Donna and Marlene and Mary, and a little more with him. She might've...

And maybe that would have saved him.

But she didn't, and Severus was gone.

And if she could do it all over again, she wasn't sure what she would change. Because she loved Donna and Marlene and Mary, too. And she loved Gryffindor. And she was a believer in free will. And if things were different—if she were still his friend—she wouldn't be allowed to be there for Sirius just now. She could not be friends with the Marauders. She could _certainly_ not be friends with James Potter...

If she could, would she give all that up to keep Severus?

Would she be obliged to?

But it didn't matter, Lily decided a moment later. She couldn't change anything now. It was what it was.

She stood up and slipped her hands into the pockets of her jacket, preparing to go inside. However, in her pocket, Lily's hand brushed against something unfamiliar with a plastic sort of feel to it. Confused, she withdrew the object and looked at it under the yellow porch light.

It was a card.

Jack of Diamonds.

Lily smiled.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a young boy, thirteen years old and unhappy. His name was Remus Lupin.

For a long time, he was very sad and very scared. But most of all, he was very, very lonely. Grief and fear are only _really_ awful when one suffers them alone. There is nothing worse than loneliness.

When he was eleven years old, Remus was allowed to attend Hogwarts, and that helped; he had friends... well, he had people who spoke to him, anyway, and he was around people his own age, and he was able to learn all about magic. He liked the classes. He especially liked the Defense classes—he was good at that.

And, once a month, he was transported down to the Whomping Willow, where he suffered through horrible, painful transformations—alone, as always. But he wasn't afraid; a bloke got used to the pain, and monsters didn't scare him anymore. He knew all about them.

Then, one day, when he was in his second year at Hogwarts, the thing that Remus _did _fear came to pass, and his secret was discovered—discovered by his three roommates. But, surprisingly, they didn't seem to mind. They weren't afraid of him, didn't hate him, and they actually thought it was kind of cool.

For Remus, that was the beginning of the Marauders—not the _very_ beginning, but Remus's beginning. It wasn't the whole story, though. There was a lot more to it—thousands and thousands of moments, built up from there. Thousands and thousands of conversations and arguments and seconds of pure contentment. And then, Remus Lupin wasn't sad anymore. He wasn't afraid, either, and he wasn't lonely.

For a while, Remus Lupin was happy.

And then he wasn't.

He felt ill, and the cigarette probably didn't help, but he couldn't help himself. He lay on the grass of his front lawn, and the ground was stiff beneath his back. His mother had gone to bed slightly comforted, and his father came home just after that. Then, Remus had gone outside to stare at the moon, because—he was told—the full moon was a thing of beauty, and tonight was the closest thing he could really appreciate.

Remus Lupin was thinking. He was thinking about his mother, and about what he would become in twenty four hours, when the moon was full. He was thinking about mistakes and Mrs. Potter and Marauders. He was thinking about Peter Pettigrew and James Potter and himself, and he was thinking about Sirius Black.

But most of all, he was thinking about one evening more than four years ago, when he had found a note pinned to the pillow of his bed in the dormitory and snuck downstairs to find out who had written it. He was thinking of the shock he'd had, on discovering the authors and what those authors knew of him. He was thinking of the silly, naïve, childish vow they had all taken, and of the grin that had lit up on Sirius's face at the idea that he, common old Remus Lupin was a _werewolf_.

And he was thinking of the rest of that evening... when Professor McGonagall caught them trying to sneak back up to the dormitory... when she'd accused them of marauding around the castle. And then, in the detention they had served together the next night... when Sirius learned that Remus was actually rather funny, and James was impressed by his knowledge of hexes.

That—thought Remus—was how it really started.

It started when Remus decided Sirius Black, for all of his quips, was actually interesting, and that James Potter, for all of his pranks, was actually kind of brilliant, and that Peter Pettigrew, though ostensibly the runt of the lot, was the sort of person one wanted for a mate.

It didn't begin because Remus Lupin was a werewolf (well, only kind of). It began because James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew _belonged_ together.

And that was why Peter and himself were in Gryffindor, when everyone else would have pegged them for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. That was why James and Sirius became best mates, despite the fact that one was a Potter and one was a Black, and really, if the world made any sense, they ought to have been mortal enemies.

Fate—thought Remus, breathing smoke towards the dark, vast sky—works in funny ways sometimes.

He put out the cigarette and sat up, a thrill of self-knowledge surging up in his chest. All questions were suddenly answered, all doubts dissolved, all confusion alleviated. Or mostly, anyway. At any rate, he knew what he had to do.

* * *

Matilda Pettigrew lovingly set another full plate on the table before her son. "Eat up, Peter, dear," she cooed, blinding love in her round brown eyes. "There's plenty more on the stove, if you like."

Peter nodded. The Pettigrew kitchen was small and clean, and though it (much like the rest of the little house) smelled vaguely of slightly old milk, it was a tidy, pretty sort of room. Mrs. Pettigrew always saw to that.

Peter finished the second heaping plate, and deterred a third, while his mother pecked nervously at her own first serving. The two of them sat at a plain wooden table, the third chair vacant. It always was and always had been in Peter's memory; he didn't know why his mother had kept it there all these sixteen years, but he didn't bring it up.

A silly love song played fuzzily on the WWN, and the dishes—bewitched to wash themselves—clinked happily in the sink. It wasn't, Peter reflected, a bad way to live. It wasn't the Potters' manse; it wasn't Remus's two-parent situation; but his Mum was there, wasn't she? And that was enough for Peter.

A knock on the door interrupted the sparse conversation between mother and son. As Mrs. Pettigrew was still eating, Peter went to attend to it.

"Remus?"

Surprised at the presence of his friend on his doorstep, Peter took a moment to remember his manners. Then, he stepped aside and offered Remus entrance.

"No, I'm not staying, thank you," replied Remus briskly.

"Is Prongs here?"

"No. He—he didn't want to come."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Peter waited expectantly. Remus inhaled sharply. "Actually," he began, "I was hoping you would be able to come out for a bit."

"Why?" asked the other, bewildered.

Remus set his jaw firmly, gathering his courage. "There's something I have to do."

* * *

There it sat, a lovely thing, really. Glistening in the firelight, with its golden cap, all sealed up at the moment, and the amber liquid refracting the image of the flames behind it. The label—an intricately designed work of art... black, gold, and red, with thick, winding lettering—was still perfect and smooth around the thickest part of the bottle, with a smaller, thinner ring around the neck. And there it sat, a lovely thing really, on the table in Sirius's flat, as he slouched over (not out of intoxication, but only so he could see the fire through the virgin bottle of firewhiskey).

Lovely, really.

He had no intention of finishing the whole fifth tonight, but he'd done it before, and his own intentions had very little to do with fact, once he'd had a few.

James's parents had once had a lovely bottle of magnificent tequila—pale gold and smooth. They'd taken it, James, Remus, Peter and Sirius, and gone into town... it had been so warm, and they'd gone to a pub, and there was music, and James and Remus drunkenly debated politics, and there had been this girl, a sweet thing, with this smile...

But that was once upon a time, and now he was off his shift and didn't have another until the next evening, and it was late, and the firewhiskey seemed to glow in the light, and the wireless was playing something brilliant and sad.

And he could've killed Remus. He could've killed Snape. He _told Snape_.

_Crack._

Sirius broke the seal on the bottle and got up to fetch a glass. The formality of a cup might have been meaningless at that point, but it gave him a strange kind of hope anyway.

_Clink_, of the glass on the table.

Firewhiskey was darker than tequila.

He unscrewed the lid and let it fall to the tabletop with a satisfying clattering sound, spinning round on its side until it fell flat near the corner. The bottle and its separated cap were the only objects on the table, besides the glass.

_Could've killed Remus. Told Snape_.

There was harmonica on the wireless song. Sirius liked harmonicas.

_Could've killed Remus. Told Snape_.

Sirius took hold of the bottle, and his hand covered up most of the black and gold and red label he had so admired. He tilted, and the dark amber liquid slipped through the neck, splashing into the bottom of the glass. After a few seconds, Sirius returned the bottle to the table, but he didn't replace the cap, because he was not, after all, naïve.

He lifted the glass to his lips.

It was a moment before he realized that the ringing sound in his ears was from his own doorbell. It was the first time he'd heard it.

Sirius got up, confused, and walked towards the door. He was still wearing his work clothes. Who could it be? Had Lily stopped by again? He opened the door.

Remus and Peter stood on his doormat. Remus looked strangely surprised when Sirius opened the door, as though he hadn't quite prepared himself for this, but it was nothing compared to what Sirius felt. He cocked his head to one side, unable to articulate the thousands of questions that immediately sprung to mind.

"Hi," said Peter finally.

"Hi," agreed Remus.

"Hi," said Sirius. Then, recollecting himself: "Would you like to come in?"

Remus nodded. "That would be good."

Sirius stepped aside, admitting the other two. They stepped into the common room, both of them taking in the entire flat, firewhiskey and all. Everyone was quiet for a bit.

"I don't want to be rude," Sirius began at length; Remus turned from his inspection of the kitchen to face him, "but—what brings you here?"

Peter leaned against the kitchen counter, and he was watching Remus very carefully. The young lycanthrope, meanwhile, looked at Sirius with determination in his clear grey eyes. "There aren't a lot of people in my life, Padfoot. And of those that _are_ in my life, even fewer know the truth about me. And that truth isn't for everyone—some of them aren't able to handle it or keep it or understand it. But some people are, and sometimes the people that are supposed to be there for you—your family—_can't_ be, so you have to find somebody else. So if I could find someone like that, who could understand my secret, and who would be willing to help me through every month—who would be strong enough to do that—then I guess they would be my family, wouldn't they?"

He hesitated, and Sirius said nothing.

"And the thing about family," Remus went on, "is that no matter what, if they ask you to forgive them... you have to forgive them. Because whatever stupid... fucked up thing they did, you _know_ they'd still be willing to do anything for you if it came to it."

They were, all of them, silent for a few seconds. Then, Sirius spoke up. "What are you saying, Remus?"

Remus exhaled heavily. He knew what he had to do. "I came here to tell you I forgive you, Padfoot," he said.

And Sirius only realized he'd been holding his breath as he released it. "You did?"

Remus nodded faintly. Sirius looked to Peter, who nodded as well.

"But... I could've killed you."

"I know," said Remus.

"I could have killed Snape!"

"I know."

"You could've gone to prison for it!"

"I know."

"And you forgive me?" pressed Sirius, shocked. "All of that, you forgive?"

Remus nodded again.

And he ought to have just shut up and accepted it, but, of course, Sirius didn't. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure."

A hundred emotions were etched across Sirius's face. There was gratitude and fear and anger and hurt and confusion. And then there was regret: "I'm _so_ sorry," he whispered, but the both heard.

"I know," said Remus sincerely.

Sirius hesitated. "Thank-you."

Remus only nodded. Then, unbidden, Peter began to open up the cabinets. He opened one after another until he located the glasses, just over the sink. The Marauder grabbed two and moved towards the table, placing the glasses beside Sirius's half-full vessel. He waited.

Without a word, Sirius and Remus stepped over to the table; there was only one chair, so no one sat down. Peter poured firewhiskey into the two empty cups. They all hesitated to drink.

"This is a good song," said Peter, referring to the tune still playing on the WWN. Perhaps the moment could have been improved by a clever toast, but none of the boys felt particularly poetic just then. Remus and Peter drank; Sirius did not. He ran his finger along the rim of the glass, and, for the first time in months, felt genuinely optimistic.

Remus emptied his own cup and set it down with a soft _clink_ onto the wooden table. Maybe the alcohol warmed up his insides and softened his senses, but he felt very awake. It wasn't perfect yet... it might never be perfect, because, after all, it never had been before. But things would get better. James would come around. He would trust Sirius again. They would all be the Marauders again. Life would feel like the norm once more.

Morning always came.

It wasn't there yet, but the moon had set (the worst of it was over), and the sky was growing pale (optimistic), and soon (pretty soon), the sun would be up.

* * *

**A/N: **FINISHED! Golly Gee, this chapter almost killed me. But YAY! Remus forgave Sirius! Now for James...

I have so much to say, and I wish I could do all the review replies, but my sister and her baby are coming to stay, and if I want to get this up today, I really have to post it now. So I'll respond to all the reviews next chapter, and thank you so very, very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter!

This chapter laid a whole lot of foundations that will be explored at much greater length for the rest of the summer. And I didn't get to do Marlene, Mary, and Donna, but they will feature in the next chapter... particularly Donna.

Okay, a couple quick things: I had a review suggesting I get a twitter for update purposes. I think that might be the only thing that could compel me to get a twitter account, so tell me what you think.

ALSO… I have art. Lol, while trekking through the mid-west, I explored my limited drawing capabilities and sketched all of _Life and Times'_ heroines (including one or two that haven't actually been introduced to the story yet, lol). So, there's a link in my profile to a photobucket (you need the password, but it is also in my pro) and I've posted a few... Donna, Carlotta, and possibly Mary? I'm not sure if I've posted Mary. Tell me what you think, and don't mock my drawing, because I don't claim to be good at it. I'll post Marlene when I post the next chapter.

Reviews are the Marauders reuniting.

Cheers,

Jules


	25. The Week of the Demands

**A/N:** You guys have been fabulous, and I have been awful. In the course of the last eternity since Chapter 24's update, you all helped LAT break 1000 reviews, and I can never possibly repay you, although I hope that this chapter will ebb the debt just a little.

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo-Ro. Love to the Beatles.

**Before: **Mary is dating a boy named Umbert Stebbins. Adam McKinnon told Marlene that he loved her in May, but Marlene wanted to keep it platonic. Donna's older brother Kingsley is an auror, and she has a younger sister named Bridget, and two younger brothersIsaiah and Brice. Her parents were among Voldemort's first high-profile murders. Sirius was booted from the Marauders for his prank on Snape, but Remus and Peter decide to forgive him. James decidedly does not. Sirius and Donna are also working at the Leaky Cauldron. Petunia Evans is about to get married, and Lily's a bridesmaid, but Lily is frustrated that Petunia still hasn't told Vernon that Lily is a witch. She thinks Petunia's dodging it in order to keep another barrier up between them.

Chapter 25- "The Week of the Demands"

Or

"Hey Jude"

Phillip Stoake, age thirty-two, was no in particular. His friends said he wouldn't hurt a fly.

He was as born in Newcastle, with two muggle parents and a younger sister, magical like him. At Hogwarts, he was a Hufflepuff and all that that implied. His grades were nothing special, but he had a reputation for being a decent sort of bloke.

He married his Hogwarts girlfriend, Louise, two years after completing his seventh year and he did custodial work in the Ministry of Magic.

In days to come, people would realize that it was his job that made him a prime candidate... well, his job and his blood status. Because, otherwise, Phillip Stoake was no one in particular—his friends said he wouldn't hurt a fly.

It simply didn't make sense that on a Monday of no real significance, he should walk into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, provide the password that gave him clearance to offices of the top officials, and address Alexander Potter, head of DMLE with a message that, Phillip claimed, came from the Dark Lord.

His eyes were vacant and dull. His voice was even and emotionless. His face was pale as death. There were bruises all over his body, concealed by his janitor's robes but discovered later, that showed he had resisted the compulsion of the death eaters. But he had eventually fallen, caved to their demands, and been forced to carry out his mission.

His mission.

"I have a message from the Dark Lord for the Ministry of Magic," said Phillip Stoake, age thirty-two, on that warm July afternoon (the first day of the Week of the Demands). Alex Potter rose from his desk, his hand already in the pocket of his robes, where his wand was stored. Two assistants from the outer hall, who had tried and failed to stop Phillip from entering Mr. Potter's office rushed in after the intruder, wands ready to attack if necessary, but Potter held up one hand to stay them.

"Who are you?" he asked tensely.

"I have a message from the Dark Lord for the Ministry of Magic," Phillip Stoake, age thirty-two, repeated. Any first year could have seen that he was hexed. "I carry the first message. The others will follow. If the demands are not met immediately, there will be retribution."

The two secretaries looked fearfully towards Mr. Potter, but he saw only Phillip. "We do not comply to threats of this nature," he said. "Tell me your name."

"I carry a message from the Dark Lord for the Ministry of Magic. I carry the first message. The others will follow."

"What is your message?" asked Potter.

"All wizards born of two muggle parents must have their wands snapped and their memories of the magical world cleaned. Underage mudblood children will be expelled from Hogwarts and have their memories wiped. No mudblood shall be allowed to practice magic in England." Phillip paused. "This is the first demand."

"What is your name?" Mr. Potter pressed. "Please, try to remember..."

But Phillip Stoake, age thirty-two, had completed his mission. He drew his wand very quickly, too quickly for anyone in the office to react, and slit his own throat.

(Monday)

"Did you hear about this?" asked Lily into the phone receiver, turning up the volume on the magical wireless as yet another flash on the death of Phillip Stoake came on. "That's just awful."

"Oh," replied Mary at the other end of the line, "That Stoake chap? I know! Who does this bloke think he is, trying to get us all kicked out of the magic world!"

"Mare, he was under the Imperius," said Lily.

"No, not _him_. The death eaters and... You-Know-Who."

"Oh. Right."

It was quiet on the line for a minute. "It's getting worse, isn't it?" Mary's voice asked finally. "The war."

Lily, who was fixing her breakfast, sighed and leaned over the kitchen counter. "Yeah, it is."

"Have you told your Mum? I haven't said anything to my parents..."

"No, I haven't told her either."

"It's probably better that way," said Mary. "They'd only worry."

Lily did not reply. Her toast popped up, and she held the receiver between her shoulder and her ear. "Listen, Mary, I should go."

"Yeah, me too. Date with Stebbins later, you know, and I haven't even started on my hair yet."

"Okay. I'll call you later."

"Love you."

"You too. Oh, and Mary..."

"Yes, Honey?"

"Be careful, yeah?"

"'Course, dear. Bye."

"Bye."

Lily hung up the phone and switched the wireless so that when her mother came in with the groceries, it was only a harmless Celestina Warbeck song playing.

* * *

The good thing about playing Quidditch (or a snitch-less derivative of it, at any rate) with Remus and Peter was that, skill-wise, they were James's inferiors. Not that this was a matter of ego or anything immature like that. Rather, less experienced players had to concentrate much harder than James did, and—as a result—there could be little conversation.

James didn't want to talk to either of the bloody back-stabbing, goody-two-shoe traitors.

He didn't want them to leave either, though, so that meant he had to pretend he didn't care that they were back-stabbing, goody-two-shoe traitors, and the easiest way to accomplish this convincingly was to avoid talking altogether... or talking sensibly, at any rate—which was why, the instant he could no longer convince the others to continue this ruse of a Quidditch match, James fully intended on getting piss drunk.

_Genius_, he thought, intentionally missing Remus's mediocre pitch towards his goal.

Retrieving the offending Quaffle, James flew to the center of the Potters' nearly standard-sized pitch. Over the years, the Marauders had developed a system for playing Quidditch with only four flyers—Sirius had named it "Fake-ditch." The teams were divided two and two, with one member of each team playing seeker and the other two fulfilling the roles of both chaser and keeper. The seekers traded out with the chaser-keepers every half hour or so, and Sirius and James had to play on opposite teams, as they had the most skill and practice. This summer, the three Marauders had attempted to adapt the game for one fewer player, with James playing opposite Remus and Peter. While the matches were entertaining enough, they no longer resembled Quidditch at all.

For every goal, all three of them flew to the center of the pitch where either Remus or Peter threw the Quaffle for the other two to chase in order to gain possession.

When James and Remus met in the middle of the pitch, however, Remus did not look pleased about his last goal.

"You're angry with me," he accused.

James raised his eyebrows. "No, I'm not," he insisted, trying to hand over the Quaffle.

Remus ignored the gesture. "Yes, you _are_. You let me score that goal just now."

"I did _not!_"

"Prongs..."

Peter joined them.

"What's going on?"

"Prongs is angry with us."

"I am _not_."

"Is that why he missed that last goal on purpose?"

"Obviously."

"Even," James huffed, "if I _did_ miss the goal on purpose—and let's face it, it's two-against-one, and I'm _still_ winning, I don't see how you reckon I'm angry with you! You're both barking. Here, someone take this..." He tried, once again, to relinquish the Quaffle, but neither of his friends seemed particularly interested in the game any longer.

"Let's land," said Remus, more as a statement of what he required than a mere suggestion. Peter followed him to the ground, but James hesitated, cursing, before diving downward and meeting the other two on the grass. They looked at him expectantly.

"_What?_"

Remus sighed. "You're angry at us for forgiving Sirius."

"I don't care," said James, shrugging.

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you d..."

"I _don't_, okay? Just _leave it_."

James folded his arms irritably; he _knew_ it was a mistake... he was pushing them away with his stubbornness, and he shouldn't be doing that... he ought to be more careful.

Remus scowled. "If you're not angry, then let's talk about it, yeah?"

"_No_."

"Because you're angry!"

"Because I don't want to talk about it!"

"Bullshit."

In the interest of _not _fighting, James bit his tongue and tried his best to look casual. "Let's go inside," he suggested forcefully, turning his back on the other two and starting towards the house.

"_Prongs_," Remus called after him, and he and Peter followed. James paused, because he couldn't have them _really_ mad at him, could he? He couldn't let them _leave_, because they'd only go to Sirius's and then...

James acknowledged for the first time that this was a matter of custody. He was playing tug-of-war and losing.

"What?" he asked, too sharply, rounding on them.

Remus hesitated. "_I_ forgave him, Prongs, and _I_ was the one he set on Snape. I know he's your best mate, and you feel betrayed or whatever, but... it's time to let it..."

He couldn't help himself.

"_How_?" James interrupted loudly. "How could you just _forgive _him? How can you just _let it go_? It doesn't make sense!"

Remus had no reply at first; Peter, however, did. "He's _Sirius_." They both looked at Wormtail. "It was a stupid mistake, but... he'd give _us_ another chance."

James's expression remained resolute, however, and he turned to Remus again. Remus fixed James with an intense stare for several seconds and then said: "If someone can forgive me for what _I _am... what I did to become this way and everything that entails... I reckon I can forgive Sirius for his mistakes."

For just a moment, James's glare softened, so that Remus thought he might have broken through... then, the anger returned to his hazel eyes, and James shook his head. "That's not good enough."

Incensed, Remus rolled his eyes. "I'm leaving," he announced.

"_Fine_," snapped James. Peter stayed put. Remus, on the other hand, started back towards the house, walking quickly. He dropped the broomstick—one of James's extras—on the back step and took the entrance that led into the kitchen. It was only then that he remembered that Mrs. Potter was still home.

"Hello, Remus," she said distractedly. She was standing over the counter, scribbling a note with a quill.

"Oh—hi, Mrs. Pot..."

But she probably didn't even hear him. "Is James coming in?"

"N-no, I don't think..."

"Good, I don't want a fight."

Remus opened his mouth to inquire, but she continued on briskly.

"You heard about what happened at the Ministry this morning?"

"What? Oh, yeah, that bloke with the 'demand...'"

"Well, the Ministry official—the witness—that the papers mentioned... I've just had an owl..."

"It's not... Mr. Potter...?" began Remus, fearing the worst.

"He's fine," interjected Mrs. Potter quickly. "He's fine; no one touched him, but I have to... I have to go now, and..." She crumpled up the parchment, and Remus realized that it must have been an explanatory note. "You'll tell James, will you? I haven't time and he'll argue, and..."

Remus nodded slowly. "Yeah, of course."

"Thank-you, Remus." She smiled warmly at him and then, turning, left the kitchen, her heels clicking on the tile floor. Remus was alone in the room for a minute or two, before he heard the _squeak_ of the kitchen door, and James and Peter appeared.

"Still here?" spat James, grabbing bottles of butterbeer from the bewitched icebox—one for himself and one for Peter.

"I don't think I'm leaving after all." Remus faced him, and James noted his grim countenance.

"What happened?"

Some things, Remus decided, were more important than grudges. "Maybe you want to sit down."

* * *

There was this family of four (a father, a mother, and two little boys) sitting in the corner of the pub, making an awful lot of noise over their lunch. The father looked bored and weary, the mother harassed, and the children seemed a spoiled, untidy lot. There was an older, professional looking wizard sitting near the door, distracted from his bangers and mash by a large scroll of parchment that was probably for his job, because he kept muttering over it and scratching things out with a quill. There was also an elderly witch who smelled like tobacco, nursing a large whiskey (her second) at a table by a window. She was humming a familiar tune with a sad, far off look in her eye.

The Leaky Cauldron at three o'clock on a Monday afternoon was a depressing place.

Donna wiped down the already impeccable bar top for the sixteenth time, simply because there was nothing else to do. The luncheon rush had finished an hour or two before, and another rush was due in another hour, but right now, most of the people passing through the pub were only there to return to their rooms upstairs or else use the passage to Diagon Alley.

The cling-clang of the bell over the doorway almost echoed in the room when the street entrance opened, but Donna was the only one of the seven witches and wizards in the room to look up.

It was Pip, a white-haired, flat-nosed wizard of about seventy; he spent most of his afternoons drinking (if not at the Leaky Cauldron, than somewhere else), and on her very first day at the Cauldron, Donna had been instructed (by Tom, her boss) to cut him off earlier than he liked. Pip wasn't a bad bloke, really. He wasn't a quiet drunk (that was always the saddest), but he wasn't too noisy. Really, he never got _too_ sloshed. He drank his mead slowly and steadily, though, sitting at the end of the bar and telling stories to anyone who would listen. Donna usually lent an ear simply because he was _there_.

"'Afternoon, Miss," Pip greeted, his ruddy face lighting up at the sight of Donna.

"'Lo," Donna replied.

"Mr. Black 'ere today, Miss?"

"He'll be here this evening with Tom," said the other. Tom the innkeeper (Donna wasn't sure she _knew_ his last name) had hired both Donna and Sirius to help out around the Leaky Cauldron, while two of his usual workers (two sisters, Adelaide and Leona) were away for the summer. Tom worked evenings, when it was busiest, and Donna and Sirius switched off assisting him. Whoever _wasn't_ working at night usually tended the bar and the inn in the afternoon or morning (though Tom was never far off). Donna had even worked a night shift once, from eleven p.m. to nine in the morning, though the bar was closed by then, and she was only required to keep awake should someone want to rent a room upstairs. Even _that_ was better than the endless afternoon shift. Though the pub was cool and dark, whenever the door opened, it allowed a gust of hot, humid July air to sweep through, and though the customers were few and far between at that hour, dozens of witches and wizards were keen to get to Gringotts and Flourish and Blotts and Floreen Fortescue's and every other Diagon Alley shop.

Pip took his usual seat at the bar and ordered a pint of mead, which Donna delivered quickly.

"The devil out there, it is, Miss," the wizard informed her, once he'd drunk deeply from the mug. "An' my coolin' charm ain't what it was."

Donna nodded. "That can happen. You might try drinking less, you know. Too much liquor with age dulls the magic ability sometimes."

"Bosh," scoffed Pip. "S'not the drinkin' that's a-done it to me. It's 'em Ministry fools. 'Poison us in our sleeps, the Ministry does. Don' trust 'em, Miss. Don' trust 'em a bit."

Donna leaned over the bar. She knew that she ought to play along, or at least humor the bloke, but sometimes, she simply could not help herself. "The Ministry of Magic poisoned you so your Cooling Charms don't work anymore?" she asked skeptically.

"'At's right."

"Why on Earth would the Ministry of Magic care whether or not you can do a Cooling Charm?"

But Pip predictably refused to see it her way. He scowled at her, temporarily unfriendly, and took another sip of mead. "If you don' know, I can' tell ya, Miss," he said simply. Donna realized she had dashed her only hope of conversation for the next hour, and so she moved back towards the center of the bar and sat down on her stool.

The wizard by the door paid his bill and left, probably to return to work, the elderly witch continued to hum dreamily, and Donna was three quarters of the way through reading all the labels of the alcohol on the second shelf, when the golden bell over the door tinkled again. She didn't look up this time, knowing as she did that it was almost certainly a Diagon Alley customer. She was therefore surprised when a wizard sat down at the bar, near the wall opposite Pip's corner. She was even more surprised to find that it was someone she recognized.

Dressed in black Ministry robes with a shiny gold badge pinned lackadaisically to his collar, was Lathe. He massaged his forehead wearily—his blue eyes shut—as he requested: "Firewhiskey, neat."

Donna grabbed two bottles from a shelf. "Ogden's or Belledone?"

"Ogden's." She poured the liquor, and Lathe swallowed it quickly. "Another, please." She complied, and this time, the auror took it slower. He also sat up straighter, opening his eyes at last and glancing at Donna for the first time.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked.

"Should you be drinking on the clock?" Donna retorted. She returned the bottles to their shelves, and Lathe smirked. He removed his badge from his robes and set it spinning on the counter top in front of him.

"I'm not on the clock, mate. It looks as though I won't be for a spell, either."

"Have they sacked you?"

"No. Suspended for an investigation. Merlin, I _do_ know you from _somewhere_... Did I ever arrest you?"

"_No_," she replied, offended. "I was at Hogwarts this last year."

"You must not have liked school very much," said Lathe, casting a mirthful eye around the pub. Donna folded her arms, _more_ offended.

"I'll have you know that had _five_ 'O's' on my O.W.L.s. I just finished my sixth year, that's all. It's a job for the summer holidays."

Lathe nodded. "Well, that's always good. So you're a Hogwarts student, are you? And a seventh year? Little young to be tending bar..."

"_You're_ a little young to be heading up auror investigations."

"I'm a prodigy."

"So am I."

"In alcohol?"

"In anything that interests me."

"Including alcohol."

"Including getting paid."

Lathe laughed. "You win. Another, please." She fixed him up and sat down on her stool again. "I don't suppose," he began presently, "you know a funny bird named Evans, do you?"

"She's in my house and year."

"Ah..." A strong drink of the firewhiskey: "So you're a Gryffindor, then. Never liked Gryffindors much when I was in school. Ravenclaw myself. You look _extremely_ familiar..."

"You accused me of hexing someone on your first day at the castle," said Donna, remembering the incident with malice. "Other than that, I don't think I've even seen you since."

Lathe frowned into his drink. "And you're certain I've never arrested you? I have an idea of you in the auror department for some reason."

"You might be imagining my brother, then."

"Have I arrested him?"

"No, he's one of your lot."

"An auror? What's his name?"

"Kingsley... Kingsley Shacklebolt."

Recognition spread across Lathe's face at once. "That's right—you're Kingsley's sis, then. He's got a picture of your whole brood on his desk... his desk is just next to mine these days. 'Course you're a lot older now."

Donna acceded this was true, knowing exactly which picture Lathe meant. It was the last one of the entire family...

"So you're Kingsley's sis? The way he talks about you, I imagined you to be half giantess, half dragon. Not in a bad way..." Lathe added quickly. "Just a force to be reckoned with."

Pleased by that depiction of herself, Donna did not debate the point. Instead, she asked: "So why are they investigating you? Didn't take a bribe, did you?"

"Nothing as bad as that," was Lathe's only reply, and there was an edge to his voice that told Donna to drop it. He took another drink of the firewhiskey. "I should have been a bartender," he mused at length, looking around the pub absently. "It's a very practical job."

"How do you figure?" Donna wanted to know.

"Well—no one tries to kill you on a daily basis, do they?"

"Worse. They try to _talk_ to me."

Lathe looked amused. "You don't like talking to people?"

"I don't like people sitting down and assuming that because I pour their liquor, I want to hear all about their problems. Their problems are usually stupid anyway. I mean—why in Merlin's name would I care if a bloke thinks his wife is cheating on him? And where does he get off telling her not to, when I see him buying drinks for trampy little blond slags all the sodding time?"

"I'll take that as a 'no.'"

Donna frowned. "I don't mind talking to _intelligent_ people," she corrected primly. "But one encounters very few of those in the afternoon shift at a pub."

The auror raised his eyebrows. "Are you insulting me, Miniature-Shacklebolt?"

Confused: "No..."

"And for some reason, I believe you." He tapped a ring on his small finger idly against his nearly empty glass. "You're a strange kid, y'know."

Donna folded her arms impatiently. "I can cut you off you know."

"But you'd lose my valuable patronage!"

"Maybe I don't care."

"But I know Tom..."

"Everyone knows Tom. It's the sodding Leaky Cauldron."

"Alright, fair enough." Lathe shrugged. "But I stand by my point."

Donna made a face, but had no opportunity for response, as Pip took the moment to request that she turn up the wireless behind the bar. She did so with a wave of her wand, and at once, another news report on Phillip Stoake filled the relatively quiet pub. Donna turned to Lathe again. "Were you there? This morning—when it happened?"

"Same floor, different wing," deadpanned Lathe. He gestured for another firewhiskey. "I was over in the aurors office. Drake—someone from D.M.L.E.—came in shouting, and a group of us ran over, but Stoake was already dead."

"What are they going to do?" Donna asked. Lathe only shrugged again.

"I'm on 'leave,'" he reminded her dryly. "And anyway, I'm not sure there's much they _can_ do."

"You don't think they'll pay any attention to the demand though...?"

"We're not that badly off just yet." He shook his head and swallowed the rest of his latest drink. "I can tell you one thing, though—it's not a good time for suspending aurors. Stoake said his 'demand' was the first, so I reckon this isn't over."

Donna mentally cursed her idiot brother for pursuing literally the most dangerous career of their generation and was about to say so out loud when a large group of witches and wizards buzzed into the pub, and she was compelled to attend to them. As it turned out, the group seemed to usher in the late afternoon crowd, and since Donna was quite busy for the next hour or so, she did not speak to Lathe much more for the remainder of his stay.

(Tuesday)

"—Could've been killed! The Ministry _has_ to step up security! They're just in denial at this point! I'm speaking to Victor first thing today..."

James exchanged a look across the breakfast table with his father, while Grace Potter continued what seemed like the same, ceaseless monologue that began at eleven o'clock the previous evening—when she was finally allowed to speak with her husband—and had yet to take so much as a five minute break.

"...There's absolutely no reason something like this should be allowed to happen! The Ministry of Magic! Something could have happened to the Minister, or anyone! And to think..."

"Mum!" interrupted James loudly. "Really, I think your anger would be better directed at someone else."

Mrs. Potter set down her teacup and folded her arms. "You're being awfully casual about your father nearly _dying_, James Alexander."

"Grace..." began Mr. Potter, but James once again cut in.

"Mum, he's sitting at the breakfast table, hogging all the toast as usual, perfectly fine—a picture of health. _What?_ I'd be sad if he were dead!"

His mother turned to Mr. Potter. "You shout at him, Alex."

"Why do I have to?"

"Because I like being the nice parent."

James rolled his eyes and hopped up from the table. "I'm going to see if the paper's come." He paused near the door; "Dad, I'm very happy you're not dead."

"Thank-you, James."

"You two are idiots," grumbled Mrs. Potter.

Shaking his head, James made his way out into the entrance hall and then into a smaller room off the kitchen where the owls usually brought the morning mail. Elizabeth the Second sat on her perch and the newspaper owl rested on the window sill with _The Daily Prophet_ on the desk. James paid the bird two knuts and picked up the paper. He didn't immediately search for the crossword, however; the front page headline caught his eye.

"Shit."

He hurried back into the breakfast room, where his mother was still bemoaning Ministry security and dropped the _Prophet_ on the table in front of his dad.

"What's...?" But Mr. Potter read the bold text and broke off.

**Dark Lord Demands 'Ministry Purge'**

_Following yesterday's demand, issued by an Imperiused Ministry worker, the Dark Lord has called for a purge of all 'tainted blood' from the Ministry of Magic. In doing so, the Death Eater movement has claimed another victim. _

_ Muggleborn Ava Lescano, 40, was reported missing two weeks ago. Believed by her family to have been kidnapped due to her involvement with the pro-muggle organization _Magic for Peace, M.F.P._, Ms. Lescano resurfaced early this morning only to inscribe a second demand from the Dark Lord on the outside wall of the Ministry of Magic muggle-visible façade. The message was written just after sunrise, with only two wizard witnesses; Ministry wizards are coordinating with the muggle authorities to seal off the area and obliviate any possible muggle witnesses._

_The demand, carved with what is suspected to be a Logos Charm, reads as follows:_

"_This is the second message. The others will follow. The Ministry of Magic has been infected by tainted blood and shall be purged of all such pollution. Half-Blood and Mudblood members of the Ministry shall be released from their positions and replaced by wizards of worthy blood and mind. This is the second message. If this demand is not met immediately, there will be retribution."_

_ After delivering her "message," Ms. Lescano took her own life, probably acting under the influence of the Imperius Curse._

There was more, but James did not have the time to read it over his father's shoulder before Mr. Potter stood abruptly.

"_This_ is how I hear about this?" he snapped to no one in particular. "Son of a bitch—I have to go."

"Alex..."

But he swept out of the room before anything else could be said. Mrs. Potter had grown very pale, and James knew what she was going to say before she had formed the words.

"I have to go, too."

"Mum, you work for the _treasury_..."

"James," said his mother softly, "you know that's not why."

He did. "M.F.P.," he muttered. "You're a member too."

"Phillip Stoake," said Mrs. Potter slowly, "I knew I recognized the name. His wife, Louise, is a member..."

James nodded slowly. "Go on, then."

"You'll be alright here, by yourself?"

_I always am_. "Of course. Go on."

James followed her to the outer hall, and Mrs. Potter paused by the door. "Floo your cousin Sam, will you? He's M.F.P. too. Just to make sure..."

"I will."

Mrs. Potter nodded briskly. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Then she was gone. James sat down on the bottom step of the main staircase and looked around the great big empty room. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

* * *

"'After delivering her message, Ms. Lescano took her own life, possibly acting under the influence of the Imperius...' Mary, are you hearing this?"

Mary looked away from the mirror on her desk to where Marlene sat on her bed, newspaper in hand, pouring over the story that had flooded the papers and broadcasts all day. "You've read it twice," the brunette pointed out, turning back to the glass and applying lip gloss. "I can't help but hear it."

"And you're _still_ going out today?" Marlene pressed unhappily. "It's not safe."

"I went out yesterday and didn't die," Mary replied. "Besides, I'll be with Stebbins."

"It's still weird you call him by his last name."

"And what part of 'His name is _Umbert?_' aren't you grasping?"

"Fair enough," allowed Marlene with a shrug. "But I wish you wouldn't go out today."

"I'll be _fine_. What are _you_ doing today, Lovely?"

"Helping your parents," replied Marlene, her tone becoming weary. "I could use the money."

"There was a _gorgeous_ muggle in the shop yesterday," Mary told her, presumably with the intent to comfort. "He flirted shamelessly, too. Maybe he'll be in again today."

"I'll pass, thanks. Besides... 'gorgeous muggles' react differently to me than they do to you. You have your wand, right?"

"Of course I have my wand. And what are you talking about? Your legs go on for about a million years, and you're blond. Blokes eat that up."

"Review some good defensive spells, will you? And I'm not _you_. I don't weigh half an ounce, and I blush when I flirt. Plus, I'm exactly the wrong type of feminine."

Mary rose from her chair and began to root through her closet. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you know," said Marlene dully, sliding from the bed and moving towards the desk, where she began to rifle through Mary's copious and untidily compiled belongings, ranging from clothing to magazines. "I'm tomboyish where I ought to be girlie and feminine where blokes prefer a girl to be tomboyish." Mary sent her a bewildered look, and Marlene elaborated: "A girl is allowed to like clothes and make-up and committed relationships so long as she has the 'delicate' and 'sweet' bit going for her, or she's allowed to be loud and abrasive so long as she doesn't care about make up-translation, doesn't _need _make up-and is a slag. But _I_ take an hour to get ready in the morning _and_ hold firewhiskey too well. It's the wrong combination. The world is quite unfair."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," insisted Mary, still occupied by her closet. Marlene sighed and sat down at the desk, idly picking up a letter that rested there.

"Who is this from?"

"Who is what from?"

"This letter."

"On the desk?"

"Yeah."

Mary glanced over her shoulder. "Adam."

"He's still in San Francisco, is he?"

"Mhm."

At that moment, there was literally only one thing on Mary MacDonald's mind. Should she wear the blue cardigan or the green one? They both looked fantastic on her, and they both worked with her sundress. The blue one was a more casual material, but if she wore the green one, then she could wear her green sandals, and those made her legs look extra thin. But she _really_ liked the blue one and what it did for her eyes... not that boys spent much time looking at her _eyes_, but still... Stebbins's favorite color was blue, so there was that, too.

Blue or green: the great dilemma of the hour.

But if Mary's concentration had been a little better equipped at multitasking, she might have remembered a minute or two earlier exactly what the letter from Adam McKinnon—the letter currently in her best friend's possession—actually said.

Unfortunately, Mary did not remember a minute or two earlier. Rather, she remembered somewhat late.

The brunette spun around just in time to see Marlene drop the parchment onto the desk and stand up.

"Shit," swore Mary.

"Prudence _Daly_?"Marlene asked rather loudly. "He's dating bloody _Prudence Daly_? I _hate_ Prudence Daly!"

"Why do you hate Prudence Daly?" Mary wanted to know.

Marlene hesitated. "Well—she's... y'know... tiny. And girly. And probably smarter than me. I don't know, I've never liked her, that's all!" Marlene sat down on the bed again. "And why didn't he tell me he was dating Prudence Daly? Why was he writing to _you_ anyway?"

"You read the letter, didn't you? He needed to know what..."

"I can't believe he's dating Prudence Bloody _Daly!_ In America, no less!"

"Now, Marlene," comforted her friend, sitting down beside her. "They got together at a wedding—one of those 'My cousin is marrying your sister' scenarios that happen over the summer and are over by the first of September. Summer things, you know." Marlene seemed a little consoled, but not wholly satisfied. "Of course," Mary went on purposefully, "it almost _sounds_ as though you're a bit jealous..."

"I'm not jealous!" Marlene predictably protested. "I am _not_ jealous. I just like to be informed when my best... _fine_, my _second best_ mate gets a girlfriend."

"Well, if you..."

"And I find it interesting that he's moving on so quickly."

"Well, Dear, it's been two mon..."

"Not that I'm bothered by the fact that he's moving on. I _want_ him to move on."

"So you should be..."

"But _Prudence?_ Prudence Bloody _Daly?_ Really."

Mary decided not to try and say anything else, but, with a knowing expression, pulled the blue sweater from its hanger and put it on. She examined herself in the mirror, and in a flower print sun dress that exposed more thigh than it concealed, with her neat blue cardigan and complicated up-do, she really did look quite nice.

"I still wish you wouldn't go out," grumbled Marlene, picking up the newspaper once more. "Stebbins is a Hufflepuff... I don't know that he'd be much good in a fight."

Mary rolled her eyes and turned to her best friend, smiling consolingly. "Would it make you feel any better if I invited Stebbins to spend the afternoon here instead?"

Brightening considerably, Marlene nodded.

"Fine. But you owe me, Price."

"Thank-you, Love."

Shaking her head, Mary went to check the mirror again—just to make sure her eye-liner was perfect—while Marlene, still ostensibly absorbed in the newspaper, mumbled something about _Prudence Bloody Daly_.

* * *

"_Lily_," scolded her mother from across the kitchen; "turn off the tap—there's a drought you know."

Lily complied, though not happily, and added: "If you'd let me do my thing, I could use a simple _aguamenti_ spell, and..."

"Not now, Lily," interrupted Mrs. Evans. "Vernon's in the next room."

The redhead, who had been washing her lunch plate, set it down and turned towards her mother. "He has to find out eventually, doesn't he?"

Mrs. Evans only shook her head, returning to the stack of bills she was examining, and the two women were joined by the third before anything else could be said.

"Vernon's staying for supper," Petunia announced. "There's enough, isn't there?"

_Too easy_, Lily thought, so she refrained from the obvious "Vernon eats like a hog" joke and wordlessly sat down at the kitchen table.

"Plenty," replied Mrs. Evans, who had probably anticipated the situation. Vernon usually stayed for supper.

"Good." Petunia made for the sink, where she began to rinse the dishes she had just brought in from the sitting room, and in the mean time, Lily sent Mrs. Evans a significant look. The older woman shook her head again, this time with a very specific meaning, and for a moment, the two engaged in a silent battle. Then, Lily turned in her chair to face Petunia, who—still washing the dishes—had her back to her family.

"Petunia," she began bravely, and Mrs. Evans sighed.

"Mmm?"

With a cautious glance towards the closed door separating them from Vernon: "I—that is, _we_ were wondering when you intended on speaking to your fiancé."

Petunia grew very still for a moment, but only a moment, and then resumed with her washing. "I don't know what you mean."

"About _me_," said Lily with emphasis. Petunia said nothing. "_Tuney_..."

The blonde set down the plates and turned towards the other two. "Talking about me, were you?" she bit viciously. Her face was flushed.

"_No_," said Lily loudly. "We were talking about _me_. You know, he's going to start to wonder, and you can't keep up that 'mentally disturbed' bit forever."

"_Lily_..."

"Oh, Mum, you know it's true," interrupted Lily, glancing at her mother. "Marge told me all the strange things she thinks about me, and that's got to come from somewhere..."

"It's none of your concern what I want to discuss with _my_ fiancé," snapped Petunia. "And I'll thank you not to talk about me behind my back!"

"We _weren't_," insisted Lily, rising. "But he should..."

"Oh, _do_ keep your voice down!"

Lily spoke in a loud whisper: "_He should know_. I'm a bridesmaid, for Merlin's sake!"

"_So_?"

"Petunia..."

"_Girls_," cut in Mrs. Evans. "Lily, drop it. It's Petunia's choice."

"But..."

"Yes, Lily, it's _my_ choice..."

"But..."

"_Lily_."

Defeated, Lily sat down again. Petunia glowered as she swept out of the kitchen. Mrs. Evans sighed heavily. "You're not going to win her over that way."

"Win her over?" echoed the daughter skeptically. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?"

"It's difficult for her, Lily."

"But why won't she tell Dursley?"

Mrs. Evans sent her a look. "How exactly would _you_ begin that conversation, Miss Lily?"

"That's not the p..."

"And do you suppose Vernon would be particularly receptive to the idea?"

Lily folded her arms and slouched forward on the table. "So you think he won't marry Petunia if he finds out, too."

"Too?"

"Well—that's what Tuney thinks, isn't it?"

Mrs. Evans hesitated. Her expression was inscrutable, but Lily thought her mother was rather inclined to disagree. "Give your sister a little credit."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Only—only that perhaps you shouldn't be in such a hurry for Petunia to confide your secret to Vernon. It's a very complicated matter."

Lily's eyes narrowed. "She said something to you, didn't she?"

"I'm not going to discuss it..."

"Mum..."

"_Lily_." And there was indisputable finality in her tone, so Lily contented herself with rolling her eyes and pouting. Mrs. Evans arched her eyebrows, and then, in a resigned tone, asked: "Are you still hungry?"

"Yes, but there's no food in this house..." (Courtesy of Petunia's imperialistic diet...)

"There's chocolate in the cabinet next to the icebox."

Lily scowled. "Are you trying to appease me with chocolate?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's not working." Still, the redhead made for the cupboard in question almost immediately and, locating the chocolate in question, felt a little better. But only a little.

Vernon's best man—a brute faced chap, stereotypically named Rex—also turned up for supper. With this unpleasant distractions, Lily did not have any more opportunity to speak to Petunia for most of the afternoon, and, indeed, she made no attempt to. In fact, it was Petunia who initiated dialogue after supper that evening.

The two girls were left alone briefly in the sitting room, as their mother was in the kitchen, and Vernon had gone to show Rex out. Lily was just rising to retreat to her bedroom when Petunia spoke up.

"Lily."

"Hmm?"

Petunia's face looked pale, and there was a solemnity in her steely eyes. "Vernon and I are going for a drive this evening." Lily waited for the rest of it. "I'm going to tell him about you tonight."

Lily couldn't have been more surprised if her sister had just announced that she intended on eloping to Bermuda. "Oh. I—oh." And, because she figured she ought to say _something _else: "Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?"

But Petunia made no verbal reply; her expression changed only so much as to indicate that she had heard Lily's question, and then, announcing her inclination to grab a cardigan before she left, the older sister slipped out of the room.

(Wednesday)

Sirius entered the Leaky Cauldron just in time to hear Donna snap, "_Bullshit_," before promptly switching off the wireless behind the bar. The wizard raised his eyebrows and made his way out into the main room.

"Good morning?" he suggested, and Donna crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the bar.

"Have you heard the latest '_message_?'"

"'Cleaning' out the Ministry? Yeah."

"No, there's a new one," said Donna impatiently. She straightened up, searching around for something that she at last located on the back shelf beside a bottle of wine. It was the latest _Daily Prophet_. Donna threw it down on the vacant bar, and Sirius went over to read the headline.

"Voldemort wants all half-bloods to be registered with the Ministry," he surmised irritably. "Fucking prick. Was there another...?"

"Victim?" offered Donna. She nodded. "Half-blood this time. He's branching out. You're late, by the way."

Sirius grabbed an apron and sighed. "Only by a minute."

"_Two_ minutes," she corrected.

"Did the world end in my absence?"

"No, but the lunch crowd starts soon, and I don't want to handle that all on my..."

"Shack."

"What?"

"_Relax_."

For a moment, Donna seemed effected by the order; then, she shrugged and retorted: "Sod off."

Sirius rolled his eyes.

* * *

Lily was asleep before Petunia came in Tuesday night, and Petunia was gone again by the time Lily woke on Wednesday, so the two sisters did not actually meet until Petunia returned Wednesday evening from a day in town. Mrs. Evans was out, and Lily sat in her room, listening to The Five Keys and devouring Victor Hugo in fervent procrastination of her summer homework. As a result, the younger Evans daughter did not hear her sister come in the house at all until Petunia knocked on the closed bedroom door.

"Come in?"

Petunia entered; she looked tired, but as impeccable as ever in a floral dress and flats—not at all as though she had spent the entire day running errands in the heat.

"Tuney," Lily greeted, sitting up at once and momentarily feeling pathetically inferior in cotton shorts and a t-shirt. Her sister's expression told her at once that she had arrived to deliver a serious message, and there could be little doubt about its content. "You're back..."

Petunia took a long time about saying anything, however. She closed the bedroom door behind her, ignored Lily's offer to sit down, and chewed her lip anxiously. A series of potential disasters ran through the younger girl's mind, meanwhile, as she imagined every possible reaction from Vernon. But surely he wouldn't do anything _too _drastic...

And in a moment of wild fancy, Lily imagined Dursley calling off the wedding. She imagined a heart-broken Petunia, defending her little sister despite her own evident reservations...

Lily held her breath in anticipation.

"I told him," Petunia said in a stony voice.

Lily took a moment to digest this, and then replied: "Well that's good, isn't it? I mean, if he's going to be my brother-in-law, it's better that he..."

"Vernon wants you out of the wedding."

"W-what?" stammered the younger girl. "What did you tell him?"

"You can still attend, if you wish," Petunia went on. "There are five groomsmen, though; Rachel Richards should fit your bridesmaid dress, but I'll need it back. And you'll sit with mother during the ceremony and at the reception. I'll move Uncle Donald to another table, and..."

"_Petunia_," Lily interrupted loudly. "You can't... you can't just let him tell you what to do like this! It's not _his _decision!"

"I know," said Petunia; her tone softened infinitesimally. "But he's right. You don't belong here, Lily. Since you went away to that place..."

"This has nothing to do with Hogwarts!" Lily shouted. "How can you let him do this?"

"_Vernon_ is not doing this," snapped the other.

Lily sprang off the bed, hurrying towards her sister. "What is all this about? What do you _mean_ 'Vernon wants me out of the wedding?' What did you _say_?"

"I told him about you..." As though it were obvious; "I only told him the truth."

"But why would...?"

"Oh, Lily," interrupted Petunia scornfully; "of course this happened! Of _course_ he wouldn't want you in the wedding! Why would he want...? But..." And emotion flickered in her eyes, "...I _knew_ this would happen!"

"You...?"

"Yes, of course! What else _could_ have happened?"

"Tuney..."

"I knew—I've always known this would happen when I told Vernon about you! But Mum—Mum _insisted_ you be in the wedding, and you kept saying I was afraid, and you just... just kept pushing and prodding! You couldn't just _leave it!_"

"This is my fault, is it?"

"Of course it's your fault!" cried Petunia.

"So what did he say?" demanded Lily. "He wouldn't marry you if I was a bridesmaid?"

"Vernon would marry me no matter what. He loves me."

"Then..."

"I don't have anything to do with you anymore, Lily! You're off at school all year... you weren't here for _anything_. When I finished school, you hadn't come home yet... you were supposed to be here for things—to talk to me after my first date, to console me after a break up... when Dad died..."

"Don't you _dare_, Petunia..."

"The point is," Petunia pressed on hatefully, "we're not sisters, Lily. We're not even friends. _You _left, and I don't have anything to do with you anymore! And neither should Vernon. You can't both belong in my life, and..."

"And you choose him?"

Petunia did not answer at once. Finally, she murmured: "_You_ left."

Lily stared disbelievingly after her sister, utterly lost for words.

_What else could have happened_?

For that, Lily had a hundred responses; she had one in particular, but she bit it back, and she wasn't sure if that was because she didn't want to hurt her sister or because she was afraid she just wouldn't care.

"So I'll need the dress," said Petunia again.

It was almost like she didn't know Lily's heart was breaking.

"...By tomorrow, at least."

Almost.

She turned to go, but Lily found her voice before Petunia could leave the room. "_Petunia_," she pleaded. "Why are you...? I _know_ you—you wouldn't do this if you didn't..." ("want to," she almost said.)

Petunia's hand lingered on the door, her back still to Lily. When at last she turned, her steely eyes glistened. "This is _your _fault." Then, almost like she didn't know Lily's heart was breaking, Petunia left.

(Thursday)

**The Dark Lord Calls for Minister's Immediate Resignation**

_By Jillian Jones_

At noon on Thursday, the Leaky Cauldron was the unlikely combination of crowded and quiet. Every table was full and the bar jam-packed; Tom had even magically extended one of the walls to increase standing room, and yet hardly anyone spoke. Instead, they listened to the latest report on the magically magnified WNN; three dead in Bristol, and another demand from Lord Voldemort.

It was the sort of thing you didn't want to listen to alone.

Donna was working with Tom, and Lily, Marlene, and James were among the many witches and wizards in the pub. Lily sat with Marlene in the middle of the crowded room, but James sat with a wizard that Lily didn't know, some distance away.

The wizard on the wireless had a deep, rich, sorrowful voice that Lily thought she would remember for as long as she lived. It wasn't just the message, and it wasn't just the three dead wizards in Bristol—it was that finally, Voldemort's _real_ message had come through. His little demands were meaningless by comparison: he must know that the Minister of Magic would not resign, that the muggleborns would not have their wands snapped, and that half-bloods would not be registered. But he didn't care, did he?

That wasn't the point, and on Thursday, with three more deaths, Lily thought she finally understood it all.

His _real_ message was that he could kill anyone; he could _do_ anything, and there was nothing that anyone could do to stop him. He wasn't making demands; he was showing off.

It was terrifying.

_"...London seems quiet this afternoon, as the Dark Lord has issued another demand of Wizarding England..."_

Some people called it a war, Marlene reflected, but it wasn't—not really. In war—at least the muggle ones—there were lines; there were armies and uniforms. There were battles: people showed up and fought and killed each other, and they said it was hell, but at least there was—consistency. At least they knew the enemy.

This cowardice was not war; it was common, ugly murder.

_"...Three members of M.F.P., a coalition of witches and wizards dedicated to peaceful existence and equality among those of varying blood status..."_

Sam Dearborn was an interesting bloke.

He had attended Hogwarts for exactly two days, but the Sorting Hat placed him in Hufflepuff, and his pureblood parents, humiliated, brought him home. At least, that was how Sam always told the story.

James sort of admired his quirky cousin; he wasn't afraid of much at all, including his intimidating mother's wrath, and that spoke well of him. Over the years, James had seen Sam ecstatically happy; he had seen Sam besotted and seen him dead bored. He had seen him furious and disappointed and hopeful and thrown off balance.

But James did not think he had ever, before this afternoon, seen Sam Dearborn sad.

The older wizard (for Sam was six years James's senior) did not meet anyone's eye. He made no jokes; there was no enthusiasm on his long, thin, freckled face. He only looked sad as he spun a round golden badge, no bigger than a galleon, on the table. The letters _M.F.P_. were etched onto the surface of the pin.

"They were good people," Sam had muttered earlier. "They didn't deserve this."

James didn't doubt that.

Lily was in the room. James had noticed the moment she entered, though he was not exactly conscious of having _seen _her come in with Marlene. As guilty as he felt even thinking about it at a time like this, however, James could not help but send the occasional glance in her direction. She drank butterbeer and looked distressingly solemn, paler than usual, bringing the red of her lips and green of her eyes into sharp relief.

"_...Aurors are scrambling to uncover any clues or patterns that may help stop the further, violent delivery of any new 'messages...'"_

"Aurors are scrambling," Donna thought bitterly, pouring gin for an older witch at the bar. The statement sounded simple enough, but there was so much more to it... _aurors were scrambling_... they were leaving their houses for days at a time, working mad hours when they _did_ come home, trying to find a solution that didn't seem to exist...

Of course, it was easier to make them sound incompetent or clueless—_scrambling_—it was easier for everyone, after all, because no one wanted to hear that there was nothing that anyone _could_ do. Even Donna didn't want to imagine _that_.

"_...The Minister of Magic is scheduled to give his statement this afternoon..."_

When Sirius entered the pub around half past twelve, it was only to check the schedule in the back, but the unusual crowd, grim and pensive, caught his attention, and he stayed behind the bar with Donna for a few minutes.

"Your mate is here," she informed him, as a dull murmur grew among the many witches and wizards in the Leaky Cauldron.

"I don't know if you've noticed," retorted Sirius coolly, "but he's not exactly my mate anymore."

Donna only shrugged. "In that case, you'll want to stay out of his way."

Sirius arched one eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"Tempers are running high—there've been two fights since this morning."

"No shit." Sirius smirked bitterly. "I'd better leave then. See you in a few hours, Shack."

Donna made no response, but filled another request for firewhiskey.

James had seen Sirius enter; he had noticed his former best friend step behind the bar, disappear into the back, and reappear a few minutes later, exchanging dismal words with Tom and Shacklebolt. The announcer on the WWN only repeated himself now, and sedate conversations began throughout the crowd. Sam said something uncharacteristically cynical, and a nearby wizard angrily suggested that the Minister _ought_ to resign, if only to put an end to all of this.

Sirius started for the back door towards Diagon Alley.

_ "Think about it, Prongs! He's going to go down there, get through the Willow, see Moony..."_

James heard Sirius's enthusiastic suppositions, months old, but stinging like a fresh cut nonetheless...

_"Don't pretend that you would care one bit about Snape if it wasn't for her..."_

Stinging and burning and aching and bringing his blood to a boil...

_ The death eater movement has claimed another victim_...

_ You'll be alright here, by yourself?_

_Three dead in Bristol..._

_ They didn't deserve this._

James almost knocked his drink off the table as he got to his feet. Sirius had gone again, as discreetly as he had entered.

"Be right back," James muttered to a distracted Sam, who merely nodded.

Lily had seen James leave the pub after Sirius, and she related the fact to Marlene when the blonde returned to their cramped table with another round of butterbeer. Marlene frowned.

"Should we...?" began Lily, but her companion shook her head.

"Their business, not ours."

"But..."

"_Lily_." Marlene sighed heavily. "You can't fix _everything_."

James stepped out into the oppressive heat and grey sky of a desolate Diagon Alley. A few witches and wizards filtered through the street, but, on the whole, James had never seen the place so deserted. Sirius was easy to spot, slightly hunched and walking away with his hands in his pockets.

_"Black!"_

The wizards halted at the sound of his surname, shouted neutrally from somewhere behind him. He turned and saw James advancing quickly on him. Too stunned to reply, Sirius waited for James to speak again.

His countenance was complicated, as though even he were uncertain what he was going to say next or why he called out to Sirius at all. At length, however, James met Sirius's eye, and there was something acrimonious there.

"I don't care what Remus says," James told him bluntly; "I'm not going to forgive you."

Only when he realized that he was disappointed did Sirius notice he had been hopeful at all. "Is that so?" he muttered dispassionately.

"Yeah."

"Well... congratulations on that." Sirius started to go, but James wasn't done yet.

"You're a liar, you know."

Sirius paused.

"You _are_. You're a liar, and a selfish coward. I don't think you've ever done a single thing for anyone besides yourself..."

"Fuck off."

James stepped closer and in a tense, bitter tone challenged: "Make me."

Sirius's fists clenched at his sides, but he didn't move. He returned James's hard stare for several seconds. James was taller than him now (but that had been coming on for ages), and he worenew frames for his specs—strange. Sirius had somehow imagined that James would have remain static for the last few months.

"I'm not going to _fight_ you, Prongs," he said at last. That was all James really wanted now—a fight. "You're wasting your time."

"Scared?"

"_Fuck off_."

He turned to leave once again, and once again, James's taunting voice stopped him. "Reckon you _are_ afraid, Sirius. I wonder what it would take... I could call you a blood traitor... that'd get Regulus to fight, wouldn't it?"

Sirius spun round again; his wand was drawn now. "You don't want to do that," he snapped, stepping up to James again. "I know how to hurt you too, Prongs."

"But you're afraid," mocked James.

"I'm not."

"You are."

Sirius smirked spitefully. "At least I'm not always coming in second to _Snivellus_."

James's eyes darkened. He pointed to Sirius's wand, clenched between white fingers. "Are we pretending you'll actually use that?"

"Don't tempt me."

But of course, that was James's intention all along. He shoved Sirius's shoulder; "Like that?" he goaded and then shoved again.

* * *

Finding James and Sirius posed no great challenge to Lily and Marlene, once they were out in Diagon Alley. A few spectators had gathered around, and someone had shouted that timeless and seminal proclamation destined to draw others: "_Fight!_

"

Lily and Marlene exchanged looks. "Told you it was a good idea," remarked the former.

"Don't be a twat," replied the other, and both hurried towards the little gathering.

Wands discarded and forgotten, James and Sirius were mostly just rolling in the dirt of the cobbled street, hitting each other however they could. They were both bleeding.

"_Boys!"_ shouted Marlene, as no one else seemed to be doing much to improve the situation. James and Sirius ignored her, still beating on each other, and the blonde drew her wand.

Lily, however, was quicker. Just as James gained dominance in the brawl and cocked his fist to strike Sirius, Lily stepped forward and grabbed his raised arm, pulling him away with all her strength. She did not actually manage to extricate James, as he was rather larger than she, but she did deter the immediate blow, causing him to turn towards this new, third party.

"Fuck off, mate..." he began to say but stopped, seeing who it was. Lily raised her eyebrows and continued to pull at James's arm. Sirius thus gained his freedom and sat up with a hand to his bleeding lip, while James got to his feet. "This is none of your business," he said, less violently but no less seriously.

"You two are pathetic," snapped Lily. "Three more people are dead this morning, and you two are out here fighting like a pair of five-year-olds!"

"This doesn't concern you, Lily," James firmly repeated. They both noticed she was still holding his arm, and he pulled away just as she let go, flustered.

"Of _course_ it concerns me," she replied. Sirius rose as well, and with a final, dark look at James, he turned and walked back towards his flat. James departed in the opposite direction, muttering under his breath. Lily turned to Marlene, who rolled her eyes.

"I'll take James, you take Sirius," said Marlene, sighing. Lily nodded and took off after the former Marauder, while Marlene pursued James.

Lily caught up with Sirius just outside the apothecary shop, and, she now saw, he was something of a mess.

"You should have let us fight," he told her, leaning against the side of the shop, while Lily conjured a wet cloth to clean his face. "We both deserved it."

Lily rolled her eyes. "What happened?"

Sirius merely shrugged and took the towel offered to him. "He wanted to fight, I suppose, so we fought."

"What did he say? Merlin, your eye is swelling... here..." She attended to the growing dark circle around Sirius's eye, and he waited until she had finished to speak. "Well?"

"He said he hated me."

Genuinely surprised by this, Lily's eyes widened; "He said that? Those exact words?"

Sirius smiled mirthlessly. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No, it's not like that. But all the same, he said it."

"I don't know what that _means_."

"It means that..." Sirius searched for the best way to articulate it, "It means that James and I know each other too well to just—fight. There are certain... lines you're not supposed to cross, and there are certain topics that you're just not supposed to touch—things you _can't _say, and if you do, then... you can't come back from it."

Lily frowned. "And this thing—he said it to you?"

Sirius nodded; "And I said it to him, too."

"Oh."

They were both silent for a minute, and then Sirius added with wry amusement: "Aren't you going to ask me what we said?"

"_Please_." Lily looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice her evident curiosity. "_That_ really _isn't_ my business."

Sirius removed he rag from his face and looked down at his hands, debating something internally no doubt. "Maybe not," he said at last. "I should go inside," he added, nodding towards the upper story of the building where his rooms were. "I want to take a shower before work."

"Okay."

Sirius stepped through the doorway. "Bye, Lily."

Lily waved, but called after him before he had disappeared. "He'll come around," she said earnestly, and she realized she was trying to convince herself as well as Sirius. The wizard shook his head.

"I don't think so."

His expression, just before he was gone, was dark and weary. There were lines there that Lily had never noticed before, and his grey eyes had aged.

* * *

Marlene, meanwhile, reached James as he slipped down a dark alley past Florean Fortescue's. It was a moment before she realized exactly where he was going, and she sped up, grabbing his arm to stop him,

"Knockturn Alley, Potter? _Really?"_ Letting go of his arm, Marlene folded her arms. James seemed surprised to see Marlene there, and she thought she knew why. "You were expecting Lily."

James ignored this statement, and instead replied: "There's a pub I like here. You'd better go, Price."

"Your nose is bleeding," Marlene pointed out.

"I can handle it."

"So can I." And before James could protest, she flicked her eyes, and he felt his nose _crack_, as though snapping back into place.

"Hey, that's not bad, Price."

"I'm a witch of many talents," Marlene replied dryly.

James slid his hands into his pockets and leaned his back against the outside wall of the nearest building—an ominous, poorly lit shop, with a sign in the window advertising "Spider Eyes, by the Dozen."

"What _are_ you doing here?" he asked. "I promise I won't get into any more fights, if it helps."

"I still don't even understand what any of this is _about_," complained Marlene.

"You don't need to know," James muttered. "Suffice it to say, Black's a git, and I'm not having any of it."

"Oh," said Marlene. "That's cool."

James sent her a look.

"Well what did you expect me to say?"

"I thought you might have some sage wisdom, considering you did follow me here for _some_ reason..."

"Oh. Well..." Marlene thought about it for a moment. "I reckon I'm in love," she said at last. James just stared. "I do—I really do. For the first time. And you know... I think I've been in love all along, only I didn't really notice it, until... recently." James continued to stare at the witch as if she were crazy, and, meeting his eye, Marlene smirked. "What? You're allowed to indulge _your_ petty emotional dilemmas in times like these, but _I'm_ not?"

James shrugged. "McKinnon?"

Marlene did not exactly respond, but she didn't deny it, and that was affirmation enough. "You're the first person I've actually admitted that to," she went on instead. "But I guess everyone knows, anyway." She had a sad, far-off expression on her face for a few seconds; then, she shook it off and continued in a more businesslike tone: "He has a girlfriend now. Prudence Daly."

James tried to place a face with the name: "Oh—the fit Indian bird in Ravenclaw?" Marlene scowled, and James cleared his throat: "Right. She's... awful."

Laughing, Marlene shook her head. "She's not, though," the blonde sighed. "Anyway, I have a point here, and this is it."

"Alright...?"

"There isn't always the _time_ to do the things you want to do... to fix things. And I don't know what he did to you—Sirius, that is. Maybe it's unforgivable, but, personally, I wouldn't wait to find out."

"It's not a matter of _time_, Marlene."

"Of course it is. Everything is. I mean—do you really, honestly believe that you never want to be mates with Sirius again?"

"No, I..."

"And," she pressed on, "do you think he's going to want to sit around and wait for you to come round? Eventually he's going to quit being sorry and start blaming you as much as you're blaming him, and then it really _will_ be too late." Marlene sighed and pushed back a stray lock of hair that had fallen free from her ponytail. "People don't really wait forever, James. They just _don't_."

Marlene left shortly after that, and James was alone in the shaded street. As deserted as Diagon Alley certainly was, Knockturn Alley wasn't half so populous that afternoon.

"Sirius is fine, if you're wondering."

This time, it _was_ Lily, and there was just enough bite in her voice to make James look up at her. At some point between the time she had pulled him off of Sirius and now, the witch had pulled her hair into a low ponytail, which was draped over her right shoulder. The short hairs framing her face clung to her forehead, and her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the day. On top of that, she did not look particularly pleased with him, her hands on her hips, clenched to the cotton of the violet skirt she wore. The violet skirt that cut off about halfway down her thigh, and...

James shook himself.

Girls were _so_ self-righteous.

"I wasn't wondering," he retorted.

"Right," snapped Lily sarcastically. "Because you hate him now."

James sighed. "I thought you weren't taking sides."

"I'm not."

"I thought you weren't going to tell me when I had to forgive him."

"I wasn't." Lily shifted her weight and folded her arms across her chest. "But now I am, because—because this is just _stupid_ now."

"I see," he muttered. "So you're bored of the drama, is that it? Just because Remus doesn't care anymore doesn't mean I'm ready to just jump on board with..."

"Oh, rubbish..."

"What?"

"I said r_ubbish!_ That's nonsense, and you know it!"

"Why do you care so much?" James demanded heatedly.

"Because, you idiot..." She drew her wand, and for a second, James foolishly thought she meant to hex him. Instead, she flicked it once, and a slip of white cloth appeared at the end. It was a cool, wet towel, which she handed to him, presumably for the dirt and blood which was beginning to harden on his face. "...Because, for whatever stupid reason, I happen to care about the both of you, and I don't want you to..."

"Miss my opportunity?" James substituted for her. "Merlin, you sound like Marlene."

"Well it's true. Oh, give me that..." She grabbed the cloth that James was not employing and roughly began cleaning off his face. He resisted, whining, but Lily paid him no heed. "I swear, you're _three_ years old sometimes."

"Thanks, _Mum_," James retorted when at last she had finished, but he had to admit that the cool cloth on his face was a significant improvement. Balling up the towel in her fist, Lily straightened his glasses, and then stepped back as if surveying her work.

"At least you look somewhat human," she noted. "Now if only you'd start acting like it."

"Where did all of this hostility come from, anyway?" James wanted to know.

Lily scoffed. "_Really_, Potter, skulking around in Knockturn Alley, getting in fights—and Sirius is your best..."

"Black _was_ my best friend..."

"...And you're both being positively ridiculous about this whole thing, as if there'll always be another time to make it right..."

"...So you'd have me be mates with a would-be murderer..."

"...When really, if the last few days have proved _anything_, it's that there _isn't_ any time..."

"...Again with the _time_..."

"...Everyone else has gone to see him now, why can't _you_...?"

"...So I'm just supposed to forgive and forget because everyone _else_ has...?"

"...If you had any sense at all, you'd swallow your damn pride and just say what you want to say!"

"Which is _what_ exactly?"

"That you're _sorry!"_

She had rather shouted this, and James stared at her, taken aback. "Sorry? _I'm_ sorry?"

"Yes," said Lily earnestly. "You feel guilty for what could have happened to Snape, because you _know_ it wasn't just Sirius. To him, it was just another prank, and you feel like the reason he thought that was because for all those years, you'd made excuses and acted like it didn't matter what you did to everyone else—to Snape and whoever... and that's why he didn't see the difference... it didn't _occur_ to him that this was anything different than... inflating Bertram Aubrey's head or vanishing Kevin Sherbatsky's hair or... any of it! You always said—to me and everyone else—that it was just _joke_, that you didn't really do anything wrong, and then Sirius went and did this, and _you_ feel guilty!"

"So it's _my_ fault, is it?"

"_No!_" cried Lily. "That's not what I'm saying! Are you even listening to me? I'm saying it's _not_ your fault, and that _you_ need to realize that Sirius made a stupid, horrible mistake, but it doesn't mean that _you're_ a terrible person!"

At first, Lily thought James was going to argue, but the words seemed to die on his lips, and he faltered. "I could have stopped it," he said unexpectedly. Lily sighed.

"You _did_ stop it."

"No, I didn't." James shook his head. "I wasn't... I wasn't completely wrong about Sirius all along—but I was just wrong enough that I didn't see this coming."

"He just wants you to forgive him," Lily found herself pleading. "Everyone else already has."

James looked at his feet. "I _can't_."

Lily huffed. "Stubborn git." He flinched at the insult.

"Prig."

She made a face, then pushed her sweaty hair back. "It's hot out here," she complained. "I'm leaving." Before she had gone, however, she muttered again: "_Git_."

"_Prig_," he answered resentfully, and then Lily slipped through the outlet to Diagon Alley and disappeared.

* * *

It was nearly suppertime before Lily returned to her house, and she found it in a state of near chaos. Almost before Lily had closed the door behind her, Mrs. Evans approached her furiously.

"What is this I hear about your not being in the wedding?" she demanded. "Yesterday everything's fine, and now you're not in the wedding, and Tuney's gone to pick up Rachel Richards to fit her in _your_ dress, and..."

"Mum, please," sighed Lily, "let me catch my breath before we get into this."

"Rubbish! You said you were going to lunch with Marlene, and now it's practically five o'clock, and Petunia won't tell me anything..."

"Mum, I..." But it was too hot to fight, and everything (the war, Petunia, James, and Sirius, the wedding, and just everything else...) was only piling on top of that too quickly for Lily, so that before she had any idea of it happening, there were tears burning in her eyes, and all she wanted was to climb into bed and hide her face underneath the covers and never think or speak or move again...

Mrs. Evans's expression softened at once. "Oh, Lily," she sighed. She drew Lily close, arms around her youngest daughter, and Lily began to cry.

(Friday)

The very first thing that Donna Shacklebolt did Friday morning was switch on the wireless. She was—or thought she was—prepared for the worst, but when it came, the news was no less disturbing.

The new demand had been delivered, this time to _The Daily Prophet. _A reporter had been killed, and the Dark Lord now demanded that any detained or arrested death eater be released immediately and commended. The witch who relayed this message over the WWN did not sound surprised, but there was urgency in her voice, and she knew what Donna thought they all must know by now—that this _had_ to stop... that if it kept going like this... well, anyway, it mustn't.

Donna pulled herself out of bed and began to dress, when there was a knock on her bedroom door. She buttoned her blouse hastily and went to answer. It was Kingsley.

"I'm going in to work—the kids are asleep, but Audrey will be here soon."

Audrey McKinnon—Adam's oldest sister—was the latest hired help in the Shacklebolt home.

"I thought you were staying home today," Donna protested. "I have to work this morning, and..."

"I can't very well _not_ go in; we're short-handed as it is..."

"We're short-handed here, too, Kingsley!"

"Well then why don't _you_ stay home?"

"Because I'm on _wages_, and we need the mon..."

"We don't need the money; we're _fine_."

Donna glared. "Only if you're counting on Isaiah not going to Hogwarts next year... there's barely enough of what Mum and Dad left to cover Bridge and me _this_ year, and I'm assuming the rest of you like to eat..."

"Then go to work," retorted Kingsley. "Audrey's coming."

"_Kingsley."_

"What?"

She sighed, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "Brice and Isaiah need you here... I'm no good with them—not for this type of thing."

Kingsley placed one his large, heavy hands on his sister's shoulder. "You only think you aren't. They adore you."

"Kings..."

"I'll be back early," he promised. "Really, this time."

There was no point in fighting him, Donna knew, and so she only nodded. "Okay."

"See you tonight."

"Bye."

Donna had breakfast on the table by eight—nothing fancy, only tea and toast and eggs—and then she went upstairs to fetch Brice, her youngest brother; Bridget, her sister, however, was already there, dressing the six-year-old and chatting with him about his plans for the day.

"Do you work today?" asked Bridget, as Donna entered the bedroom.

The older sister nodded. "I'll be home early, though. And Kings will, too."

"So he says," said Bridget with a knowing smile. "Let's brush your teeth, Brice."

"Can we let the toothbrush do it?" asked Brice in his squeaky voice, and Bridget nodded, laughing. Donna followed the pair curiously into the washroom, where Bridget drew her newly purchased wand and flicked it once at Brice's blue toothbrush. Immediately, it sprung into the air, levitating dutifully in front of Bridget as she applied toothpaste. Then, the brush flew towards Brice's mouth and, with surprising accuracy, began to scrub at his teeth.

"Where did you learn to do that, Bridget Cecelia Shacklebolt?" Donna wanted to know. "You know, I wouldn't have bought that wand for you so early if I'd known you'd be breaking the law."

"Audrey taught me, and no one cares about a little underage magic in magic households," dismissed Bridget sagely. The toothbrush continued its task on Brice's teeth, and Donna, watching her younger sister supervise the scene with such calm, could not help but reflect that Bridget was far better at this sort of thing than _she_ could ever hope to be. It wasn't only her way of dealing with Brice (or Isaiah, for that matter), but her general intelligence—the way she communicated, the grace with which she acted... she was far wiser than Donna had been at the age of eleven—probably wiser than she was at the age of seventeen...

"Spit, please," requested Bridget, and while Brice complied, she rinsed off the toothbrush and returned it to its cup.

Brice, like Donna, had thick, curly hair, so Bridget did not even attempt to tame it, but she ran some water over her hands and then combed them through his black curls. "You _will _be here for supper, won't you, Donna?"

"I will."

"And when are we to buy the rest of my school things?"

"Not till your letter comes, Bridge."

"And you're _certain_...?"

"Agrippa's sake, Bridge, you're already bewitching toothbrushes; of _course_ you'll get a letter."

"_I_ want a letter, too!" insisted Brice, and Bridget kissed him on the cheek.

"Not until you're eleven, Mr. Brice. And you'll have Miss Flowers at the primary in the mean time." Smirking, Bridget added to Donna in a whisper: "_He fancies her._" Then, she took Brice's hand, brought him down from the little stool he used to reach the sink, and walked with him down to the kitchen. Donna followed.

* * *

_"Out of respect for murdered correspondent, Cary Young, The Daily Prophet has decided not to run the Dark Lord's message as it was delivered this morning," _said the broadcaster on the WWN, his voice etched with graveness._ "However, we have with us here this morning one of Young's co-workers, writer, and special correspondent for The Daily Prophet, Dorthea Grey. Miss Grey..."_

_ "Thank you, Malcolm."_

_ "Of course—I only wish the circumstances for talking with you today were less... tragic..."_

_ "Everyone at the paper is just devastated... Cary was so well-liked there..."_

_ "Of course, of course. And an innovative reporter, too..."_

_ "Without a doubt..."_

_ "Miss Grey, were you _in_ the room when Mr. Young entered this morning...?"_

_ "I was, yes."_

_ "Can you tell us what happened?"_

_ "Well_..." hesitation: "_Well, Cary walked into the news room... early, around seven... there were loads of us in there, already, of course, because we were waiting to hear if... hoping, of course, there wouldn't be another attack, but waiting to find out... and then Cary comes in—he didn't speak to me, but he spoke to Mitchell—Mitchell Letterer, who sits near the front, writes op-eds—and I don't know what he said to Mitch exactly, but I know he said he had a message to be printed in the Prophet that morning... and then Mitch tried to snap him out of it, and we all sort of noticed the commotion... Jillian—Jillian Jones, one of the writers, tried to find his wand, hoping she could stop it, but it all happened so fast..."_

Dorthea Grey's voice broke, and the interviewer, Malcolm, gave her a moment to compose herself.

"_...Just... just before it happened, Cary handed Mitchell a letter to be published, and it was just the same message—the same demand..."_

_ "And that's what The Prophet has refused to publish...?"_

_ "Yes, it's been turned over to the Ministry for examination..."_

From where she sat at her vanity desk, Mary switched off the wireless and shuddered, suddenly feeling very cold, despite the tyrannical, humid heat. She peered into the glass, her tired, bare face staring back. Her eyes seemed to look smaller without all the eyeliner and glitter and mascara; her skin was pale and flawed. Mary didn't like to look at herself like this, though it was a natural part of her routine of course—in the morning, she looked into the mirror over the tap, found every imperfection that vexed her, and then washed and scrubbed and applied the _Bubotuber Blast, _a pink, foul smelling concoction that did wonders for her complexion, before drying off and beginning with the make up.

With cosmetics, she was an artist—more Titian than Leonardo. It was an organic movement. Where color was needed, she applied it—not always the expected shade, but always vivid and conspicuous. Her mother always said she looked lovely without all of that, but she'd had an aunt once tell her she looked "Less plain" with the eye make up, and anyway, she loved putting it on. She loved the transformation and the process and the color, and she didn't like how she looked now, without it.

Plain, uncertain, ordinary Mary Macdonald.

It just wasn't _her_.

So, disregarding her momentary doubt, Mary picked up the first bottle and began to paint.

When she was finished, she left her room and, with a casual 'goodbye' to her mother, went out into the hall, downstairs, and to the ever familiar door numbered 12, where Marlene lived.

"Hey, Mare," greeted her friend, on opening the door. "I thought you were with Stebbins today."

Mary shrugged. "I just—I felt like hanging around with you today..."

Marlene seemed to understand. She nodded. "It's too hot to go out," the blonde agreed, stepping aside and admitting Mary entrance into the flat. "We'll stay in."

* * *

James wasn't really the smartest, he thought. Oh, sure, he was clever enough, but really, cleverness came much easier when all the teachers expected it of a bloke. The trick was getting them to think it of you, and there, James had an advantage—the advantage of a big, empty house to grow up in: a big empty house with lots of books, and only much older, much wiser wizards for friends.

He hadn't been aware of loneliness before Hogwarts, and boredom was like a second nature. His mother tried to be home a great deal, but that hadn't always worked out, and not all of the house elves were enticing companions. So James learned to read young, and he started on the Charms section of the Potters' library. From there, he moved on to curses and transfigurative magic; magical theory was interesting, but history bored him, as did potions. He liked the books with magical creatures. His very favorite, however, was always Quidditch.

And so, when James went to Hogwarts, he had more background than most of the other first years. He got that reputation, and a reputation for being intelligent—along with a good memory—was all it really took, he thought, to succeed at Hogwarts.

It was strange to think, James mused, that these same volumes he now dusted off and perused had once seemed so advanced, so complex, to him. He smiled at a history text... when he first bought his new wand, he'd levitated it right into his mother's head... on accident, of course.

And there was a book of hexes that he'd once devoured greedily, until he realized, sadly, that it would be _ages and ages _before he'd be able to do that kind of magic (in reality, about six months). There was also a book called _Stokstad's Magical Ethics, Volume One_ that he had barely understood and mostly skipped, except the chapter on Inferi.

It was this that James ultimately selected that morning, because he'd finished the _Prophet_ crossword and didn't much care to read the headlines. He already knew what they would say. His mother and father had both hurried into the office once again, so early that James wasn't awake, until Mrs. Potter crept into his room to say goodbye and tell him breakfast was ready when he wanted some.

James sat down on the nearest sofa and opened up the large book of choice to the first page. He had often heard the complaint that the Gryffindor Common Room was far too noisy for homework completion, but James found the ringing silence of his big, empty house far worse.

He wasn't lonely. He _wasn't_.

It was just—well, on mornings like this... with that reporter murdered and a new demand from Voldemort... it was just the sort of morning one preferred to spend with someone else. It might have been nice to have his mum or dad around, that's all.

Of course they were busy, and he couldn't begrudge them their obvious duty... it just occurred to him that he might have been happier if they were _normal_ witches and wizards of their age... retired quietly, peacefully, and safely.

Stupid.

Really, stupid.

He was fine.

The door to the small study opened, admitting a wizard in black robes. He peered in at James. "All well, Mr. Potter?"

This was the auror stationed at the house for their security since the first incident on Monday. James had all but forgotten about the bloke; he was practically invisible most of the time.

"All well," assured James. The wizard—Chesky—nodded and disappeared out the door once more.

Really, James was fine.

He turned to the next page in _Magical Ethics_ and began chapter one.

* * *

It was around three o'clock, the start of the last hour of Donna's shift, that Lathe entered the Leaky Cauldron, ordering his typical "Firewhiskey, neat," and taking a seat at the end of the bar.

"Little early, isn't it?" she noted, more to be obnoxious than anything else.

"What else have I got to do?" he replied, unperturbed. He didn't swallow the liquor all at once, though. Besides the ever-present Pip and a witch from the inn, the pub was empty. No one wanted to be out and about today.

Donna sat down on her usual stool behind the bar, shrugging. "I dunno—don't you have family? Seems what everyone else is doing this week... holing up until all this stops..."

"This was the last demand," said Lathe with unexpected confidence, and Donna raised her eyebrows.

"How do you know that?"

"He said so. The bloke—Young. All other messages had some... caveat about more messages to come, but this one didn't."

"How do you know that?" Donna repeated. "_The Prophet _didn't publish the exact words, and I thought you were suspended from the Ministry."

"I am. Still have friends there, though."

"Oh."

Lathe finished his whiskey, and Donna didn't wait to refill. "How d'you know I'm not done for this afternoon?" he joked, and Donna just rolled her eyes. "Fair enough."

"When do you go back to work?" she asked. "Don't you have any idea when they lift the suspension?"

"Nope," the auror replied simply, but Donna thought he looked a little more bothered by this than he let on. She imagined what it might be like if Kingsley got suspended for something, and then rather wished that it might happen. When she voiced this, however, Lathe actually laughed. "You know you're not _paid_ for the duration, right?"

"Well, I don't want him suspended for weeks, like _you_... no offense..."

"None taken."

"...Just a few days. A weekend, maybe."

Lathe laughed again.

"I just think it would have been nice for my brothers and sister to have someone _related_ to them around this week," Donna defended herself, crossing her arms. "That's what everyone else seems to be doing, at any rate..."

"What about you? Surely Tom would let you have the morning?"

Donna shrugged. "I happen to like getting paid, though. Say... if you get sacked, do you reckon they'll give Kingsley a raise?"

Lathe arched his eyebrows, and Donna realized that might have come across the wrong way.

"Insensitive?" she guessed.

"Just a bit."

Pip, at the opposite end of the bar, requested another pint, and Donna was temporarily occupied with that, but she returned to Lathe's end of the pub after attending to the other. "How long have you been an auror?" she wanted to know.

"Three years," said Lathe. "And there was training three years before that." Donna nodded thoughtfully; she debated whether or not to ask the question that piqued her curiosity, but decided against it, only to have Lathe answer it for her: "I knew him a little."

"Who?"

"Your dad. You were doing the math, weren't you?"

"_No_."

Lathe shrugged. "Either way, I did some of my last year of training working with him."

Donna suddenly wished they were talking about something else. Talking about her parents wasn't too painful or anything—the past was the past and all that—but discussion of her father always brought the uncomfortable reminder that Kingsley was in largely the same situation her father had been in...

"How old were you?" asked Lathe suddenly.

"Fourteen."

He nodded. "You probably don't want to hear it, but... he was a brilliant auror, your dad. And your brother's pretty quick, too."

No, she _didn't_ want to hear it.

"Yeah, my parents were real heroes," muttered Donna sarcastically. Lathe looked a bit surprised, and she added: "I'm not going to romanticize them because they're dead. Dad shouldn't have... he shouldn't have spoken out like that against..." She broke off.

"Voldemort," Lathe substituted, and Donna nodded.

"I guess they stood up for what they believed in," she continued darkly, "but it got them killed. And if they had kept their heads down, then I wouldn't spend almost every day of my summer holiday working at a bleeding _pub, _and my brother wouldn't be slaving away for the Ministry just to make sure that we can afford Hogwarts, and Brice would actually _remember_ his parents, and Isaiah wouldn't have been expelled from muggle primary school _twice_, and Bridget wouldn't have to play mother to the lot of them." Donna didn't know where this was coming from, but before she could help it, the rest came pouring out: "People can tell me that my parents were a great witch and wizard and that they died honorably and that I should be proud, but the truth is... they had an obligation to five people they brought into the world, and they didn't fulfill that obligation, because they were _brave_." Bitterly: "Forgive me if I'm not terribly enthusiastic about my brother being a _brilliant auror_—I'd rather he just be a _living_ wizard at this point."

Lathe looked neither shocked nor appalled by Donna's confession, and that annoyed her a little. "I said Shacklebolt was a quick auror," the wizard informed her calmly, "but he's smart, too. He keeps his nose clean, as far as politics."

"He still puts his life at risk," Donna pointed out.

"His life was already at risk—all of your lives are, because of your parents."

"Ah, the heroes."

Lathe shrugged. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it was wrong for your dad to speak out like that, but—I think he did it because... he figured you would be _safest_ in a world completely without Voldemort and death eaters, and if he had a chance to help achieve that, then he had to take it."

"But he _didn't_ achieve it."

"No," admitted Lathe; he offered no silver lining or explanation for that, though Donna had half expected one. He merely took another drink of the firewhiskey.

Donna got to her feet, picking out a clean glass and polishing it idly with a rag. "What about you?" she asked. "Is that why _you're_ an auror? To protect someone?"

Lathe did not answer at once, and when he did, it was evasive. "I don't have any family," he said.

"None?"

"Well... parents, technically, but they're muggles and they think I'm dead."

"They—what?"

"It's... better for everyone if my parents operate under the mistaken impression that I am deceased," said Lathe, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Donna exhaled disbelievingly.

"You're mad," she told him. "Weirder than _I_ am."

"Now that's just unkind."

Donna leaned over the bar a few paces away from the auror. "What happens to someone on suspension?" she asked curiously. "I mean—you've been in here two or three times this week, and that's only on _my_ shift. I know you've been in when Tom and Black were here, too. Do you just... sit around and drink?"

"Mostly," said Lathe cheerfully. Donna scowled, and he defended himself: "I'm not allowed to drink on the clock, and I'm _always_ on the clock. I should at least be allowed to benefit from this somehow."

"But don't you have to... I dunno—prove your innocence or something?"

"But I'm not innocent," Lathe replied calmly. He finished the firewhiskey, made a face, and gestured for another.

"You're going to get drunk," Donna warned. When she had poured the liquor, she propped herself up, palms against the bar top, and shook her head. "I don't understand you at all."

Lathe took a long sip. "They're investigating me for killing a death eater; I _did_ kill a death eater. There's not much I can do as far as proving my innocence goes."

This much (and a little more) Donna had gathered from the newspapers and her connection with Lily. "Logan Harper?" she asked, and Lathe almost started at the sound of the name. He nodded.

"But he was a death eater. I don't understand."

"Best not to try to understand the Ministry of Magic, Miniature Shacklebolt. Even the Ministry doesn't understand the Ministry."

Donna rolled her eyes. "But if you _did_ kill him and that's what you're in trouble for, why are they investigating at all? Why don't they just sack you?"

Lathe exhaled irritably; clearly, this was not something he particularly wanted to discuss—with the bartender sister of a co-worker, no less—but Donna didn't really care. She waited expectantly for her answer... if _she_ were to be subjected to the life stories of customers day in and day out, she might as well get a few answers she actually wanted. "They _think_," Lathe went on, "that I killed him because he's a pureblood. That he could have been saved. Arrested. Processed, and the rest."

The question hung in the air for several seconds before Donna asked it: "Could he?"

Lathe dropped his gaze to the firewhiskey. "We'll have to see, I guess." He swallowed the remains of the glass and began to rise. "Alright, then—how about one for the road?" He tapped his empty glass with the ring on his little finger. Donna opened the Ogden's, while Lathe allotted the money for the bill. He drank the firewhiskey quickly and then, with a quick nod to Donna started for the entrance to Diagon Alley. He hesitated near the door, however. "Listen..." the auror began, "I wouldn't... I mean, I wouldn't give Shacklebolt... I mean, your brother, a hard time about much these days—it's none of my business, yeah, but you lot are all he ever talks about, honestly, and... I dunno. Being an auror isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Then why are you so keen to get back to it?" Donna wanted to know.

Lathe shrugged. "Who says I am? Rubbish pay and bad hours."

Donna shook her head. "Just like Kingsley. I don't understand it, but you lot are all so... obsessed with it. Merlin knows there are better jobs—safer, more interesting, better paid... but for whatever bloody reason, you aurors just can't stay away."

Lathe grinned. "Not a bad evaluation of the business, Miniature Shacklebolt." He turned to depart once more, adding as he left, "See you around."

When the auror was gone, Donna drew her wand, cleaning out the glass he'd used and levitating it back to its usual spot on the shelf. Sirius entered the pub a minute or two later.

"You're early," she pointed out.

"What else have I got to do?" Sirius retorted. "Saw Lathe on his way out—was he here long?"

"Not very. Why?"

Sirius shrugged. "No reason—he's been in quite a bit for the last week."

"I guess so."

Sirius freshened Pip's drink. "Has he told you any of his mad auror stories?"

"No." Donna felt very dull; _she_ had done more of the talking.

"Eh, well, you should ask him about the one in Cairo." Sirius grabbed his usual apron. "You know why he's suspended, don't you? That Harper business... The family managed to sway an investigation, and now the auror department is short... at _this_ of all times."

But Donna knew all about that.

"Interesting bloke," Sirius went on. "Lathe, I mean. Oi, his muggle family thinks he's dead—pretty cool, yeah?"

Donna just looked at him. "Men are _so_ odd."

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Potter returned from the Ministry around seven o'clock on Friday. The latter had been off for hours, but stayed around to apparate home with her husband. They found their son in the library, engrossed in the last pages of a large book.

"Have you eaten?" Mrs. Potter asked, sitting down beside her son, while Mr. Potter went upstairs to change. "You look awfully pale, James."

"I ate about an hour ago."

"We're not so late tonight," murmured his mother, running her fingers fondly through his hair. "We might have a bite together, do you think?"

James set down his book. "Sure, Mum."

"What's wrong, dear?"

"Nothing's wrong; I'm fine."

"What are you reading there...?"

But before James could reply, Mr. Potter reappeared at the door, and his expression was grim. "Excuse me..."

Mrs. Potter turned to watch her husband enter the room, and James noticed she looked as confused as he was.

"There's something I wish to discuss with the both of you."

"What is it, Alex?"

Mr. Potter sat down on the sofa opposite them. He slouched forward, hands folded in front of him and elbows on his legs—uncharacteristically unwound in the posture. "I've... I've been thinking a lot this week. I don't want to do anything without speaking to you about it, but there's... there's very little doubt in my mind that this is the best thing—for all of us..."

"Alex..."

"Please," interrupted Mr. Potter softly. "Just—let me tell you." His wife nodded slowly, but she took James's hand, and her grip betrayed anxiety. "I've decided... that is, I've almost decided that—the most judicious thing to do is... to resign. I've decided to step down as head of D.M.L.E."

Mrs. Potter let go of James's hand, moving instantly across the room to sit beside her husband, whom she enveloped in a hug. There were tears in her eyes, but they were joyous. She had wanted this—she had wanted this for years, James thought, since the disappearances started and Voldemort had taken credit...

But James wasn't sure how he felt. His dad would be around more, sure, and it wasn't as though they needed the money, but somehow...

"James?"

Mrs. Potter now leaned her head on Mr. Potter's shoulder, and the latter looked intently as their only child, still on the opposite couch, with an unreadable expression.

"Now?" James heard himself asking. "_Now_, with all of this happening...?"

"It won't be right away," Mr. Potter explained. "I'll stay on for at least another month... But—the last week... I'm not made for this, James. Certainly not now, at my age..."

"So—what? The _hours_ are too long?" demanded James disbelievingly.

"No, no. Not that. It's... the Ministry... that is, _everyone_ deserves someone who is—able to stop this."

"Dad..."

"James, listen. This week, a man walked into my office and killed himself... right in front of me. I was completely incapable of stopping him. And every morning this week, more deaths, more demands, and I was... I did _nothing_."

"There was nothing you _could_ do."

"No, there wasn't," agreed his father. "But someone else might be able to."

"But what if there are more demands? You're just going to walk out _now_..."

"There won't be anymore demands."

"How do you _know_ that?"

Mr. Potter did not reply at once. "There are many things we don't understand about what's happened recently, but... we believe that today's message was intended to be the last."

James was not so easily satisfied. "Fine, but what about what happens next? All the demands said that if the Ministry didn't comply, there would be repercussions..."

"There will be," said Mr. Potter hollowly. "Which is why I have to allow someone else to try and stop it... for everyone else, and for my family..."

"Your family? _Us_? Dad, who cares about _us_? We're fine. This place is a sodding _fortress_! No one's going to get us _here_..."

"And do you really believe that you're safe? My position in the Ministry has endangered both of you for years, and Phillip Stoake's murder was... quite personal... in its execution. I cannot take that risk any longer."

James was silent, trying to take it all in—to understand. "I just—I don't see how you can give up like that... stop fighting..."

"_No_, James," Grace Potter spoke up suddenly. "Not that. Never that." She released her husband, rose, and moved to sit beside James again, taking his hand once more. "There are other ways to fight."

Slowly, James got up. "I'm... um... I'm gonna go for a walk. Just to think this through..."

"James..."

"No, I'm not angry," he said quickly. "I'm not. Really. I just... I need to think for a bit. Get some air, y'know?"

Mrs. Potter returned to her husband's side. "Don't go far."

James nodded.

* * *

At eight o'clock that evening, Sirius went out for his fifteen and a cigarette, leaving Tom with the small crowd inside the pub. It was another warm night—it seemed forever since they'd had _rain_, and the black sky up ahead held no clouds: a fairly ordinary night.

James Potter was almost the last person Sirius expected to see, standing out behind the Leaky Cauldron with his hands in his pockets and a somewhat nervous look about him. Yet there he was. Sirius paused, halfway through lighting his cigarette.

"Are you off already?" James asked, surprised; "Lupin said you worked late tonight..."

Sirius finished lighting the cigarette and shook his head. "I'm on my break." He didn't say it, exactly, but his expression clearly inquired as to what James was doing there now.

"I was debating whether or not to go inside," James explained awkwardly. "But—er—I reckon it's neither here nor there now..."

Sirius took a careful drag from his cigarette. There was no hopefulness to be disappointed this time, as he asked in a guarded, though not accusatory tone: "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not sure." James was, inexplicably, nervous. Sirius decided to wait for more. "I guess... I mean—I... Sirius, I _want_ things to go back to the way they were, but... I just... I need a _reason_."

"You mean you came here to have me beg," replied Sirius bitterly. "I'm not going to do that. I've already—you _know_ I'm sorry. You know if I could take it back, I would. But what happened, _happened_, and you've got to figure out what _you_ want to do now."

James bristled. "So just like that—you... you don't care."

"That's not what I said..."

"It's true, though, if you're not even willing to..."

"To _what_? Beg and plead and tear my hair?"

"Fix it!"

"Fix _what_, exactly?"

"_This!_ The Marauders! All of us!"

Sirius dropped his unfinished cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with the his shoe. "I'm _sorry_, Prongs. Okay? I am _so_ fucking sorry that I—that I told Snape about Moony, and I'm _sorry_ that you had to mop up the mess, and I am _sorry_ for _everything _else that happened... or might've happened that night... I'm _sorry!_" He stepped forward, but James took a reactive, defensive step back. Sirius recoiled again. "_See_? You don't even care... this isn't even about _me_ anymore or what _I_ can do, is it?"

"What's that supposed to...?"

"You don't want to forgive me," Sirius spoke over him. "You just want to blame me!"

"Of course I want to blame you! It's _your_ bleeding fault!"

"Well than what do you _want_ from me, Prongs?"

James hesitated; there was something he wanted to say, but didn't. Instead, quietly: "This was a stupid idea."

"Damn right it was."

Annoyed by Sirius's tone, James added: "Lily doesn't know what she's talking about."

"What d'you mean?"

"_You_," spat James. "You must have her wrapped around your finger pretty well to get her to come to me saying..."

"Oh _sod off_, I didn't tell her to talk to you..."

"Then why else would she try to get me to forgive you? Even after..."

"_Fuck, _Prongs!" cursed Sirius, the brewing frustration inside of him hitting a boiling point: "Are you really that _blind_?"

This, James completely misunderstood. He flinched. "You mean... the two of you...?"

"_What?_ No—_Merlin,_ no, Prongs! You're an idiot! Do you really think I would...?"

"Oh," scoffed James, "am I supposed to think it's _below _you? _Below_ the would-be murderer brother of a would-be death eater?"

Then, Sirius couldn't help himself anymore.

He stepped forward and threw his fist, knocking James back and casting his glasses on the ground. James staggered, but stayed on his feet. He hitched his breath and could have drawn his wand but didn't. Instead, a moment later, both wizards were on the ground, each hitting the other with everything they had.

James got exactly two good hits to Sirius's nose before the latter managed to push him off, onto the ground, where Sirius got in a punch before being kicked onto the stone alley floor again.

In fiction, fights are something of a glamorous ordeal—a display of courage and skill. In reality, however most fights—the spontaneous ones, at any rate—are just messy and awkward. Usually, the relatively inexperienced participants are not extremely enthused about the prospect of fighting at all and only do so either as a last resort or due to the pressure applied by others. In any case, the altercations are typically short and lacking in skill, with two contributors simply trying to hit the other wherever or however possible.

This was no different, except in one respect: anger. Not the brief flame that flared up and died after the initial punches, to be replaced by self-preservation or fear. No, this was a quiet, slow-burning rage that was unleashed suddenly and without restraint.

So, when Sirius managed to get to his feet, James did not step back and rise himself, but rather he grabbed Sirius's ankle and pulled him to the ground again. Sirius kicked his chin, drawing more blood, and they both recoiled long enough to stand unsteadily up. Then James punched Sirius in the stomach, and Sirius pushed James against the wall. He hit him a few times, and then James got Sirius between the ribs, so that Sirius doubled over in pain, and James struck him in the face before he could move to defend himself.

Sirius stumbled back. James tried to maintain balance and blood dripped into his eyes. With a last burst of energy, Sirius moved to hit James, but the latter blocked the hook, and though he fell against the wall once more, he managed to push Sirius back again. Then he grabbed for his wand.

He directed it at Sirius, but the moment he looked up, James was met with the tip of his opponent's wand.

Bruised and bloody and dirty, they just stared at each other. Between the blood and the lack of glasses, James's vision was not what it ought to be, but he met Sirius's eye, burning in anger.

For a long moment, neither moved.

Then, James dropped his wand. Sirius remained obstinately still.

James sunk to the ground, feeling about for his glasses and, locating them, sliding them on his face again. He rubbed his forehead wearily, while Sirius continued to stare, confused and not altogether appeased, at him.

"How did things get so fucked up anyway?" James asked, his voice hoarse. There was blood in his hair. "You and me and the Marauders and everything—how did any of this _happen_?"

Slowly, Sirius lowered his wand. "I don't know," he admitted softly.

"I'm tired," said James. "It's exhausting."

Sirius dropped to the ground as well, his arms propped up on his knees as he slouched forward. "It is," he agreed, nodding. "I don't know how to do this."

James was a quiet for some time. At length, he began in a coarse, far-off voice, "Remus reckons that if someone can forgive him for being what he is, then he can forgive them for just about anything." Sirius said nothing. "Peter reckons it was just a stupid mistake." Another pause. "Lily... Lily just thinks it's the right thing..." With a last, pleading breath: "But that's not enough for me; I need something else... I need a reason."

Sirius nodded. He thought he understood now. "I don't have a reason. It's not forgiveness if there's a reason."

"Well that's not fucking good enough!" snapped James. "Where the hell have you _been_? My dad's resigning, and he and my mum are always gone, and all of this is happening..." James's hands got lost in his hair again; it was getting long now, his hair, and his fingers almost disappeared entirely amongst the black locks. "You were supposed to—you were supposed to be there for things like this! None of this was supposed to happen like this!"

"But it _did_!" Sirius cut in. "It _did_ happen, and I can't take it back—I would if I could, but I _can't_, and I don't know what you want me to do!"

"I don't _know! _But I'd hope _you_ would know!"

"How to fix this?"

"Yes!"

"Well I've got no fucking clue!" They were both nearly shouting, but with this, both boys quieted again, and the tension died a little. Sirius spoke first.

"Your dad's resigning?"

James nodded, looking away. "He told me and Mum an hour ago."

More silence. Then—"Listen, James," Sirius began, "the truth is that there's only one reason, and you know it." (He _did_.) "Because I'm _sorry_."

James had been hoping against hope that Sirius would have something else to say, but he realized now that he had also known all along that it was impossible.

"That's not enough," he murmured. "I'm sorry. It's just—I just _can't_."

Sirius's face was pale; all the anger had faded. He merely looked sad, and he nodded. James pushed himself to his feet, and then held out his hand, pulling Sirius up as well. They stared at each other for a moment.

"I'm sorry I hit you," said James.

"Me too."

Then, with a quick nod, James turned. He opened the archway into Diagon Alley and moved swiftly through it, the bricks closing behind him.

* * *

In moments of desperation, human beings may not be their best.

Lily loathed herself, and she was afraid, but she was also desperate, and she _had_ to do it—she _had_ to try.

So, she knocked on Petunia's bedroom door, and her sister's voice distractedly replied: "_Come in_."

Lily entered. It was almost ten o'clock, and their mother had gone to bed, but Petunia clearly counted on staying up for a while longer. Wedding invitations covered her bed, and the bride-to-be was sorting through them. Lily supposed they were the late responders.

Petunia only glanced at her sister as she came into the room before quickly averting her attention back to an invitation in hand.

"What do you want?"

If she had looked longer, Petunia would have noticed the tears in the younger girl's eyes.

"Tuney, _please_," Lily begged, and that she had been crying was evident in her voice, so much so that Petunia looked up again, surprised. "Please don't do this." She sat down on the lower corner of the bed. "_Please_."

Lily loathed herself for asking, for saying this, for making this demand, when she _knew_ it was wrong, but what else could she do? Tears began to fall again, and she pleaded: "_Don't marry him_."

And Petunia's expression, which had almost softened, grew hard and cold at once. "Lily, you're embarrassing yourself."

"I don't _care!_"

"It's embarrassing to listen to you."

"Tuney, I never meant to leave you behind!" Lily hurried on, "I'm _sorry!_ But you're my sister, and I love you, and I don't want you to—I _have_ to tell you this, because if I don't, you'll... we'll never have a real chance to be sisters again... friends, like we used to be..."

"Lily, stop..."

"No, I _won't _stop!" Tears came quicker now. "I've resented you, because I always thought you resented me and what I am, but there's still time to fix things between us! There's still a chance! I'm... I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have made you tell Vernon, b-b-but I only did it because I thought if you didn't tell him, you'd never see me after you're married. And now—it's not about being a b-bridesmaid. I don't care about that; I just..."

"Just _what_?"

"I just—I just want things to be okay with us!"

Petunia said nothing.

"_Please_," Lily tearfully begged once again.

Then, Petunia began to gather up the invitations from the bed. She organized them into half a dozen neat little stacks, and then further compiled them into one, tall stack, which she placed on the night stand. She smoothed out the lavender damask blanket, and, as if in the same movement, smoothed back her pale hair. She didn't once look at Lily, but moved to the desk, where she unnecessarily straightened the few items there—a china statuette, a glass box for earrings, a bottle of perfume...

"_Petunia_."

But it was as though Lily had never entered the room.

Petunia drew the curtains.

"_Petunia!"_

Lily had stopped crying, but the tears lingered on her reddened cheeks; she watched her sister, tidying the impeachable room. Petunia moved without pause, without hesitation or decision; she moved from project to project—her nightly routine. It was either graceful or robotic.

"_Tuney_," Lily choked one last time. Her sister picked up a cardigan—the only loose item of clothing in the entire bedroom, draped over the desk chair—and hung it in the closet. Lily stood and began for the door. Petunia smoothed the area of the bed that Lily had occupied, like she had never been there at all.

The younger girl left her sister attending to a vase of flowers on the windowsill.

(Saturday)

On Saturday, there were no new demands. There seemed a universal sigh of relief, even amongst the reporters on the WWN, and the front page of _The Daily Prophet_ was, comparatively speaking, downright jubilant. The morning and the afternoon passed quietly, calmly; the evening edition of the newspaper reported that the Ministry of Magic had arrested a suspected death eater, and the rest of the stories surrounded the now ceased demands and their victims. Nonetheless, all the stories carried the same, subtle undercurrent: _no new demands_. No new victims.

Sometimes, when there are no real victories, people need to pretend.

Lily woke with the awful feeling of one who has cried herself to sleep. Stiff and heavy, she reluctantly crawled from her bed, finding herself in the loo without any real notion of going there. She splashed cold water across her salty, dehydrated, blotchy face and, leaning over the sink, stared at the dripping reflection in the glass.

It was Saturday, she realized. In one week, her sister would be married.

* * *

Marlene washed her own lunch dishes. She'd had lie in that morning, so lunch and breakfast had really sort of merged, but all the same, it was about ten minutes to noon, and that seemed to make it luncheon, even though her hair was still wet from the morning shower and all she wore were a bathrobe and running shorts.

Finished with the mundane task at hand, the blonde moved out of the small kitchen, through the sitting room, and into her own bedroom. There were precisely two bedrooms in the Prices' flat—her mother's and her own—and though the room was small, Marlene was at least pleased that she had it all to herself. When her considerably older brother had lived there, they'd had to share.

The walls were dark green, covered by Marlene's posters and photographs—some of which she had to take down for muggle visitors, because they were moving in the magical fashion. Mary and Lily grinned down at her from her bulletin board, and there was a photo of all the girls in her dormitory, waving and making faces at the camera... that was from fourth year.

And next to some torn tickets from the Cleansweeps concert she'd gone to last summer, there was the familiar picture of herself and Adam, tacked to the cork-board with her Gryffindor House pin. They were laughing at something and they both looked so... young. And ridiculous. They were fifth years in the picture—Lily had taken it on Adam's camera, just after the Quidditch Final. Adam was dripping wet, because Gryffindor house had thought it amusing to spend the evening pouring water on all the team members, and Marlene had painted red and gold stripes on her face—one each, along her cheek bones.

It was, Marlene thought, one of the few pictures of herself that she liked. Probably something to do with the angle of the camera or something...

Marlene looked at the photograph for nearly a whole minute, lost in thought. Then, she walked over to the table in the corner of the room where she kept her record player. She didn't need to browse albums today, because she already knew what she wanted to hear. She placed the LP she'd received for Christmas on the turntable and set the first track.

The familiarly sweet riff began, and Marlene might have smiled if she hadn't so very much wanted to cry. Sitting down on her bed, Marlene picked up a pillow, which she hugged to her chest, while the wizard's voice began to sing the first lyrics. All the best songs, Marlene thought, were about heartbreak.

* * *

All the best songs, James thought, were about drugs.

They were just _honest_; unceremonious, but suitably sentimental and brilliantly weird. The very existence of the song defied deceit, because it meant that at least the musicians had no qualms with admitting their lyrics sprung from socially shunned substances. It was comforting, that.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Mrs. Potter, sipping her iced tea from the chair closest to James's at the kitchen table. The Potters typically ate supper in the dining room, but with just the two of them there, the kitchen was suitable tonight.

"Drugs."

"_James_."

"_You _asked."

Rolling her eyes, Mrs. Potter returned to the newspaper she had been reading. James smirked, meanwhile, and slouched over the kitchen table, swirling his soup around with the spoon.

And while the brown-ish broth splashed up on the silver oval of the spoon's bowl, blurring the metal as it inevitably dripped down again and brought movement to the rest of the liquid, James experienced a startling revelation. It was rather the kind of epiphany that one has, only to realize a moment later that they knew it all along, only they never really _felt_ it before: grasped it intellectually, without accepting it emotionally.

James realized now, sitting there in the kitchen with his soup and spoon and bread with butter... now and for some time, he had been really, really, _really_ bored.

Not just _bored —_lethargic. Introverted. Unfamiliarly disinterested, dispassionate...

Also bored.

And, for a very long time it seemed to him, James had done absolutely _nothing _to remedy that. Frankly, he hadn't cared enough to try.

"_He'd give _us_ another chance."_

James's breath hitched.

"_Hey, _I'm_ destinated for poverty, too_..."

He dropped his spoon.

_"The tree broke Sirius's arm."_

_"It was a minor sprain."_

_"You were crying."_

_"I was __not!__"_

_"There were tears."_

_"It's not __crying__ unless the tears are out of your eyes, Potter."_

_"So you admit there were tears?"_

_"__No__."_

James tried to pick the spoon up again, but his fingers didn't seem to be working.

_"Why? Because we'll become __so__ infamous, that people will talk about us __so__ much, and it will be an inconvenience just to list our names?"_

_"Exactly."_

Mrs. Potter looked up from the newspaper, evidently having noticed the spoon clattering against James's china bowl.

_"You're James __sodding__ Potter, Prongs, and I wish you'd bloody start acting like it!"_

"James, dear?" asked his mother.

_"Everyone makes mistakes, James... Merlin knows _you_ have_..."

"James, what's gotten into you?"

_"You know, Prongs, that was sort of hot..."_

_ "Not in the mood, Sirius_."

Mrs. Potter shook his hand, inadvertently knocking the bowl and splashing a few drops of soup onto the white tablecloth.

_"Maybe we're maturing. Maybe this is the thing they're always calling 'self-restraint.'"_

_ "Don't be thick..."_

"James, you're frightening me," reprimanded Mrs. Potter.

_"Prongs, we've been mates forever. We've been mates since before either of us knew what a Confundus Curse was... since we were so oblivious that we actually wished Hogwarts wasn't co-ed. We've been through just about every single important life experience together..."_

_ "If someone can forgive me for what I am... what I did to become this way... I reckon I can forgive Sirius for his mistakes."_

"_I'm saying it's not your fault, and that you need to realize that Sirius made a stupid, horrible mistake, but it doesn't mean that you're a terrible person!" _

_"Sirius, you've got family. You've got Andromeda, you've got me, you've got..."_

_ "You're not rubbish, as far as mates go, you know..."_

_ "It's one of the downfalls of being a human being. You wouldn't know anything about it, Prongs..."_

_ "Think about it, Prongs! He's going to go down there, get through the Willow, see Moony_..."

_"James, I understand that you're angry, but Sirius is family_..."

_"...Sirius... he's not one of us anymore... he's out..."_

_"I know how to hurt you, too, Prongs."_

"_You were supposed to—you were supposed to be there for things like this! None of this was supposed to happen like this!"_

_ "Everyone else has gone to see him now—why can't you?"_

"_But sometimes they surprise you for the better, too..."_

"James!" repeated his mother, louder, and James was somewhat drawn from his reverie.

"Hang on a moment, Mum," he said. "I'm having a thought."

(Sunday)

On Sunday morning, Elizabeth the Second-James's owl- sat perched on Lily's window, a letter resting beneath her claws. Lily tore open the envelope, and what she read there made her smile.

* * *

Sunday was a little cooler. The sun was shining, and there were no more demands from Lord Voldemort. In days to come, reporter Dorthea Grey would coin the name for the last week—beginning with the death of Phillip Stoake and ending with that of _The Prophet's_ Cary Young—calling it, perhaps unoriginally, The Week of the Demands.

"It is the worst that this war has been," she claimed, and, at the time, she might have been right.

Many things happened that week. There were a total of seven victims, five "messages" from the Dark Lord, and the few reporters who had continued to use _his_ name to this point at last relented and took to the popular euphemisms. There were no more deniers arguing that the war didn't exist, or, at least, their perspective was no longer given any credit.

England's dry spell continued, and there was talk of a strike in the Ministry of Magic's weather department. Life went on, and those who _did_ recollect the Dark Lord's promise of retribution generally elected to hope for the best. At least for the moment, the Week of the Demands had ended, and by comparison, ordinary life seemed exceedingly safe.

Of course, in November of that year, they would all be painfully reminded of the Week and what was promised in each of the Dark Lord's messages. But more on that later.

Diagon Alley seemed reborn with the end of the Demands. It was by no means as crowded as once upon a time, but people moved easily through the shops Sunday morning, speaking with guarded cordiality and enjoying the more comfortable weather. Sirius walked the short distance from his flat over the Apothecary to the Leaky Cauldron, and even _he_ could not be utterly dejected just then.

He entered the pub through the back, grabbing an apron and tying it around his waist before stepping out into the main room. Donna stood behind the bar, waiting for him with a magazine in hand, and there were nearly a dozen patrons present for breakfast.

"You're late," deadpanned Donna, not looking up from her magazine.

"Only by a minute."

"Two."

"Did the world end in my absence?"

Donna set down the magazine and rolled her eyes. "I haven't slept all night, Sirius Black. You would be wise _not_ to pester me just now."

"Go home, Shack," said Sirius.

"I am," she promised, pulling off her apron. However, Donna hesitated before slipping into the back. "Your mate is here," she said.

Sirius looked about quickly, and, indeed, there was James, seated at the bar. For a moment, Sirius froze; then, shaking his head, he rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a rag to wipe off the bar top.

"I've got to stop telling Moony my schedule," he muttered so that James could hear.

"I figured this would be less weird than showing up at your door," James replied.

"Not really."

"Well... sorry..."

Sirius set down the rag. "You can't hex me or punch me here, Prongs. I'm working. So unless you're really just here to order something..."

"I won't say I'm sorry," James interrupted. "I'm not even sure that this isn't a huge mistake, but—all the same..." He swallowed. "You're my best mate. And... I reckon that's enough."

Sirius just stared.

"W-what?"

"Are you going to make me repeat it?"

"I'm considering it..."

"It's enough. I said it's enough."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"So—so you're saying..."

"Yes, that's what I'm saying."

"You're saying you forgive me?"

"Y-_Yes_."

"Huh." Sirius sat down on his stool behind the bar, regarding James carefully. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

"It's... in the past?"

"Yes."

"And I'm..."

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"What? Yes."

"Huh," said Sirius again, and then he went quiet. James waited.

He waited some more, and then grew bored. "_Huh?_ Huh-what? Are you _high_, Padfoot?" he demanded impatiently.

After a moment, Sirius grinned. He stood up. "No. No, just thinking."

"Just thinking?"

"Yep."

"And..." James raised his eyebrows, "do you have anything to _say_, maybe?"

Sirius rummaged about and, a moment later, produced a bottle of butterbeer, which he set before a bewildered James. "Yes," he announced. "I forgive you, too."

"You—you forgive me _too_?" echoed the other, astounded.

"Yep."

James opened his mouth to ask something else—probably what he was supposedly forgiven _for_—but, after a moment, he changed his mind. Instead, he picked up the butterbeer, took out his wand, and bewitched the cap off. He took a drink from the bottle, shaking his head.

"You're an idiot, Sirius Black," he said, when he had set the bottle down again.

"'Missed you, too, mate."

James rolled his eyes; Sirius grinned more broadly. "So," began the former presently, "you work at a _pub_..."

"Pretty cool, right?"

"How did we not think of this earlier?"

"I know—the money's not bad either. Mate, you've got new specs; they're distracting..."

"They don't stay on properly either... bloody annoying..."

"Oi, did I tell you I'm thinking of buying a motorcycle...?"

"You _are _high, Padfoot. _When, _exactly, would you have told me that?"

"Point taken. But focus, Prongs—a _motorcycle_..."

* * *

_Dear Prig,_

_You win. _

_Cheers,_

_Git  
_

* * *

**A/N: **I have oscillated between loving and hating this chapter so much, and it gave me a lot of trouble, but I hope you enjoyed it. Once again, no review responses for the moment. SORRY! However, I really wanted to get this thing posted. I know, I know.

In the mean time, THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who has read and reviewed, especially those who have helped me reach 1000 reviews. You guys are absolutely WONDERFUL.

Next chapter, predictably titled: "The Wedding." There's an adorable, adorable, adorable scene between Our Primary Couple, and you're going to kick me for it. Lol.

Also, I'm getting a blog. Well, I have a blog, but there's nothing there yet. Basically, I will throw updated information in there, and random little plot cookies and address various, recurring questions that Reviewers might have regarding LAT. Anyway, I'll have that information and web address in my profile eventually.

Reviews are James forgiving Sirius and Sirius getting a motorcycle. And peanut butter cookies.

Cheers,

Jules


	26. The Wedding

**A/N: **While writing this, I came to a realization: Chapter 26 was the last chapter of ITISNS. This is NOT the last chapter of LAT, obviously, but there are a few... um... call-backs to ITISNS, that I just added in for fun. Cookies to anyone who catches them.

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo-Ro and the inimitable George Gershwin.

**Before: **Petunia tells Vernon that Lily is a witch, and Vernon wants nothing to do with Lily, so Petunia kicks her out of the wedding party. James and Remus have finally forgiven Sirius for the Snape-Willow incident. Marlene tells James that she's in love with Adam. Donna and Sirius work at the Leaky Cauldron, where the usuals include the ancient, paranoid Pip and the suspended auror Lathe.

I really did not mean for this chapter to be this long, but... well... it is.

Chapter 26- The Wedding

Or

"Rhapsody in Blue"

"Bloody hell," Lily sighed. There were entirely too many women in her family.

She had only three cousins, two of them female, and both of her grandfathers were deceased; her maternal grandmother was still living, however, and this—combined with the presence of Lily, Petunia, and Mrs. Evans (to say nothing of the bridesmaids), meant a household of females, three hours before a wedding.

In short: chaos.

"Alright, Lily," said her mother, in a rare, solitary moment just before noon, "It's time to get serious. In an hour and a half, we are leaving for the church, which means that _you_, love, have ninety minutes to figure out how to be in two places at once, so that you can have some lunch, keeping those asylum escapees in the kitchen from wreaking havoc, while simultaneously changing your clothes, because, Lily, as lovely as you are, I don't think you should attend a wedding dressed like _that_."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "What, Mum? You don't think Petunia would appreciate me showing up in candy cane socks?" She indicated to the striped knee highs she had paired with shorts and a t-shirt that might have fit three or four Lily Evanses. She had yet to find an opportunity to get out of her pajamas.

"Somehow, I don't."

"Well don't worry about it," Lily assured her. "You go sort out Petunia and the bridesmaids... I have a plan."

"You do?"

"Of course."

"Should I be worried?"

"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies."

"Now I _am_ worried."

"_Go_, Mum."

"Fine..."

Mrs. Evans turned and hastened up the staircase to her bedroom, where Petunia was in the middle of her third nervous breakdown of the day. Lily, meanwhile, breathed deeply and started for the kitchen.

At the table sat Lily's grandmother, and she seemed to be arguing with her daughter—Lily's Aunt Sara—about (of all things) politics. Lily's two female cousins, stepsisters Alexandria and Eden, were bickering about rides to the church, all the while making a horrible mess of the cold cuts intended for lunch.

Lily sighed. She liked her family—especially her cousins—but they didn't often get together, and when they did, especially for "family events," there was bound to be conflict. And today, the house could stand no more conflict.

"Aunt Sara," Lily addressed her mother's older sister, and the rosy cheeked woman looked up.

"Yes, Lily?"

"May I have a word—I just wanted to ask your opinion on something..."

Sara followed Lily out into the hallway.

"Yes, dear?"

Lily assumed a most confidential tone: "Aunt Sara, my mum just asked me to have you keep an eye on Gran. I mean, she's your mum, so you know better than anyone how to deal with her, and Mum's just worried she's getting a little tired out from all of this wedding flurry."

The older woman's expression suddenly became quite sage. "Of course, dear. Don't you worry yourself about it."

"Oh, thank-you _so_ much..."

"Of _course_, dear."

They started back for the kitchen, and then Lily, as though she had just remembered something, exclaimed: "Oh! I completely forgot: I was supposed to bring the dress downstairs..."

"I'll do it, Dear," her aunt volunteered kindly. "You're so busy as it is, and I'm sure you want to get ready to leave..."

"Oh _thank-you_..."

Aunt Sara hurried upstairs to the master bedroom, while Lily returned to the kitchen. Gran was now lecturing Lexi and Eden (Lily's _paternal_ cousins) on the proper assembly of sandwiches.

Lily winced. She hurried over to the counter, where the two cousins were rapidly loosing patience.

"Gran, why don't you sit down? I'll bring you your sandwich."

"Now, now, I'm _quite_ alright, Lily..." But she allowed Lily to guide her back to the kitchen table anyway. Once there, Lily sat down in the chair formerly occupied by her aunt and leaned close to her grandmother.

"Gran, I hate to ask, but Mum wanted me to see if it would be possible if you could make sure that all of this wedding flurry isn't tiring out Aunt Sara. She was complaining of a headache earlier, and she doesn't walk as much as you do, so I'm _sure_ she's not used to the excitement, and _I_ would do it, only I'm supposed to help the bridesmaids with their make up..."

Gran patted Lily's hand affectionately. "Of course, dear, you mustn't fret about it. I _raised_ Sara. I'll take care of everything..."

"Oh _thank-you_, Gran." Lily rose from the chair. "I'll just go see about that sandwich of yours..."

She went to the counter, where Eden was pouring juice for herself.

"_Honestly_, Lex, _what_ is your problem, anyway? I'm twenty-three years old! I'm in absolutely _no_ rush to get trapped in a loveless marriage!"

Lexi—who happened to be both married and eight months pregnant—turned bright red. "Watch out, E, or you're going to end up the moral of a cautionary tale. I mean, do you have any idea where those blokes you run around with have _been_? I wouldn't _touch_ them, personally..."

Lexi started for the icebox, and Lily followed her there, while Eden carried on the argument with a slice of ham.

"You look lovely, Lex," said Lily.

Her cousin softened at the statement.

"I feel _enormous_."

"Rubbish; you really look fantastic. Hey, I have a favor to ask..." She lowered her voice, so that the conversation was just between the two of them, "...I was wondering—I mean, I know it's _so_ wrong of me to even _ask_, because she's not even technically _your_ family, but I was hoping... could you possibly just... y'know... keep an eye on my Gran? Tuney and Will and I are her only grandchildren, and I've just got a million things to do, and Will's watching the match and... well, let's just say, he's the _Eden _of my Mum's side of the family..."

Lexi nodded understandingly. "Don't worry about it, Lily. I'll take care of it."

"_Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you_," gushed the younger girl. "Just, y'know, make sure she's not tiring herself out..."

"Of course; that's fine."

"You're a _life_ saver!"

Lexi smiled warmly and then went to fetch the milk, while Lily assembled and brought a sandwich to her Gran.

Eden, meanwhile, had switched on the radio and was swaying to Elton John. Lily moved to her corner of the kitchen and leaned against the counter next to her.

"Hey, E—cute shoes."

"Thanks," said Eden, cheerful now that it was Lily and not Lexi speaking with her. "I like your socks. You should wear them to the wedding—Petty would have _kittens_."

Lily laughed. "Hey, E, have you ever met my cousin Will...?"

Fifteen minutes later, Lily came downstairs, dressed in a bathrobe, but showered and made up. Her Aunt Sara was making sure that Gran's tea wasn't too hot, while Lexi feigned interest in the elderly woman's stories of "The War," and Eden fixed Lily's cousin, Will, a sandwich... which, no matter _what_ Gran said, seemed to be perfectly satisfactory in Will's eyes. Lily smiled at the scene, and her mother came downstairs.

She stared at the happily coexisting relatives, and then at Lily, eyebrows raised.

"I'm a genius," sighed Lily.

"What did you do?"

"Lied through my teeth."

Mrs. Evans patted her daughter's shoulder. "That's my girl."

(Shattered and Whole)

The Leaky Cauldron had a pleasant early afternoon hum, and while James had seen it on busier days, the presence of _any_ witches and wizards was something of a relief these days.

Sirius was just finishing up on his morning shift, and Donna had not yet arrived for her afternoon sting. James sat at the bar beside Pip, the white haired wizard who frequented the pub and was currently entertaining James with his many conspiracy theories.

"So, the Ministry is the reason skin gets blotchy like that when we get old?" asked the younger wizard. "Who knew?"

"Can't trust any of 'em," muttered Pip, shaking his head and taking another deep drink of mead.

Sirius smirked, serving bacon and eggs to a curly haired witch at a nearby table. "Tell him about the run in with the Lethifold, Pip."

"He's already told me that story," said James. "On Tuesday. You need to pay better attention, Padfoot."

Pip began embarking upon the story anyway. "It was the thirties, an' I was in Lichfield at the time... back when they still called me..."

But at that moment, Donna entered, tying an apron around her waist, and James was distracted from a second hearing of the story.

"You're late, Shack," teased Sirius. "And table four needs another round of pumpkin juice."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," snapped Donna. "It was a bad morning." She drew her wand and tapped the bottle of pumpkin juice twice. It at once set about pouring into three different glasses. "Get out of here, Black. I've got it."

Sirius snorted. "Later, Shack. Punch me out, will you?"

"I will _not_..."

But Sirius had already tossed his apron over the bar and started out towards the muggle London door with James.

"Prat," muttered Donna.

"'Afternoon, Miss," greeted Pip, raising his glass to her.

"Hi, Pip," she replied dully.

Waiting for James and Sirius out on the road were Remus and Peter, who had been to the bakery nearby, as demonstrated by the pastries they were in the process of consuming.

"Did you get me one?" asked Sirius, as they began to walk, destination-less, up the street.

"No. You didn't ask us to," replied Remus. "What are we doing today anyway?"

"What do you mean, 'I didn't ask you to?'" Sirius demanded. "They're pastries! There's an assumed request—and I was _working_."

"You should have owled," said Peter.

"Yeah, or used the two-way mirror," grumbled Sirius. "If either of you prats had one. Which reminds me..." He turned to James. "I hollered at the mirror for about ten minutes last night, and you didn't answer."

James dropped his gaze quickly, clearing his throat. "S-sorry. I must've been... playing Quidditch. Yes. Definitely. Playing Quidditch. So, what did we decide we were doing today?" He quickened his pace. "I thought maybe..."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Sirius. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"The awkward, stuttering thing."

"I didn't notice anything," said Remus quickly.

"Me neither," agreed Peter.

Sirius stopped walking, compelling the other three to do so as well. He looked at them suspiciously. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing."

"Nothing."

Padfoot folded his arms, turning to Peter and towering over him. "Wormtail?"

"Yes?"

"What are you all lying about?"

"We're not lying!" said Remus eagerly. "So, did anyone catch that match on the wireless? The Wasps and... that... other... team...?"

"_Wormtail."_

Peter squirmed. Over Sirius's shoulder, James and Remus shook their heads violently.

"N-nothing?"

"_Wormtail_."

_"James-threw-his-two-way-mirror-at-the-wall-and-it-broke."_

Sirius rounded on James, who glared at Peter. "I'm going to smother you in your sleep, Wormtail. So... y'know... watch out for that."

"You _broke_ the two-way mirror?" Sirius demanded.

"We shouldn't be talking about this in the middle of the street," said Remus loudly.

"You _broke the two-way mirror, Prongs?"_ Sirius repeated.

"I was _angry_," James defended himself. "And, y'know, if you had been there, you would've been impressed. It was very dramatic. I almost took out Adam McKinnon's eye with the debris."

"It's true," Remus affirmed. "I had to clean up the mess."

Sirius did not, however, seem impressed. Far from it. "I can't believe you would break the two-way mirror! When did this happen?"

"After the Q-Word final," said James glumly. "It was a _really_ bad day."

Sirius frowned. "Well—can't we fix it?"

"I tried," said Remus. "And so did Prongs, but too much of the glass is missing, and it's..." He lowered his voice, though no passing muggles seemed particularly interested in their conversation, "_bewitched _glass, so normal _Reparos _won't work..."

"And we don't know the charm that they used on the glass," Peter added. "So we can't reproduce it..."

Sirius scowled at James, who suddenly became fascinated with a pebble on the road. "Oh, come off it, Padfoot. Glaring won't fix anything."

"Maybe we can _have_ it mended," Peter suggested. "Where did you get it again, Prongs?"

"The mirrors were my dad's," said James. "I think he bought them when he was a student... about a century ago."

"Well, that doesn't mean the shop that sold it to him is closed," said Remus optimistically. "There are loads of really old businesses in London. _Ollivander's_ has been around since the B.C. years. It's _literally_ ancient!" He chuckled at his own joke, but James only rolled his eyes.

"Hilarious, Moony."

"It _was_."

"It really wasn't," said Sirius. "Alright, so—it's Saturday. Your old man's home, right Prongs?"

James raised his eyebrows. "You used to _live_ with us, Padfoot. Were you drunk the _entire_ time? Of course he's not home!"

"But it's noon," said Peter hopefully. "He's likely on luncheon now, right?"

James rolled his eyes again. "I swear, it's like you lot don't know my family at all."

"But," said Remus, "I'm sure he'll be pleased that his _beloved son_ decided to drop in and visit him during his last weeks at the Ministry..."

"_Maybe_..."

"Brilliant!" said Sirius enthusiastically. "So, we'll fetch the mirrors and then pop in to see Mr. Potter, and he'll be able to tell us where we can have James's fixed." He looked at the others. "Alright?"

"Alright," they agreed, shrugging.

Sirius nodded, pleased. "Good. But first, I'm getting one of those pastries..."

(Yellow and Blue)

Lily's dress was yellow. It was cotton, with a mid-calf hemline and a square neck, formed on the right and left by the dress's straps, which were about the width of two fingers. There was no true waistline to the dress, but there _was_ a matching sash. She tied it around at the slimmest part of her waist, and that looked nice.

Lily stepped into dark brown heeled sandals and set her hair—dried and curled loosely with magic—around her shoulders. She applied her pale pink lipstick once again, and then stood back to see her whole reflection in the glass. Yellow was far more her color than pink anyway.

In the kitchen, the bridesmaids had congregated, a mass of pastel ruffles and hairspray. Petunia hadn't put on her own gown yet, but her platinum hair had been pinned in a high, elegant bun, augmented with miniature roses and meticulously designed to appear loose and relaxed. A single curl fell purposely near each ear, drawing attention to the diamond studs Petunia proudly wore—some of the few diamonds she owned, and certainly the only ones not awarded to her by her fiancée.

Despite the scowl the bride wore, and despite the fact that she was currently barking at everyone to pick up their things and get in a car, Petunia looked rather pretty. Lily had suspected that the "Bridal Glow" wasn't nearly as prominent as people made it out to be, but she _did_ detect something different about her sister that morning.

"You had better find yourself a car, Lily," warned her mother, dressed in coral satin; "And I suggest you get the front seat."

There was a great ordeal made over getting into cars, and it was another ten minutes before Lily found herself in her cousin Eden's Austin Allegro with Eden as the driver and Rachel Richards—Lily's replacement bridesmaid—in the back seat.

"You look adorable, Lily," said Eden, lighting a cigarette once they were on their way. "Yellow is a much more flattering color than pink." She said this with a calculated look in the rear vision mirror to catch Rachel Richards' reaction.

"_E_," Lily censured in an undertone, but she didn't mean it, and Eden only smiled.

"Find something on the radio, will you, Red?"

The drive to the church was not a long one. There was a Paul Simon song, then Queen, Diana Ross's latest hit, a KC and the Sunshine Band number that Rachel not only insisted that they maintain but even turn up the sound on, a commercial break, and about eighty percent of ELO's "Strange Magic," before they pulled into the church lot.

While Eden went to sit down in the church, Lily hung back with Rachel in the vestibule. It occurred to the redhead that the net effect of having her expelled from the wedding party was mostly emotional; she was still sticking close to her mother before the ceremony, which meant she would be in the bridal party's room, and an usher would escort her to her seat before the bridesmaids and groomsmen processed down the aisle. Of course, it would have been nice _not_ to have been denounced by Vernon and kicked out of the wedding party, but all in all, he could do nothing about the fact that Lily was _there_.

Speaking of Vernon...

Since Eden drove like a maniac, their car was the first to arrive from the Evans', and while Rachel Richards went to prepare Petunia's room off the church, Lily sat down on a bench in the ante-chamber, near a holy water font, humming "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover," because now—thank you, radio—it was stuck in her head.

The groom's half of the wedding party had arrived some time before and were lurking all over the place, but it was Lily's misfortune that Vernon Dursley himself should happen upon her there.

A moment of awkwardness commenced. Lily stopped humming.

"Is Petunia here?" Vernon grunted. Lily debated answering at all. Fully acknowledging the immaturity of it, lately she had taken to behaving very strangely around her sister's fiancée, just to savor the fear he inevitably displayed as a result. Perhaps that was why he currently looked at her as though she were likely to explode at any second, taking half the church and a bit of the car lot with her. So, for a few seconds, Lily remained silent, and Vernon repeated: "Has Petunia arrived yet?"

"No," Lily relented. "Any minute now."

Vernon fixed her with a look of utter disgust, which Lily met and reciprocated. After several seconds of unvoiced animosity, however, she decided to take action. She stomped her foot once against the polished floor and shouted "Boo!" causing Vernon to start. Her exclamation echoed in the empty vestibule, and Vernon's shocked expression—like an elephant startled by a mouse—quickly faded. With a final sneer, he stomped away, mustache and all, and Lily was left alone until the rest of the bridal party arrived.

Yvonne Howard—maid of honor—stuck her head in the vestibule first to make certain Vernon was not about, and, ascertaining that he was not, she beckoned the others inside. Petunia, escorted by Mrs. Evans, Nancy Wiggins, and Marge Dursley, marched through to the little room off the ante-chamber, and Mrs. Evans, carrying the carefully wrapped gown, gestured for Lily to follow.

Already when Lily entered her sister's chamber, there seemed to be a crisis in need of fixing. In the thick heat, Petunia's eye make up had smeared, and as a result of misguided attempts to solve the problem, one of her cheekbones was now entirely without cosmetic attention. Absolute disaster, obviously.

Actually, Petunia was the calmest of the lot, while the others spilled their make up bags all over the two tables, locating foundation, powder, blush, mascara, and eyeliner as if their lives depended upon it. And, to be fair, they probably did.

"Why didn't she have the air conditioning on?" Lily wanted to know.

Nancy Wiggins, who was comparing two different concealer bottles, shook her head sadly; "Since the florist accidentally delivered the bouquets to the house instead of the church, they had to be put in Marge's car, because Marge has the best air conditioning. Petunia came in _my_ car, and—_oh! It's all my fault!"_ She began to wail, and Yvonne rolled her eyes.

"Snap out of it, Nan, and hand me that mascara..."

Mrs. Evans, who had slipped out on Lily's arrival, returned, carrying three bouquets of white miniature roses; she was followed by Lily's cousin, Lexi, carrying the other one and the bride's bouquet.

"Clear a table then," called Mrs. Evans over the din, and Rachel relocated the spilled make up from one counter to the other. The bouquets were placed, and Mrs. Evans departed to speak with the minister. Lexi gave Lily's hand an affectionate squeeze, murmured: "You look very pretty, Lil," and then departed.

Then, Lily was once again the only one in the room, besides Petunia, _not_ wearing pink. Still, she didn't look _nearly_ as out of place as Marge Dursley.

In honor of the wedding, and—more importantly—in honor of the wedding photos that would immortalize the day, the bridesmaids had descended upon Marjorie Dursley with everything from eyebrow (and mustache) wax to a suspicious green liquid that Yvonne called "skin care" and Lily suspected would soon be illegal due to probable links with cancer. Marge's dull, flat blond hair had been teased, trimmed, and tortured into style, and make up applied so thoroughly that, except for a little around the eyes, her actual face was invisible. And, after efforts almost surpassing that of the bride's, Marge looked...

Uncomfortable.

The poor woman, surrounded by girlie-girls of the Petunia variety, was sweating profusely and obviously loathed all of this. She looked like she could use a good stiff drink, if only the Wedding Diet permitted alcohol. Marge was not, and never would be, _pretty_ (even Lily was not so generous as to believe otherwise), but in another environment, she might at least have been comfortable and happy, and comfort and happiness can perform wonders of which Yvonne's "skin care" knew nothing.

The minutes passed. Lily fetched a book from the car that she had wisely brought along, and she remained in the little room off the vestibule while the bridesmaids and bride bustled around her. She sat absorbed in her novel and did not see when Petunia was put into her dress, or when the others took pictures with the Polaroid that Mrs. Evans brought in. She paid no heed to the Manicure Panic of 2:09, when Nancy's nail polish chipped, and Rachel was called upon to redo it, because Nancy was too nervous to hold the varnish brush. Nor, did she hear the Carbohydrate War of 2:18, between Yvonne and Marge regarding a cheese danish, culminating in Yvonne knocking into the bouquet table, and dropping Petunia's meticulously arranged bouquet to the floor. This spurred the Bouquet Battle of 2:19, which, in turn, ended, when Petunia placed the bouquet on a chair in the corner and demanded that no one speak for the next ten minutes.

In fact, the real disaster did not strike until 2:24, thirty-six minutes before the wedding, while Nancy and the returned Mrs. Evans aided Petunia in pinning up her veil. Marge, still bitter over the loss of the Carbohydrate War of 2:18, wiped beads of sweat from her forehead with a handkerchief and made to sit down. Unfortunately, she neither remembered nor noticed the chair of choice's prior occupant: Petunia's bouquet.

A piercing shriek finally drew Lily away from _Brideshead Revisited_, and Yvonne held up the flowers, worse for the wear of having Marge Dursley sit on them. Real panic drained the color from Petunia's face, as she took the flowers from her maid-of-honor, examining the forlorn floral in shock. Marge covered her face with her large hands, and for a moment, the entire room held its breath. Then, Mrs. Evans snatched the bouquet from the bride and said in a stern voice, "Don't you _dare_ cry, Petunia Elaine. I have an idea how to fix this, alright?"

"B-b-but they're _ruined_..." Petunia stammered.

"Y-yes," allowed Mrs. Evans, not quite meeting anyone's eye. "But... there is a florist... up the road, and I am _sure_ that I can find a suitable replacement in the next..." She checked her watch, "half an hour."

"But..."

"Petunia," interrupted her mother, calm and serious, "everything will be alright. Yvonne, make sure she doesn't cry. Lily, come with me."

Lily followed her mum out of the room and into the antechamber. They stood a safe distance from the crowd of people filtering through to sit down, and Mrs. Evans spoke very rapidly and very quietly. "Lily," she began, "in six years, I have never asked for you to use... any of your special talents for _anything_..."

Lily caught on at once. She took the pitiful bouquet from her mother. "I'm the 'nearby florist,' aren't I?"

"Can you fix it?"

Lily nodded. "Tuney won't be thrilled if she finds out."

"So perhaps we shouldn't tell her?"

"I've never known you to be so sneaky," Lily teased.

"_Please_, Lily."

"Okay."

Mrs. Evans glanced around the hall anxiously; "Perhaps you'd better go to the car."

Lily nodded. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"_Thank-you_."

Lily ducked back into the bride's room to fetch her purse and avoided catching anyone's eye as she stole out to the car park. Her mother's Cortina, however, was parked right in the front, and that would not do at all if she was to avoid muggle eyes. So, instead, Lily made for her cousin Eden's Allegro, in which she had traveled not long before and which was more advantageously and discretely located near the road.

The driver's side was mercifully unlocked, and Lily sat down, closing the door behind her. The seat back felt hot against Lily's bare shoulders, and when she leaned forward to roll down the window, the metal handle burned her fingers.

Merlin, it was _boiling_ today: dry, which was a nice break from the humidity, but still awfully sweltering.

Transportation of her wand had been something of a difficulty for Lily for some time. Wizards' robes almost universally had a pocket for storage, but muggle clothes did not, and so, for long stretches of her muggle existence, she had been forced to improvise. Finally, in fourth year, she had finally found a spell (she called it the Mary Poppins charm) that allowed her to fix her purse so that it would hold more on the inside then it appeared to be capable of on the outside.

And so Lily pulled her ten and one quarter inch willow wand from her small clutch bag, and picked up the bouquet, which she had tossed on the passenger's seat.

Marge's brief use of the flowers as a seat cushion had certainly done a number on them: one stem was snapped, and most of the petals were crinkled—a few had even fallen off in the journey to the car. For a moment, Lily looked over the flowers carefully. She closed her eyes, envisioning the bouquet—not as it had looked before—but how _she_ wanted it to look. Pure white roses mixed with rich and vibrant pink ones... vivid green leaves and stems...

Somewhat predictably, Lily had always been good with flowers.

She opened her eyes again. Picking up her wand, Lily pointed the tip down at the flower in the center of the bouquet; then, she traced spirals in the air, emanating from that point and branching outward, until she reached the perimeter of the bouquet. Still twisting, like spaghetti on a fork, she drew her wand upward. She stopped when her hand was at eye level, and then, flicked her wrist once.

Light flooded down from the end of her wand—not bright, but visible, as it showered the flowers in a gold kind of glitter. Then, the light faded, and Lily put down her wand, holding up the bouquet for inspection. It was largely the same in arrangement: the same ratio of miniature whites to standard pinks, the same white ribbon tied along the stems, fastened with the same pearl pins. But the flowers themselves—the petals and leaves—were brighter and fresher, and when Lily inhaled, they smelled deliciously sweet...

Smiling at the job she had done, Lily carefully set the flowers down on the passenger seat again. She ought to stay out for a few minutes more, because a quick return might raise the bridesmaids' suspicions.

Lily sighed and leaned back, and the hot car seat stung her shoulders again. She idly considered her cousin's car for a moment, until she noticed Eden's little gold pack of Benson and Hedges cigarettes on the dashboard.

It was a second before Lily registered why her chest gave a painful twinge at the sight of the box. She picked it up, considering the smooth cardboard between her fingers.

Her dad had always smoked Bensons.

Almost automatically, she drew one from the box and, with her wand, lit it, taking a long drag. She hung her arm out the window and leaned her head back.

She had last smoked with Sirius Black, by the lake at Hogwarts, when they'd talked about his uncle and her father and death. Four months ago.

Only, Sirius didn't smoke Bensons, and it had been a lot longer than four months since she'd had one of her father's brand. Two years now... not since her short-lived rebellious phase.

It had been more than a "rebellious" phase, though. She was still friends with Snape at the time—it was before their first "break up." It was their last summer together, and it was awful. Sev wasn't what he had once been... they were both clinging to faded memories of what they had once had together, except that _she_ was clinging a little tighter. Her dad had died five months prior, and Petunia had just started seeing Vernon. Lily spent very little time with her other friends that summer... if she wasn't with Sev, she was alone. And suddenly, she had just become so _tired_ of being _Lily_.

She took another drag. Some friends of Petunia's from secondary school could be seen, gabbing on the steps of the church. Just over twenty minutes till the wedding... she'd let Petunia sweat it out for a little while longer.

Smoke trailed off from the end of Lily's cigarette, disappearing amidst the pale blue sky. So bloody hot out.

Her dad would have loved this awful weather.

He'd had the strangest fancy for oppressive heat—said there was nothing more honest than a hot day.

Then, suddenly and unexpectedly in the silence of the car, Lily heard her own voice say: "I wish you were here." Only when she heard it did she know she had spoken aloud.

Without really thinking, she continued: "You'd make fun of it with me, without really meaning it, and it would be nice for Tuney—to have you here... walk her down the aisle and all that." Another, longer inhale. "I miss you, Dad..." She was blinking back tears suddenly, her voice gone hoarse: "And I hate that I... that I don't think about you every day anymore. At first, you were there all the time... everything that happened, I just thought about _you_. And then, after a while, it was just at night, when I was trying to fall asleep... do you remember? I'd always talk to you in my head, and... Well, then eventually, I'd only think about you a few times a week, and now it's just every once in a while. Except at home—when I'm home, it's a lot more." She brought the cigarette to her lips once more, "You'd probably smack my hand if you could right now, wouldn't you? _Mum_ would. But they're _Bensons_, Dad, and you couldn't resist them either. Not that I... I mean, that's not why..." She tried a small, watery smile. "They _smell_ like you, that's all."

Lily tapped the cigarette with the top of her ring finger, and the grey ash drifted down to the asphalt outside the window.

"You'd hate Vernon," she continued unevenly. "He's exactly everything you disliked in people. Boring and vapid and greedy and... rich. Well, we can't fault him for being rich, but he might try not to be boring. But—but I reckon that... where you are, you don't hate anyone... not even Vernon Dursley? Can you still tease people, at least? Not in a mean way, just... y'know... in good fun? I hope so. I hope you're blissfully happy, and that you're not lonely for Mum and Tuney and me... I don't think you are... I think, I think that it's like, you can always remember us, but your memory is _perfect_, so it's not like a memory at all; it's like, living every moment all the time. And all the bad things seem little, and just—just stepping stones to the good things. And all the good things seem wonderful."

The first proper tear slid down her face, and Lily wiped it hastily away.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

"Tuney's wearing the earrings you gave her for her sixteenth birthday." Inhale... exhale. "I d-don't know if she's said anything to you, but I—I wouldn't blame her if she hasn't. I know she misses you, too, though." Another drag, another ash. Bitterly: "I just wish you were _here_. Everything would... it'd be so different if you were here... you know, I don't think Petunia would be marrying Vernon at all. Maybe she..."

But Lily stopped, because that was wishful thinking. She didn't know whether or not Petunia would marry Vernon Dursley in other circumstances, but a small, inexplicable part of her thought she _would_.

The cigarette was short, now, and Lily lost interest. She put it out in the ashtray and picked up her wand again. Here, she hesitated.

She leaned back again and closed her eyes, breathing deeply and committing the smell of the tobacco to her memory. Then, without opening her eyes, because she might change her mind, Lily waved her wand and banished the scent from her clothes and hair. After all, she couldn't very well show up to the wedding like _that_.

Lily put the wand back in her purse and used the rear view mirror to fix her make up, which had been smeared by tears. When all was as it should be, she picked up the bouquet and stepped out of the car.

Her heels clicked satisfactorily as she walked across the lot, up the stairs of the church, and through the vestibule, dodging all looks and avoiding everyone. She moved into the bride's room, and found that Petunia was alone.

"Where are the others?" Lily asked, and her sister jumped at the sound of her voice. She was seated at the vanity, staring into the mirror, and yet had been oblivious to Lily's entrance behind her. Petunia stood up, tentatively touching her delicately arranged hair.

"I asked for a moment. You've got the bouquet, have you?"

But as Petunia stood and faced her, Lily glimpsed her in her wedding glory for the first time and was rendered speechless. She at once admonished herself for ever having doubted the fabled "wedding glow." Petunia was magnificent.

"You're gorgeous," said the younger girl in a small voice. She set down the bouquet.

The dress had a natural waistline, an elegantly stitched bodice, slightly capped sleeves, and an encompassing skirt: satin, but with a covering layer of lace-like chiffon. The veil was slight in comparison, pinned into her hair and only a single layer of tool, falling somewhere around her elbows. There was a radiant light in her skin and eyes, a slight flush in her cheeks that might have been excitement.

Petunia did not respond to Lily's statement at once. She seemed to _want_ to say something, without knowing exactly how to go about doing so. Lily regained herself a little, and observed more naturally: "You're wearing the earrings Dad gave you." The bride nodded slowly. "I wish he were here."

Sighing, Petunia sat down in the empty chair. Lily took the one beside her. "Me too," the older girl muttered. "For one thing, Uncle Awkward will be walking me down the aisle..."

Lily laughed. "Uncle Richard isn't _that_ bad..."

"God, if only he wouldn't _always_ be talking about all the women who _won't_ go out with him..."

"Oh, God, yes."

Petunia smiled. She picked up the bouquet from where Lily had set it down, glancing over it. She didn't seem particularly interested in making sure that it was an adequate replacement, and Lily soon learned why. "You fixed it, didn't you?" said Petunia, more declaration than question. "With your..." She trailed off, and Lily considered denying it. She didn't though, instead nodding slowly, not quite meeting Petunia's eye. Both sisters remained quiet for a moment. "I knew you would," the elder began at last; "when Mum took you with her, I knew she'd ask you to... to fix it." She held the ribbon wrapped stem up, examining the flowers with a bit more care. "They're lovely," she finally admitted, clearly reluctant. "I remember... when we were little, in the park..."

And though she cut off the sentence, Lily knew exactly what ending Petunia had planned.

"I was always good with flowers," murmured the younger sister. Petunia looked at her, frowning.

"Is that what you do at that school all year? Play in gardens?"

Lily sighed. How to explain? That it was so much more... _real_ than Petunia had ever grasped? It wasn't just the school. It wasn't just the wand and the books, the owl and the cauldron. It wasn't just making flowers bloom, or bouncing when she ought to break. It was her life—her entire existence, really.

None of this she said, because Petunia's question constituted the first time she had expressed interest in Lily's Hogwarts life in a very, very long time, and there was no way of communicating all that needed to be understood.

"It's pretty much the same as normal school. Books, blokes, detention..."

"And playing in gardens," Petunia added wryly. Lily smiled.

"Magic gardens," she corrected.

Petunia's expression became uncomfortable. She straightened up, and then got to her feet again, smoothing out her extensive skirt. "You had better get mother—I think I'm ready."

Lily nodded, standing also. While her sister inspected her reflection one last time, Lily made for the door. She hesitated there. "Tuney?"

Petunia met her eye in the mirror.

"You—you really do look beautiful."

The bride almost smiled, but she maintained an even countenance and replied, barely louder than a whisper: "Thank-you."

Lily nodded and slipped out of the room to find her mother.

(Dervish and Banges)

"Byron's Bewitched Commodities," repeated Sirius, throwing another salted crisp into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "Never heard of it. Reckon they're still open?"

"They can't be," said Remus. "We know every shop in Hogsmeade, and I know we've never been there."

The four wizards sat on a bench in an Underground station, not because they had any intention of taking a train, but because, after their somewhat lengthier than intended stay at the Ministry (security and all that), they had wanted a place to sit down, and this was as good as any. James stole a crisp from Sirius's newly purchased bag and smirked.

"That's the closest thing to Marauder pride I've ever heard from you, Moony. And, unfortunately, you're right."

"Damn it, Prongs," swore Sirius idly. "Why is your old man so... old?"

"Not helpful," countered James. "So what now?"

"I reckon someone in Hogsmeade ought to know something about the place," said Peter. "Or we could try Dervish and Banges."

"Wormtail's right," agreed Remus. "Just because they didn't make it doesn't mean they won't know how to fix the mirror."

James stole another potato crisp. "So we're agreed? Dervish and Banges?"

"As soon as I'm finished eating," said Sirius. Remus rolled his eyes.

"At that rate, we'll be here forever."

Despite that pessimistic conclusion, the boys apparated into Hogsmeade ten minutes later. The nice thing about apparating into an all magic community was that they didn't have to worry much about _where_ they appeared, which, in this instance, was not far outside the shop.

Sirius explained the situation to the appropriate Dervish and Banges authority, James presented the mirrors, and they waited.

"I see the problem," muttered the wizard behind the counter. He was a stout, bespectacled man, with ruddy cheeks, a bulbous nose, and thinning hair. He had introduced himself merely as "Glauff."

Sirius raised his eyebrows at this statement. "Shattered glass, perhaps?" he suggested sarcastically.

"Nah, nah," replied the other. "Well, 'course the glass doesn't help much, but it's the spell that's the problem here, if the mirror can't work at all with a few missing pieces."

"Do you know how to fix it?" Peter asked hopefully.

"Can't say as I do," said Glauff. "You say your pap bought her a Byron's?"

"Yes," said James. "Did you know the place?"

The wizard nodded. "Closed down near twenty years ago, and that's where a bloke would go to have this bit mended. I don't know many others that'd know an old piece of magic like it _these_ days."

"You can't try a different spell?" asked Remus. "There must be other two-way mirrors..."

"I could try," said Glauff, bobbing his head. "But it wouldn't make the working one much use. In the end, I'd only be making a new pair altogether."

"How long would that take?" Sirius wanted to know.

"A few weeks or so, at least, with _my_ schedule."

The Marauders exchanged looks, and James frowned. "You said we would have to take it to Byron's Bewitched to have _this _pair fixed."

"Ay, but it's closed now."

"Yes, we know, but do you have any idea where we might find the bloke who ran the store to begin with?"

"Leander Byron?"

James nodded eagerly.

"Six feet under."

Sirius looked crestfallen, and the wizard sighed. "Byron passed in '56, but I'm fair near certain his son did most of the work in the shop for the last few years. Clarence's his name, and I reckon he's still around."

"Do you know how we could find Clarence?" pressed Remus.

Glauff removed his spectacles and began to clean them with a handkerchief from his pocket. "If you boys had been here a year ago, I'd have said 'no.'"

"But now?" Sirius urged impatiently.

"I spoke with his missus, Lorraine, some months ago. She was stepping into Gladrags—nice lady, and very resourceful, but she wanted dress robes, and Gladrags is a nice place for that. 'Course it's not so flashy as some of the things you'll find in Diagon Alley, but..."

Sirius looked ready to draw and hex, but Remus held up a steadying hand. "Please," he interrupted as politely as possible. "Clarence Byron?"

"Right, right, right you are." Glauff finished polishing his glasses and placed them delicately on his nose again. "Mrs. Byron mentioned her husband was over at Harvest Lane. 'Course, that was 'most a year ago now, but I imagine he's still there..."

"Harvest Lane?" asked James, confused. "Is that where he lives?"

"No, no, boy. _Harvest Lane_. It's a shop. Magical antiques, mostly. Enchanted goblets and the like—not dangerous stuff, that, but pretty, and it might empty your pockets a bit."

"We've got deep pockets," said Sirius. "Where's this place?"

"_James_ has deep pockets," Peter corrected.

"Well _James_ threw the mirror at a wall," Sirius pointed out, before turning to Glauff again. "Where's Harvest Lane?"

"Liverpool," said the wizard. "Real nice spot—looks like an ordinary back alley to the muggles, but..."

"Can we have the address?" Remus interjected.

"'Course, 'course." Glauff found a quill, ink, and some parchment, and began to write. "Only, you won't be able to get in _today_."

"Why not?" asked Peter.

"Saturday, boys. Nice place like that wouldn't serve on the weekend."

"Rubbish," said James. "You're sure?"

"Quite, quite." Glauff paused. "Unless... no... I'm quite certain."

"Unless what?" asked Remus.

"There's a chance... no, I'm certain it was the Lane... only, well, now I can't remember..."

"Can you _try_?" snapped Sirius.

"Cuthbert Cauldrons... used to be near the same neighborhood, and I'm trying to recall if it was Cuthbert or Lane that shut up on the weekends..."

"So you're _not_ sure," said Remus with renewed hope.

"No, no, I'm sure it was Lane. Only... maybe..."

Five minutes later, the Marauder sat with butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks.

"What are you lot up to?" Rosmerta, the lovely witch behind the bar, inquired, setting a fresh round of drinks before them. "Anxious to be back in school, are you?"

"Couldn't stay away from _you_, my love," said Sirius. "Rosie, when will you put me out of my misery and marry me already?"

"Hmmm, not a bad offer," countered the witch. "Only I know you're only after the free drinks." Winking, she moved to another patron.

"So," began Remus. "Are we going to try for this Harvest Lane place? Find Clarence Byron?"

James toyed with the parchment that bore the address. "It can't hurt." He grabbed two galleons from his pocket and placed them on the counter. "Let's go then," he said. "Never mind it, Moony, I've already paid."

"But..."

"Blah, blah, you're boring me. Bye, Rosie! Keep the change!"

Rosmerta smiled and waved, and the boys stepped outside, carrying their bottles with them. "Alright," said Remus. "So, first, Honeydukes, and then Liverpool. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Agreed."

"Agreed."

(Wagner and Mendelssohn)

Lily supposed that when Wagner composed "Lohengrin," he could not possibly have known that that the Bridal March would become so common as to be cliché. But some people never did live to know what they left behind, and when Petunia appeared, and everyone stood, and the march began on the organ, it didn't seem cliché anymore. It was 1976, and while there would be many, many brides that year, choosing trendier pieces, in fifty years, when there were new chic wedding fashions, Petunia would be able to say that she had walked to Wagner, and it wouldn't seem dated. Cliché or not, Lily thought that stood for something.

"We are gathered here in the face of this company," began the minister, "to join together Vernon and Petunia in matrimony..."

Petunia looked radiant up there.

"...Which is an honorable and solemn estate, and therefore not to be entered into lightly, but reverently and soberly..."

Vernon looked a little purple. Marge kept fidgeting.

"...These two persons present come now to be joined..."

Mrs. Evans already had tears in her eyes.

"If anyone can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together..."

Lily held her breath.

"...Or forever hold their peace."

Grammatically incorrect. It shouldn't have been "their." It should be an inclusive "his" or something, because it was singular... Lily objected to the inaccuracy of the language...

No one objected to anything else—at least, not out loud. Yvonne was checking out the best man.

"Vernon, do you take Petunia for your lawfully wedded wife to live in the state of matrimony? Will you love, honor...?"

He would.

"Petunia, do you take Vernon for your lawfully wedded husband to live in the state of matrimony? Will you love, honor, comfort, and cherish him from this day forward..."

No hesitance, no doubt in the bride's eyes.

"...Forsaking all others, keeping only unto him for as long as you both shall live?"

"I will."

There was a little more, and then Vernon's "to have and to hold," and then Petunia's.

"May this ring be blessed so he who gives it and she who wears it may abide in peace, and continue in love until life's end."

Maybe a little longer, too.

"With this ring, I thee wed."

"With this ring, I thee wed."

"May this couple be prepared to give, to be able to forgive, and experience more and more joy with each passing day, with each passing year. Vernon and Petunia are now beginning their married life together. We hope that they may have loving assistance from their family, the constant support of friends, and a long life with good health and everlasting love. In so much as they have consented to live forever together in wedlock, and have witnessed the same before this company, having declared same by the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they are husband and wife."

For something that was meant to last so long, marriage ceremonies were rather short.

Vernon's mother didn't cry, but Petunia's did, and her sister, in the front row, wearing the yellow dress, had tears as well.

(Bribes and Clues)

James had no idea what Harvest Lane looked like to the muggles, but to _his_ eyes, it looked like a dump. The entrance was not in the front of the shop at all, but on the side, in a derelict alleyway, complete with an unfortunate looking tabby and several rubbish bins. The wooden door was narrow and could probably have been kicked in, if anyone cared enough to try, and the paint on the sign over the mantle was peeling, as though the place were deserted. In fact, the only indication that the place _was _still in business was the long window to the right of the door. This, James guessed, must have been invisible to non-magic eyes, for the display there was far too risky.

However, there persisted one primary problem with Harvest Lane, and it was not merely the inexplicable name.

"It's closed," stated Remus obviously.

"It might not be!" protested Sirius.

"The windows are dark," Peter pointed out.

"Maybe it's a motif thing!"

"There's a 'Closed' sign in the window," said Remus.

"Maybe it's a mistake!"

"Their service hours are posted right there..." said James.

"Another mistake!"

"It's not a mistake," Remus maintained. "And _you're _delusional."

Sirius sighed. "I'm not delusional. I know it's closed." He leaned back against the brick wall opposite the shop. James joined him there.

"We can always try Borgin and Burkes," he said. "They may be creepy and disreputable, but I'm sure they know their way around a two-way mirror."

"I _know,"_ Sirius replied listlessly. "But that place reminds me of _Master Black_..." Sirius often referred to his father as such; "He used to take us there when we were kids."

James tried to think of something comforting to say but found himself at a loss. He momentarily fumbled about for an excuse, until Remus—who had been examining the window display—spoke up.

"Hang on, I think there's someone inside!"

"Stop trying to make me feel better," whined Sirius.

Remus rolled his eyes and turned to them. "I'm _not_. Come look."

They did, and there was, indeed, a wizard moving about inside the shop. His exact actions were obscured by a stack of trunks and the poor lighting, but his mere presence provided hope enough for James, who at once began to tap the window and call out. The others imitated him, and, after a minute, the wizard—an elderly, hunch backed chap—took heed and limped towards the door.

He opened it wide enough to stick out his head and then croaked: "We're c_losed_." He started to shut the door again, but James stopped it with his hand.

"Please, we're looking for someone. Clarence Byron? Are you him?"

The man laughed. "Do I _look _like any _Clarence Byron_?" he asked, uttering the name derisively.

"He has a point," Sirius allowed. The others looked at him. "What? _Clarence_... it has a certain... femininity to it..."

Remus rolled his eyes again. "Do you work here?" he inquired of the wizard.

"Nah, I'm robbin' the place," snapped the wizard sarcastically. "Of _course_ I work here, and I'd like ta _continue_ that, if you understand me, so you boys had better get gone, before I..." He stopped when James handed him three galleons. "Well, what do ya want, then?"

"We're looking for someone to fix a mirror," said Peter.

"Not just a normal mirror—a bewitched one," Sirius added. "It was made in Byron's dad's old shop in Hogsmeade, and the wizard at Dervish and Banges said that Clarence Byron might have some insight into how to replace the spell on it."

"Well, ya won't find Clarence Byron _here_. We're _closed_, as I told ya..."

"I don't suppose _you_ have any experience with outdated two-way mirror spells?" asked Peter. The wizard snorted.

"You think I'd be dustin' up in _this_ place on a weekend if I were any good with those spells?"

"Probably not," agreed James.

"Do you know where we could find Clarence Byron, then?" Remus asked.

"Not here," reiterated the elderly man. "An' you won't be findin' him here any time soon either. Sacked six months ago, Byron was."

"Sacked?" echoed Peter.

"What for?" asked Sirius, optimistically adding to James: "Maybe he'll be hard up for money..."

"Hexed if _I_ know," said the wizard. "Didn't seem too troubled, the way I understand it."

"Why not?" Remus inquired.

"Had a new position already, that's why."

"Where?" asked James.

"Well, now..." The wizard smiled a wrinkled, toothless smile. "It's difficult to _remember_..."

"That's your cue, Prongs," muttered Sirius, rolling his eyes. James handed over a few more galleons.

"_The Daily Prophet,"_ said the wizard, tucking the coins into the pocket of his dusty apron. "Merlin knows why. 'Heard he was writin' some kind of column."

"_The Daily Prophet_?" Remus repeated. He looked at the others. "There's a _chance_ we might be able to find him there."

"Alright," said James. "I'm in if you lot are."

Sirius turned to the wizard. "Might we use the shop to apparate?"

"Well, now, I'm not quite..."

James handed him another galleon.

"Step lightly, then, lads; ya musn' linger in the street there..."

(Bruno and Elton)

Bruno Trent might have been Vernon Dursley's brother, if he had not lacked one of Dursley's defining characteristics. Bruno, like Vernon, was large and thick, fair instead of dark, but equally ridiculously mustached nonetheless. He possessed similarly beady eyes, and a similar partiality to stiff, ugly, expensive clothing. He also sweated profusely, a fact that Lily was unhappily learning now—which brings us to the difference between Vernon and his distant relative, Bruno. Bruno Trent did _not_ despise Lily.

Why was it that—in movies and books—when a girl got asked to dance by a stranger at a wedding, the asker was handsome and charming, while in real life, they were just... Bruno?

After he stepped on her feet throughout the entirety of _Can't Help Falling in Love_, Lily tried desperately to detach herself for _Your Song._ Bruno quickly shot down her feeble arguments, however, and insisted she share another dance. At last, Lily reluctantly submitted, with the caveat that this would, indeed, be her last dance with him.

The reception took place in a large hall in a hotel lobby, the expense of which must have been considerable; Lily remained uncertain as to _how_ it might be paid for. Nonetheless, seeing the place left little doubt about Petunia's taste. The effect of the room's soft lights, polished wood floors, extensive flower arrangements, and ornate design was just short of breathtaking.

"Fine weather today," said Bruno, since, apparently, he had no _real_ conversation to start.

"I prefer it a little cooler," replied Lily. She glanced over at the head table, where the bride and groom sat, talking. Wondering vaguely what Vernon and Petunia had to _talk about_, Lily tried to distract herself from the pain that shot threw her foot when Bruno tread upon her toes once again.

"Yes, yes, of course," he said, attempting to steer her in a distantly circular motion. Lily would have tried to help him in the gesture, but the last time she had made such an attempt, he accused her of "Leading."

Mrs. Evans was talking and laughing with some friends near the gift table. She had a glass of white wine in her hand, and, from the brief glimpse that Lily caught during the time Bruno had her facing in that direction, she thought her mother looked very happy. Very happy, and very beautiful. _That, _at least, made Lily smile.

Bruno chuckled nervously, evidently thinking his "Yes, yes, of course," had caused Lily's smile. She looked at him as though she had forgotten he was there, sweating on her, altogether.

"Do _you_ have a boyfriend, Lily?"

"No."

"Why not?" asked her partner with his best, most winning smile. Lily hated that question. She supposed that blokes meant it to be a compliment, but it never was.

"I had one," said Lily dully, watching Nancy Wiggins and Rachel Richards flirt with her cousin Will across the courtyard. "We broke up in April."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes."

Bruce danced awkwardly on. "W-what for?" he inquired. Lily didn't even care that she had clearly steered the conversation into an uncomfortable area.

"His brother wanted to murder me and scatter my ashes across the Channel."

Bruno stepped on her foot again.

"Just kidding," she deadpanned a moment later, rather than elaborating. Bruno smiled uneasily. Why he continued to dance with her was a mystery to Lily at this point; she had been nothing but sarcastic and weird (if not _exactly _mean) since he first asked her and she'd been unable to think of a reasonable refusal. The yellow dress must _really_ have been working for her.

The song finally ended, and this time, Lily made her escape. Her targets were two-fold: her mother and a glass of wine. She found the latter first, and then made her way over to the former.

"Hello, love," greeted Mrs. Evans, kissing Lily on the top of the head, as her youngest daughter placed it on her mother's shoulder. "I saw you dancing."

"That was dancing? I thought he just wanted someone to sweat on."

Mrs. Evans smothered a smile. "Play nice."

"Who, me? I'm always nice."

But her mother decided not to comment on this. "Have you eaten?"

"Like a pig, yes."

"Good. You look very pretty."

"So do you, Mum."

Mrs. Evans smiled. "We're serving the cake soon."

"Mmm, cake."

"Indeed. Be a good girl and visit with your cousins please?"

"If I must."

"Thank-you."

"You're welcome."

"And easy on the wine... you're still underage here."

"You don't look pretty anymore."

"A sacrifice I'm willing to make."

Lily made a face but leaned over and kissed her mum on the cheek before pulling away.

(Teresa and The Prophet)

The _Daily Prophet_ reception room was a long stone hall that buzzed with activity when the Marauders entered. Two hulking wizards stood on either side of the double doors, but they didn't speak to the visitors, and James sent Sirius a warning look, advising him to resist the urge that Sirius assuredly had to quip at them as the four boys passed. High, arched windows lined the chamber walls, and owls swooped in and out freely, while the witches and wizards within went about their business, paying the birds little heed.

A receptionist stood behind a tall desk in the center of the room. She was a pretty blonde, and the moment the Marauders spotted her—directing a wizard towards the lift—Sirius cleared his throat and brushed his black hair back from his eyes.

"I think it's fair to say that I've got this one," he said confidently. The others rolled their eyes, but followed him to the desk nonetheless. "Hello, there," greeted Sirius, and the witch looked up at them. Her eyes barely touched on Sirius, however, before flickering to one of his friends.

"James Potter?"

James suddenly realized the reason the girl had looked a bit familiar.

All eyes—including the blonde's—were on James now, and this time, he did not exactly like it. "Going to introduce us, mate?" asked Sirius pointedly.

"_Please_, Sirius, I was only two years ahead of you lot," interrupted the witch sharply. "_James_ and I dated for a month in my seventh year."

"This won't end well," muttered Peter.

"Of c-course." Sirius cleared his throat. "I remember now. Rebecca?"

"Teresa," chorused James and the girl herself. She folded her arms.

"I'm surprised you remember."

"Of course I remem..."

"And do you remember why we broke up?"

"Definitely won't end well," agreed Remus, nudging Peter.

"If I say 'yes', will you not repeat it?" asked James hopefully.

Teresa ignored him; "We broke up, because after we had gone out on two dates and snogged like twenty times, he _continued_ to ask out Lily Evans!"

Sirius affected shock. "_Prongs_, I cannot _believe_ that you would do something like that to a lovely woman like this."

"Stuff it, Padfoot, or we'll take a look at what _you_ were doing when we were fifteen."

"Literally and figuratively," offered Peter. Sirius made a face.

"Fine." He turned to Teresa. "I'm sorry my mate is a git—and he really is, but it was a matter of love, and..."

"Save it, Black, it was two years ago," interrupted Teresa. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I've moved on. What do you lot want?"

"We're looking for Clarence Byron," Remus spoke up, sidestepping James and bringing himself to greater prominence. "We were told he works here now."

"He does, yes," Teresa confirmed. "He writes a column on practical magic on household items. And I can take a message for you, but only authorized individuals are allowed upstairs."

"I thought you said you've moved on!" complained Sirius. Teresa glared at him.

"I _have_," she said severely; "However, in light of _recent events_, _The Prophet_ is following certain protocol, and I have to adhere to that."

She referred, of course, to the unhappy culmination of the Week of the Demands. The Marauders exchanged looks; James remained extremely uncomfortable with the situation, but Sirius was fairly desperate. "Can you at least tell us if he's in today?"

Teresa shifted her weight, obviously considering her options. At last, she replied: "I'm not supposed to say. But I can tell you that Mr. Byron runs a weekly column due Saturday evening and that a Saturday afternoon such as this one would be exactly the time that someone in that position might want to spend at the office."

"That means 'yes,' right?" Peter muttered to Remus, who nodded.

"Alright, then," began Sirius slowly. "Can you take a message for us?"

"I would be able to send up a note, yes," replied the witch. "And Mr. Byron would receive it the next time he is in the office."

"Which is today, right?" Peter asked once again, and Remus, again, nodded.

"Brilliant," said Sirius. "Might we have some parchment and a quill?"

Teresa provided the necessary items, and the Marauders moved to a small sitting area near the door. James wrote the note, which was short and simple, addressing Clarence Byron, explaining that they knew of him through Byron's Bewitched Commodities and Harvest Lane, and politely stating that they would be willing to compensate him if he might do a bit of magic for them regarding an object purchased in his former shop.

When James had finished writing, Remus and Sirius delivered the note to Teresa again. She took the note, placed it in a black plastic tray on her desk, and tapped the tray once with her wand. The note disappeared at once.

"How long before he responds?" Peter wanted to know. Teresa merely shrugged.

"It might be five minutes; it might be an hour," she replied, rather indifferently. At that moment, a folded square of parchment appeared in the tray, but when Teresa picked it up, she was quick to dispel the evident hopefulness of the four guests. "It's not your reply," she said. "Mr. Byron doesn't send messages with the tray. He'll send a messenger. You had better take a seat." She directed them once again to the waiting area, and the Marauders sat down again.

Minutes slipped by, and while many people passed through the hall, entering lifts, receiving owls, or stopping for a word with Teresa the receptionist, no message arrived for the Marauders.

"How long does it take to write 'yes' or 'no?'" Sirius complained, after a quarter of an hour had disappeared uneventfully. "Quite rude, this Clarence Byron."

Remus absently watched as a tall, wiry wizard stepped out of a lift and approached Teresa. "Maybe he hasn't read the note yet. He might be busy, you know."

"Rubbish," muttered Sirius. "People here just waste time is all. Look at that bloke..." He nodded towards the older wizard at reception; "he's got time to pop downstairs and chat up Teresa, hasn't he?"

"Listen," began James, calling their attention away from the little scene; "we don't even know if this Byron chap _can_ help us. Maybe he hasn't got a clue how the mirror was made."

"But Glauff said that he practically ran the shop for years," argued Sirius; he pulled the still functioning mirror from his pocket. "_And_ he worked at that pretentious Harvest Lane place, too; he must have _some_ idea."

"If he doesn't," said Peter, "_we_ might still be able to fix it..."

"I thought Prongs had already tried..."

"He did. But when we get back to Hogwarts, we'll have the whole library."

"That's true," Remus agreed optimistically. "If you lot could figure out how to help me with my... problem..."

"Furry little problem," James corrected, grinning.

"Yes, that. If you could work that out, I'm sure you could..."

"But we're not going back to Hogwarts for more than a month," Sirius interrupted. "And the mirror has to be fixed _now_..."

"Why?" asked Peter.

"It just _does_," said Sirius firmly, and no one saw much use in debating the point.

Nearly twenty more minutes passed before, at last, Teresa called the boys to her desk again. An ugly, goblin-like creature had bustled up to her desk with a scrap of parchment and a few grunted instructions.

"Mr. Byron asks that you not bother him anymore today," said Teresa, as the goblin departed for the lift again. "In fact, he's asked that he receive no more interruptions for today."

"He can _do_ that?" Sirius demanded. "He's a sodding _columnist_, not Minister of Magic!"

"Security's tight," said Teresa simply. "You boys had better go. Owl him if it's important."

"But..." began Sirius, only to be interrupted as James grabbed his arm.

"C'mon, Padfoot," said Remus. "We'll think of something else, okay?"

Sirius relaxed, albeit reluctantly, and followed his friends as they started for the door. "What do you reckon?" he asked in an undertone. "Pop back to the Potters', grab the Invisibility Cloak..."

"We're not going to break into the _Daily Prophet_ building," Remus replied, whispering loudly. "That's mad. A reporter..." He stopped, and the boys grew quiet as they passed the two security wizards by the exit, "...A reporter," Remus resumed, "was killed here last week. They have every right to be cautious."

Out on the street, the stiff July air was just short of suffocating, and Sirius scowled at his friends. "We're not going to do anything dangerous—we just want to talk to this prick! Right, Prongs?" He turned to James for support.

"I dunno," began his friend slowly; "Moony has a point, and we've been at it for almost five hours..."

Sirius stared incredulously at the pair of them. They were all loitering near the front doors of the _Prophet_ building. Sirius turned his eye to Peter. "Wormtail?"

"We've been all over the country," Peter said quietly; "I don't see why we don't just go back to Dervish and Banges tomorrow and have the bloke make up a _new_ set of mirrors..."

"We can't just _make up new mirrors_!" Sirius protested. "These belonged to Mr. Potter! Surely, he'll..."

"I think Dad has a few other things on his mind at the moment," James pointed out.

"But these are _the_ mirrors!" pressed Sirius. "They're the first decent bit of loot we had! Before your old man gave up the cloak, Prongs, we had the mirrors! Before the map, before the nicknames, before we'd given up on ever getting Remus a girlfriend!" He appealed to humor, but James hesitated still. _"Prongs_."

"Padfoot," began James, "I want to have the mirrors repaired, too, but we can owl this Byron bloke like Teresa said, and..."

"You're giving up?"

"I'm not giving up; I just _said_ we could..."

Sirius, however, would have none of it. He threw up his hand in exasperation. "Honestly, we're supposed to be the sodding_ Marauders_, and a few scary looking wizards by the front doors have got you quivering in your socks..."

"Padfoot, calm down," said Remus briskly. "We've been apparating and walking and searching all day, and it's not unreasonable to..."

"Rubbish, Moony, you're just..." But Sirius was cut off, as a wizard exiting the newspaper building behind them ran into him almost head on in his rushed departure. It was the man that Sirius had accused of chatting up Teresa earlier, and he did not stop, despite having nearly knocked Sirius to the ground. Without muttering so much as an 'excuse me,' he ducked passed the boys and hurried up the road. "_Bloody git! _Watch where you're going!" Sirius hollered impatiently after him, but the man did not stop. "Wanker," he added under his breath. He started to address the other Marauders again, only to be disrupted by yet another wizard tumbling through the _Prophet_ doors.

"Terribly sorry!" this second interruption squeaked; he did _not_ take off at once, either, but shouted to the retreating figure of the first wizard, while waving a large pocketbook: "You've forgotten your briefcase! Mr. Byron! Your briefcase!"

The Marauders started at the sound of the name. "'Byron' did you say?" James asked, bypassing the others to speak to the man.

"Yes, yes," squeaked the wizard. "He left it behind, and he hasn't finished his..."

"_He's_ Clarence Byron?" asked Remus quickly.

"That's right, but..."

The four Marauders looked at once down the road to the first wizard, who had stopped some distance away. The moment eye contact was made, however, the wizard turned and set off again, sprinting as best his aged legs could carry him. James grabbed the briefcase.

"I'll bring it to him," he said brightly and then took off in pursuit. Sirius, Remus, and Peter followed.

James ducked around passersby and pedestrians, only barely avoiding some and almost upsetting a table outside Florean Fortescue's. Byron was quicker than he looked, however, and, though the road met its end, James's primary concern was that Byron would apparate away before he could catch him. He quickened his pace, pushing through a queue that had formed outside Gambol & Japes. Emerging on the other side—with more than a few witches and wizards snapping at him for his rudeness—James briefly lost sight of Byron; he stood on his toes, peering above the crowd for the grey-haired wizard he chased. He spotted him again, hastening around the corner by the junk shop and ran after him.

The Marauder knew for a fact that there was nothing but a brick dead end on the other side of that particular corner, and he felt sure that by the time he reached it, Byron would have apparated. Yet, when he rounded the corner, there stood the ancient wizard, wheezing dramatically, trapped between James and the stone wall.

Byron took a step back.

"I know what you're up t-t-t-to!" he stammered, panting and clutching his abdomen. "It w-won't work! I haven't any money! Not really!"

James could not possibly have been more confused. "What are you _talking _about?" he demanded. Sirius arrived then, with the other two not far behind. "Why were you running from us?"

"Why were you chasing me?" countered Byron.

"Because you were running!" James retorted, frustrated.

"James considers other people running... as a personal challenge," Remus remarked; he, too, was breathing heavily from the chase.

"What do you want with me?" Byron asked. He straightened up now, evidently hoping to regain some dignity.

"We just wanted to talk to you," said Sirius. "I'm Sirius Black—this is James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. We wanted to talk to you about an object you sold to Pron—James's dad... from Byron's Bewitched Commodities."

Clarence Byron's wrinkled face relaxed almost at once. "Byron's Bewitched is closed. All sales are final," he stated solemnly.

James rolled his eyes. "Obviously. But—c'mon, show him your mirror, Padfoot." Both James and Sirius withdrew their respective mirrors and presented them to Byron. "We don't want any trouble or money from your or anything..." He handed over Byron's briefcase as a gesture of good faith; "didn't you read our note?"

"I did," muttered Byron. He looked at the mirrors dispassionately, barely noticing the cracks in one. James actually thought he might simply have been looking at his reflection. "I thought you were... well, I thought you were after money. You said you wanted me to do a spell, and..."

He trailed off. "And _what_?" Peter asked curiously.

"I reckoned you were threatening me," finished Byron with a sigh.

"I am _so_ lost," muttered Remus.

"Well, we weren't _threatening_ you," said Sirius, folding his arms. "James's dad bought these at Byron's Bewitched. They're two-way mirrors, and Glauff at Dervish and Banges said you might be able to repair them... or tell us what spell was used to make them work, so that we could fix the glass and re-cast the charm ourselves..."

Byron cleared his throat. He tried to hand back the mirrors, but none of the Marauders would take them.

"Boys, I—I remember selling dozens of these sorts of mirrors, years and years ago, but I didn't _make_ them. There were loads of other wizards at the shop and elsewhere who _made_ the objects we sold. I couldn't _possibly_..."

"But you worked there," said Sirius quickly; "And people brought damaged things in for repair, didn't they?"

"I recommend you get a new set," said Byron, ignoring the question. "I'm _sure_ you could find a nice pair of two-way mirrors in Dervish and Banges or Borgin and Burkes, or any number of..."

"We don't _want_ a replacement!" James spoke up loudly. "These are the Marauders' mirrors, and _these_ are the ones that are going to be fixed!"

"What marauders?" asked Byron timidly, but James cut him off.

"We stood in lines at the Ministry of Magic, and bribed an old bloke at Harvest Lane, and tolerated this ungodly weather trying to find you—you have a whole sodding column about these types of things! You must have _some _idea how to fix it!"

Byron dropped his gaze. "I am terribly sorry, boys," he murmured, and he sounded sincere, "but there really is nothing I can do for you. If I could, I certainly would, but... I simply cannot."

"You can't even _try_?" asked Remus.

"It wouldn't make any difference if I did."

"What does that mean?" Sirius wanted to know.

"N-nothing. Simply that... that I'm unable to assist you."

"But..."

Byron attempted to sidestep the Marauders. "Please, boys, there is nothing..."

"Wait a minute." James obstructed his path, comprehension dawning on him. "Why didn't you apparate away just now?"

Byron halted. "E-excuse me?"

"You ran away from us..." James continued; "you thought we were threatening you for some reason, and you ran away... you could have apparated, and it would have been impossible for us to follow you."

The older wizard made no reply, so James continued.

"And you ran left instead of right... but if you'd gone through the Leaky Cauldron, you would have been in muggle London in a minute, and it would have been a cinch to disappear _there_. But you went left... you went towards the other exit..."

"There's another exit to muggle London?" asked Remus curiously. James nodded.

"It ends up in the sewer though, so the only rational reason to use it would be... if you _couldn't_ use the other entrance."

"Why wouldn't you be able to use the other entrance?" Peter asked.

James did not remove his eyes from Byron, but Byron himself continued to stare at his toes. "That's a good question," the Marauder muttered. "Why _wouldn't_ you use the entrance through the Leaky Cauldron?"

Remus caught on as to what his friend was trying to say. "Because you need magic! You need to summon the archway!"

The Marauders all looked at the now pale-as-Snape Byron. "Are you a _squib_?" asked Sirius.

"That's why he thought we were threatening him," said James. "Because all the note said was that we wanted him to do a spell... he thought we were taunting him...!"

"He thought it meant _blackmail_!" Remus added enthusiastically; "I _knew_ I should have written the note; you word things all wrong, Prongs."

"Neither here nor there," disregarded James. He took a step closer to Byron. "Are you a squib?"

For a few seconds, Byron said nothing. Then, his lip began to quiver, and, moments later, he was bawling—not just a few, dignified tears, but an ocean of fluids, soaking his face and giving the impression of a stretched, wrinkly baby. The Marauders only stared at him.

"That was unexpected," said Sirius.

Remus handed Byron a handkerchief. They all waited.

"I-I-I'm s-s-so terr—terribly _tired_ of all of this," wept Byron into Remus's handkerchief, shaking his head pitifully. "Sixty-one _years_ I-I-I-I've been l-l-lying to ev-everyone about... about wh-wh-what I am!"

"Which is," Sirius began, "just to be clear—a squib. Right?" Remus elbowed him. "What? I just want to make sure we know what kind of identity crisis we're getting involved in!"

Byron seemed only to barely hear them. He nodded weakly. "Y-y-y-yes. I-I-I've b-b-b-b-barely got any magic blood in m-m-me at all!" With that, he dissolved into sobs for several minutes. James approached him, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder and wincing, while the others stood uncomfortably by, wondering whether it wouldn't be best just to make a quick exit while they could.

At last, however, Byron regained some control of himself. He eventually reached the hiccup stage, and another inelegant five or ten seconds passed in silence.

"Alright, then, mate," sighed James. "Let's... get some tea or something."

"I'm putting gin in mine," Sirius muttered rebelliously.

(Common and Cotton)

"At _my_ wedding," Eden Hayes definitively stated, "I'm going to have the bridesmaids each wear a different color. And the ceremony will _definitely_ be outside; it's just so much more... _natural_..."

Lexi, who sat to the left of her sister, rolled her eyes at this statement. "At _your_ wedding, Eden? By that time, I suppose they'll be able to have the whole ceremony in space. We'll have flying cars."

"Swot," retorted Eden. She reached over and, with her fork, stole a bite of Lexi's slice of wedding cake.

"Hey! Get your own!"

"Slow-poke."

"Thief!"

Lily laughed at her two cousins' antics, taking another bite of her own whiter than white cake. At last, Eden reluctantly agreed to fetch a new slice for her sister, but only on the condition that she not be forced to make the journey solo.

"C'mon, Lily," she pleaded. "_Please, please, please, please_ don't make me go alone!"

Lily inevitably relented, smiling and shaking her head, as Eden looped an arm through one of hers and strutted towards the cake table.

"I saw you dancing with that friend of Vernon's," Eden began teasingly, while they joined the queue for cake. "You make a lovely couple."

"Don't try to be funny, E," Lily replied, trying to look disapproving.

"I'm just saying—I saw potential there, Lily. You have to move on opportunities like that one."

"Ha, ha, get your cake, before I introduce _you_ to him."

"_That_ is an awful idea."

Moving through the thick crowd collecting along the perimeter of the dance floor was more than a little difficult, even after Eden had picked up her cake. Since the roundabout route necessitated by the crowd brought Lily to the bar anyway, she decided to stop for champagne, and Eden moved along back towards their table without her.

"It will be a moment," the bartender informed her. "We have to open another bottle."

So Lily waited, watching the dance floor idly. The bride and groom shared the slow dance, and enough people oh'd and ah'd that Lily supposed Vernon must be sufficiently pleased. She maintained her stare for only a few seconds, and was about to turn back to see about her champagne, when Lily heard her sister's name, muttered in an undertone somewhere not far off.

Marge Dursley stood near the bar with a glass of something amber clenched between her thick fingers, and she was speaking to someone that Lily thought had been introduced to her as an aunt of Vernon's. Everything, from her expensive, celadon suit dress to her permanently repulsed expression supported this theory.

"You mustn't blame Petunia," Marge was grunting to the possible aunt, as she took another large swallow of her drink. "She's a nice girl, and Vernon could do worse."

"Yes, but really," the older woman replied (Lily moved surreptitiously closer), "_Cotton _table cloths... they might as well have had fold-away chairs!"

"It's that mother of hers' doing..." replied Marge; Lily gasped, and the bartender handed the still stunned girl her champagne. "A _nice_ enough woman, I suppose, but... well, I understand she let's the younger daughter run very much wild..."

"The ginger girl?"

"That's right. Goes to Catholic school I hear."

"_God_, what is England coming to?"

Lily's knuckles were now white, as she gripped the champagne flute stem with an ever growing urge to smash it over someone's head. However, had the conversation ended there—even though Marge and her aunt had called Lily wild and mocked the perfectly nice cotton tablecloths, even still, had the conversation ended there, the whole thing might have passed without notice, and Lily might have sat down with her cousins again, fuming, but otherwise none the worse.

Unfortunately, Lily heard the next part of the exchange.

"Of course, some of it is to be expected..." the aunt continued. "Isn't it right that the father worked in an assembly line for some years?"

"Yes," confirmed Marge. "He died some years ago, but I understand that he was _very_ common..."

Lily heard nothing more in the next two seconds, nor did she notice much, except the heat rising in her face, and the distance between herself and Marjorie Dursley diminishing exponentially. With knee-jerk-like speed, Lily had emptied the contents of her champagne flute onto Marge's red face.

"My _goodness!_" gasped the aunt, while the dripping Marge stood, mouth agape, unable to muster any kind of response for several seconds.

"_You_ can just shut up about my mum and dad, you sagging, irrelevant _hag!_" Lily snapped to the older woman, before rounding on Marge once again. "And _you_ are an _awful_ woman! You are cruel, and rude and... and..." But her mind suddenly went blank: "_fat!"_

Marge and the aunt were still recovering from that one, Lily was still fuming, and a few bystanders continued to listen in for more, when Eden reappeared and, grabbing Lily's arm, guided her away. Only when she sat down at her cousins' table again did Lily snap out of her anger induced haze. Eden handed Lily her own glass of wine.

"Your need is greater than mine, Red."

(Tea and Ice Cream)

James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Clarence Byron sat at a booth in Florean Fortescue's. The Marauders had ice cream, and Mr. Byron had tea while he related to them his doleful tale.

Clarence Byron was born what he called "practically a squib," with about enough magic talent in him to summon a few sparks, though not nearly enough to cast any _actual_ spells. His father owned the shop in Hogsmeade, but realized early on that Clarence would be no proper wizard, and attempted to, or pretended to, at least, educate him at home. What he had lacked in talent, Clarence had apparently made up for in effort: he memorized spells, studied magical theory, and learned every written and unwritten rule of practical magic. If he _had_ been a wizard, he might have been a brilliant one.

Also, he was quite clever with numbers. As his father got on in years, Clarence took over more and more of the business—managing accounts, selling products, etcetera. Anything that required magic (repairs included) were delegated to other employees. Despite relative success, a few years after Leander Byron at last retired, Clarence decided to close the shop. By that time, there were only a handful of people who knew or remembered that he was a squib at all—his wife, his father and mother, and one employee at Byron's Bewitched... an elderly chap, who loyally covered for Clarence if the situation called for it. This man's name was Pierson Peasegood.

"Pierson Peasegood?" echoed James.

"Ridiculous," agreed Sirius.

"No... well, yes, it is, but... I dunno... doesn't it sound familiar to you?"

"Boys, _really_..."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

At any rate, Clarence decided to close the shop, and he felt comfortable in doing so, because he had already secured a position at Harvest Lane. There, no one knew he was a squib, and he had to work significantly harder to conceal his secret. His lies ceased to be omissions and became blatant falsehoods. However, Pierson Peasegood had come with Byron to Harvest Lane, and he continued to cover for Byron. If the squib was commissioned to fix something, he would claim it required overnight attention, at which point either Pierson, or even Byron's wife, Lorraine, would perform the repairing spells. Even still, the vast majority of his role at Harvest Lane was administrative.

Finally, about six months earlier, the pressures of Harvest Lane and the deceit it necessitated became too much. The wizard at that establishment had misinformed the Marauders; Byron was not sacked, but resigned himself. He took the job at _The Prophet_ because all that was _really_ required there was thorough knowledge of magical theory. Unfortunately, the higher profile generated through this new occupation had made Clarence somewhat nervous as of late, which was why he interpreted James's note as blackmail. He had come downstairs to see the apparent blackmailers himself, but, finding he didn't recognize them, decided to send them away and make a quick exit of his own.

And that more or less brought things to where they now stood (or sat), in Florean Fortescue's, with ice cream and tea.

"You've really convinced everyone that you're not a squib?" Sirius asked, incredulously, when the story was finished. "How do you get around apparating? I mean, surely people wonder why you don't pop in and out, like _normal_ people do."

"I've told everyone I'm an apparaphobe," murmured Byron sadly. "It's excruciatingly humiliating, but it's... it's better than the truth." He uttered the last word with distinct contempt.

"Apparaphobe?" asked James.

"Apparaphobia is the fear of apparition," said Remus. "It's rare, but some wizards are mortally terrified of apparating. Do you use portkeys, then?" he added to Byron.

"Yes. And muggle transport, too, sometimes," replied Byron.

Then, there were a dozen more questions about the logistics of the thing, and Byron took them all, a little confused by the Marauders' combination of amusement with and admiration for his answers. When, at last the questions about Byron's life had been asked and answered, James swirled his spoon through his forgotten bowl of ice cream and asked the question that had brought them there to begin with: "What about the mirror, then?"

Automatically, they all glanced at the two mirrors, sitting on the table, shining in the warm lighting of the parlor.

Byron sighed. "It is... it might have been possible that I could determine what method of bewitchment was used on these mirrors..." He picked up the broken one, studying it, "but the papers from my father's shop are gone, and without them... well, without them, it would require magic to answer your questions, and obviously, _I_ cannot help you with that." He noted the boys' severe disappointment with this, and felt compelled to add: "I have recommended already that you explore other options... new mirrors are surely available..."

"We're not interested in new mirrors," Remus said calmly.

Byron sighed heavily. "Well, boys... if there was someone who could almost certainly repair _these _mirrors... it would be Pierson Peasegood."

"The bloke who worked with you at Harvest Lane?" asked Peter, and Byron nodded.

"Yes, yes. He was a brilliant wizard in his day... I've known him since I was a boy."

"Brilliant," said James enthusiastically. "So where can we find him?"

"I have no idea."

Sirius raised one eyebrow. "But you said you've known him since you were a boy?"

"I have," said Byron. "But he retired from Harvest Lane some time before I departed, and we rather fell out of touch."

"But you must have some idea how to reach him? An address?"

"He used to live with his daughter, but she went to America some time ago," said Byron. "Really, I haven't a clue where he is. You might try owling him, if he hasn't gone with his daughter and her husband. P-E-A-S-E-G-O-O-D."

The Marauders exchanged looks.

"Those are your options, boys," Byron went on. "I know that they are not, perhaps, exactly what you hoped for, but they are extremely optimistic. You ought to be glad."

Remus gave a perfunctory, "Yeah."

Soon after that, Byron finished his now tepid tea and informed them that he really did have to go. With thanks and sincerity, the Marauders promised that Byron's secret was safe with them, although Remus pointed out that, as he had been terrified to the point of fleeing at the sight of four innocuous teenagers, Byron might be doing himself a favor in revealing the truth about his magical abilities.

Then, Byron was gone, and the four Marauders were left alone.

"What time is it?" James asked presently, and it was Remus who replied with "Five minutes to six."

James frowned thoughtfully. "Do you reckon the post office is still open?"

"Why?" asked Peter.

"They might have an address for this Pierson Peasegood, right?"

"I think there _is_ some kind of directory," muttered Sirius. "Five minutes to six, did you say, Moony?"

"Yeah..."

"Then we had better get going..."

Two minutes later, the Marauders appeared in Hogsmeade for a second time that day, this time, outside of the post office. With only minutes remaining till closing, they hurried inside and up to the counter.

The witch there raised an inquisitive eyebrow, not quite without threat, because surely she did not want to be detained much past six o'clock.

"Do you have listings?" asked Sirius hurriedly. The witch, a fifty-something with spectacles, nodded.

"Pierson Peasegood," said Remus. "We're looking for Pierson Peasegood. Could you find out of if he's listed?"

"One moment," said the witch. She turned and hobbled into a small office behind the desk.

"Cross your fingers, mates," said James, running one hand through his hair.

"She's going to have it," Sirius muttered. He leaned over the counter, practically bouncing on his toes with excess energy. "I can feel it. This is it."

James grinned; "Y'know, the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that I've heard this name before... Pierson Peasegood... maybe he's some old pureblood I've met..."

"We'll find out soon enough," said Remus. They waited, and the post witch returned a minute later.

"There is no listing for a Pierson Peasegood."

"_What?"_ asked Sirius disbelievingly. "Are you sure? P-E-A-S-E-G-O-O-D?"

"Quite sure, young man," retorted the witch. "There was only one 'Peasegood' and that was 'Aphrodite.' If you wish to send a seeking owl, you may do so..." She paused and checked her watch, "tomorrow. The owl office is now _closed_."

"Can you send seeking owls abroad?" asked James hastily. "To America, for instance?"

"You must have an address for all international mail sent with our owls," said the witch. "Although, if you wish to send a request to an American office, we can do this. _Tomorrow_. Nine a.m. Goodbye."

And she said it with such finality that Dumbledore himself would not have questioned her.

(Chats and Chances)

Mrs. Evans found her youngest daughter in the corridor off the reception hall, sitting on the carpeted floor, with her back against the wall as she nursed a black coffee. The mother made her way towards Lily with a slow, deliberate gait, and when she sat down beside her, there was warmth in her soft blue eyes.

"I heard what happened," Mrs. Evans murmured. Lily looked fearfully up at her. "Lil, you didn't think _no_ _one _would notice, did you?"

"Has Petunia heard?"

"No, I don't think so. She's been a bit busy."

"I suppose it's inevitable that she finds out eventually," grumbled Lily. "But I hope she doesn't hear tonight, at least."

"She and Vernon are changing now," Mrs. Evans told her. "They'll be leaving soon."

Lily only nodded. "I'm sorry, Mum. I didn't... I didn't _want_ to make a scene, but she was just... the things Marge was saying..."

"What _was_ she saying?" Mrs. Evans asked, and when Lily did not reply at once, she added: "I paid for that champagne you know. I ought to know why it's being thrown in people's faces."

Lily smiled weakly, sighing. She leaned her head against her mother's shoulder; "Marge was just... just saying the usual things... calling me 'wild' and chalking it up to that 'awful R.C. school' I attend..."

"Oh, Lily..."

"I know, Mum. I ought to have just ignored her, but I just... just lost my temper for a moment."

Mrs. Evans wrapped an arm around Lily's shoulders, rubbing her bare upper arm and resting her own head atop her daughter's. "I know it isn't easy, love... and that... that woman had _no_ right to speak that way. Really, if that's how she is going to behave, I ought to have a word with..."

"Oh, Mum, no," Lily interrupted quickly, pulling back. "Please, don't... it's... it's better if we just forget about this whole thing."

"Lily..."

"Mum, _please_..."

"But..."

"Mum!"

"Yes, but..."

"Mrs. Evans," Lily cut her off, faux stern, and her mother caved.

"Fine," she said, sighing. "But I'm not inviting Marge to Christmas."

"Absolutely not."

Mrs. Evans smiled. "I really ought to get back... and _you_ have to say 'goodbye' to your sister yet."

"Right," muttered Lily, while Mrs. Evans got to her feet. Lily followed her into the hall, where there was an air of imminent departure as everyone prepared to see off the bride and groom. Lily set down her coffee, and Mrs. Evans directed her youngest to the room where her eldest prepared. Lily inched towards it, hoping that Petunia would emerge before she arrived.

No such luck, however, and when Lily reached the door, she was obliged to knock.

"Come in!" came Petunia's hassled voice from within. Lily opened the door, slipped inside, and closed it quickly behind her. The bride had changed into a blue sundress, matched with a patterned cardigan and espadrilles, and she stood before the mirror, replacing her diamond stud earrings with less fancy ones. She looked more exasperated than surprised at the entrance of Lily.

"I just wanted to say 'goodbye' before everyone else got to," said the younger girl softly. Petunia huffed.

"I heard what happened."

"What?"

The blonde sent her a pointed look; "With _Marge_."

"She had it coming," muttered Lily mutinously, dropping into a vacant chair.

"_God_, Lily, could you be _any_ more self-centered? This is my_ wedding_, and you embarrassed me in front of my new family!"

"She was insulting your _old _family, Tuney!"

Petunia rolled her eyes, but seemed to be having trouble with her earrings.

"How did you hear anyway?" Lily wanted to know.

"Marge told Nancy, and Nancy can't keep her mouth shut about anything," snapped Petunia. "I can only be grateful we already took photos, or we'd have to completely redo Marge's face..." She continued on a mild rant about the inconveniences that Lily's temper spurred, but it soon became a hazy, hollow muddle of incomprehensible sound. Lily understood the mood if not the words of the message.

Petunia had always cared a great deal about appearances. She had always cared about rules and order and the niceness of things. She had always liked neatness and required control, but she had not always been shallow.

"_Lily?"_ Petunia's voice broke through Lily's reverie, as though she had repeated the name several times.

"What?"

"You weren't even listening," scoffed the bride; she had finished with her earrings and was now picking up her handbag. "Of _course_! I _said_, what did Marge even say about you that threw you into this little temper tantrum?"

Lily hesitated. Petunia waited expectantly, hands on her thin hips, with her wedding band and engagement ring sparkling in the yellow light of a lamp.

"Does it matter?" Lily asked at last. Petunia scowled.

"I have to go now," she announced, pulling her handbag onto her shoulder.

"Petunia..."

Petunia looked at Lily, a quietness in her expression that the latter had not seen for a long time. "Yes?"

"It's... it's just that I don't know when I'll see you again," Lily murmured.

Petunia lingered in indecision for a few moments. "We both chose our paths," she said at last. She gathered up her the last of her belongings and was gone a few seconds later.

Lily didn't follow; she could hear the others outside and moved to the window, where she could see Vernon's car awaiting the married couple. She did not watch, but Lily heard the rumbling of the car, the cheering as the bride and groom drove away, the laughter and the voices of well-wishers, and, at last, gentle music of the band in the hall.

(Peasegood and Payment)

Defeated and hopeless, the four Marauders sat in a booth at Florean Fortescue's once again, and even a second (in Sirius's case, third) serving of ice cream could not raise their spirits. Sirius made soup in his cup, watching the chocolate, vanilla, mint, and strawberry swirl together with a dismal expression on his face. For a long time, they were all quiet.

"Listen," Padfoot began at length; "even though it didn't work... thanks for coming along today. I know you lot didn't want to."

"That's not true," said Remus quickly. "We _did_ complain a lot, but even now, if there were anything we could do to fix the mirrors, you know we'd... or at least, _I_ would be on board for it."

"Me too," agreed Peter.

"Obviously," said James.

Sirius nodded. "Thanks, then."

They all nodded gloomily in reply. Still, while none of them were precisely thrilled by the anticlimactic end to the afternoon, none was more upset than Sirius.

After a while, Remus decided he wanted a butterbeer, and so he rose to order one at the counter; Peter went with him, and James and Sirius were momentarily left alone. James picked up his own mirror, carefully running his finger over one edge of shattered glass.

"I'm sorry I broke it," he muttered, not looking up from his jagged reflection.

"It's not your fault," replied Sirius, sighing.

"I threw it at a wall."

"Yeah..."

"I almost took out Adam McKinnon's eye with the debris..."

"It wasn't your fault," Sirius reiterated. "You were angry with _me_. It was my fault." He picked up his still intact mirror from the table. "It was all my fault—I suppose that's why I wanted to get it fixed so much." He frowned. "But you're right... we can always get replacements... maybe even a full set of four or something."

James nodded slowly. "I guess so," he muttered with some hesitation. He finally looked up from the mirror. "Everything isn't going to go back to the way it was right away."

Sirius appeared a little surprised.

"You know what I mean," James went on. "Eventually, it'll be normal again... but we're going to go back to school too, and... things are going to be different there for a while. With Moony, and Snape knowing..." Sirius averted his eyes quickly. "It's okay, you know," continued James. "What happened is... it's in the past."

"I know," muttered Sirius at last. "That's not what's bothering me."

"What then?"

He hesitated a moment: "It's... it's just that, you threw the mirror at the wall because you... you must have been pretty sure that you were never going to forgive me. Right?"

"Right..."

"Well... I reckon I figured if we could fix the mirror, then it would... disprove that."

"But I _did_ forgive you... it's already disproven."

"I know, it's just..." Sirius shrugged, somewhat embarrassed, "there's concrete evidence that you hated me. There isn't any concrete evidence that we're not enemies _anymore_..."

James sighed heavily. "Why does it sound like you're trying to get me to sleep with you?" he puzzled, and Sirius laughed at that. Remus and Peter returned with butterbeers; they had wisely decided to buy drinks for their fellow Marauders.

"What's so funny?" Peter asked, sliding back into the booth.

"Padfoot's trying to seduce me."

"And suddenly his need to fix the two-way mirror is _so_ much more than a thinly veiled metaphor," said Remus, shuddering. "Drink up, slags."

James and Sirius picked up the dark glass bottles that Remus and Peter had purchased for them. James raised his butterbeer in toast, and the others brought their own bottles to meet his in the air at the middle of the four.

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," said Peter, and they "Cheers'd" on that.

"Well," began Remus, once they had all drank, "I _still_ wish we'd been able to find this Pierson Peasgoode bloke."

"_I_ still think it sounds familiar," said James, causing Sirius to roll his eyes.

"You've probably read a book he wrote or something, Prongs. Anyway, how in Godric's name would _we_ find him? Especially if he's moved to America..."

"It's pretty unlikely," Peter agreed. "But you can always get _new_ mirrors."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Sirius. "It looks like that's the last option. At any rate, I can tinker around with these—I _am_ about fifteen times cleverer than you lot."

"Rubbish," chorused James and Remus.

Sirius grinned and took another drink of butterbeer.

They enjoyed their drinks in moderate quiet for a while, until Peter, listening to the song that played over Florean Fortescue's magically magnified wireless, observed: "This is a pretty good song."

"It's The Goblins' latest one," said James.

Sirius looked at him. "No—this is the Hobgoblins."

"What are you talking about?" interjected Remus "This sounds like Hate Potion."

Sirius and James snorted. "This sounds _nothing_ like Hate Potion. It's obviously the Goblins."

"The _Hob_goblins!" Padfoot protested. "The Goblins would never stoop to such an obvious hook."

"_Clearly_ you didn't hear their last two albums."

"Listen to his voice! It's all... wobbly! It's Hate Potion!"

"It's _not _Hate Potion!" James and Sirius retorted in unison, and the latter added: "_I_ would know! At the pub, we've got the wireless in the afternoons, and this song comes on every other hour..."

"It's Hate Potion! The Hobgoblins bloke couldn't hit half of these notes!"

"They have potions for that, Moony."

"It's Hate Potion!"

"It's the Hobgoblins! Prongs..." Sirius turned to James, "listen to it—it's _obviously_ the Hobgoblins..."

But James wasn't listening to anything. He had dropped out of the conversation several contributions ago and was lost in thought.

"Prongs?" asked Remus, raising his eyebrows. "You okay?"

"Hello? Earth to Prongs?" said Sirius, waving his hand in front of James's glazed-over eyes.

"Oi, _Prongs!_" Peter called out, and James started suddenly. He swatted Sirius's hand away, and looked up at the other three, a grin starting to grow on his face.

"What's up, Crazy?" asked Sirius, amused.

Inexplicably, James started to laugh.

"_What?"_ Remus demanded. "It's Hate Potion, right?"

James only shook his head. "No, no, no," he muttered, waving away the question with a complete lack of concern. "I... I know who Pierson Peasegood is."

"You do?" said Peter. "Who?"

But James ignored that, too. "I know who he is, and I know where to find him."

"You do?" asked the other three together.

James nodded, his grin growing. "And so would _you_, Padfoot," he added to Sirius, "if you ever listened to anything anyone else says."

"No need to get personal," retorted Sirius. "Who is it?"

James began to laugh again. He stood up on the seat of the booth and stepped over Sirius's legs, hopping onto the floor. "Come on, then!" he called to the others, starting for the door.

Sirius, Remus, and Peter exchanged bewildered looks, but hastened after their friend. James paused by the exit. He turned and hurried to the counter. The song on the radio had just ended.

"..._And that_," said the fuzzy voice of the announcer, "_was the latest from Hate Potion..."_

"_Knew _it," said Remus victoriously.

"That's one for Moony," said James, jogging back to his friends. He slipped between Sirius and Peter, pushing the door open. "C'mon then!"

"Where are we going?" asked Sirius, as they pursued.

"To find Pierson Peasegood!"

"_Now_?"

"If he's still there, yes!"

"Still _where?"_

But James only continued to grin enigmatically.

They ended up in the Leaky Cauldron, which buzzed with the Saturday evening crowd, and _still_ no one but James had any idea what they were doing there.

"What are you doing here?" asked Donna, who was still at the bar, now accompanied by Tom himself. "You don't work tonight, Black."

Sirius shrugged. "Ask the madman..." He pointed to James, who was skimming the crowded bar with his eyes.

James ignored them both. He located his target, seated in the usual spot, white hair as wispy as ever, as he sipped at a large goblet.

"Pip!"

Pip started, surprised by the enthusiasm with which his name was uttered, and turned to see James practically push someone else out of the way to gain standing room next to the ancient wizard.

"Pip!" James repeated breathlessly. "Your real name... it's Pierson Peasegood, isn't it?"

Pip's surprise grew. "That's right, m'boy, now..."

"Have you been here _all day_?" asked Remus. "That can't be healthy..."

"That's what _I_ keep saying," Donna contributed, filling a butterbeer order for a witch nearby.

"This isn't the time," James pointed out. "Pip, do you know a bloke named Clarence Byron?"

Pip—or Pierson—raised one crusty eyebrow skeptically. "Who wants to know?"

"_I_ do. Me. James. Potter. I've been in here with you every day this week."

"Righ', righ'," muttered Pip. "Yes, I knew Clarence. Worked in his ol' man's shop most o' my life..."

James beamed. He took the mirrors from his pockets and placed them on the countertop. "Did you ever sell anything like this?"

Pip picked up the items, holding them close to his eyes and studying them with great interest. At last, he broke into a yellow, crooked-toothed smile and nodded; "'Haven' seen 'em in _years_ though... used t' sell dozens o' two-way mirrors like 'is one, back at Byron's. Lov'ly wan' work 'ere, and... horntails and hippogriffs, it's _broke!_"

"Observant," muttered Remus.

"Yes, that's our problem," said James. "No one seems to know the spell that was used on it... we were hoping..."

Pip didn't seem to be listening, though. He set the mirrors down on the bar. Humming under his alcohol laced breath, he drew what appeared to have once been a wand: a thick, worn stick, with little hairs sticking out in several places. He fumbled with the wand for a moment, mutters and _ahems _occasionally interrupting this hum.

At last, he paused and was still, just long enough to say: "Too m-many people about. I'll step into the loo." And, taking the mirrors with him, Pip did just that.

"He's going to make them worse," said Sirius once Pip had gone. "He's an old drunk, whatever he was when Byron knew him; he can barely walk straight most days, much less fix the mirrors!"

"How did you know it was _that_ bloke?" Peter wanted to know.

"He's always telling stories about 'the old days,'" replied James distractedly. "'Mentioned his name was Pip. He was retelling some story today, and if I'd listened, I'd probably have remembered right away. You don't really think he'll make it worse, do you, Padfoot?"

Donna, however, was the one to reply; "He can't even cast a proper cooling charm, and he thinks it's the Ministry of Magic's fault. I don't know what those mirrors are, but if they mean anything to you, I would fetch them before he finishes vomiting."

James's eyes widened, and the Marauders simultaneously started after Pip. They had not taken three steps, however, before Pip reemerged from the washroom. He strolled over to the bar again and requested another brew, before setting the mirrors down. Donna filled his order, and James picked up both mirrors; the glass surfaces now appeared identically smooth and intact.

"That's it?" asked Sirius incredulously, looking over James's shoulder. "Do they work?"

"'Course they work," said Pip, with an indignant sip. "Out-o'-date spell used on 'em to begin with. I wiped 'em clean, mended the glass, and put a new charm. I reckon they'll work nicely even if one cracks again."

James did not quite know what to say; he handed the mirror he recognized as Sirius's to his friend and held the other up, as though examining his reflection. For a moment, James Potter stared back at him, hazel eyed and bespectacled and all.

"Sirius Black," he said, and then his own image faded, to be replaced by the other Marauder's.

"Good Godric, they work!" said Sirius, his voice echoed in the looking glass.

"Wait a minute," interjected Remus; "Padfoot, you try summoning Prongs."

They both set down the mirrors and then picked them up again to wipe them clean, and then Sirius uttered James's name, bringing James's reflection to his mirror and Sirius's to James's.

"They work!" Peter repeated excitedly.

Sirius turned to Pip. "I will _never_ call you a drunk to your face again," he vowed. The Marauders laughed, and Donna rolled her eyes. Pip seemed pleased though.

James returned the mirror to his pocket. "I should... pay you or something," he said to the older wizard, not exactly sure how to go about doing this.

"Nah..." Pip took another swallow of his liquor. "I'll only spend it on drinks."

"That's true," Donna contributed.

"Don't you have work to do?" Sirius wanted to know.

"I'm off in ten minutes," she retorted. "And I'm manning the bar."

"That's it," James concluded. "I'll pay Pip's tab for today. How much?"

"Wait a minute," Sirius cut in. "That's not fair... I should chip in."

"But I broke it..."

"But it was my fault..."

"Thirteen galleons," said Donna. Both wizards looked at her and then at Pip.

"_Thirteen galleons_ worth of drinks?" James demanded, fishing about in his pocket. "How are you not dead yet? Or... destitute?"

"I _might_ still call you a drunk to your face, Pip," Sirius agreed.

James emptied all his galleons onto the bar top and counted them out. "I've only got nine left on me," he said. "I could pop home..."

Sirius threw two galleons into the mix. "Besides that, I've got ten sickles and..."

Remus and Peter each contributed another two galleons; "For the rest of the evening," explained the former.

"Thanks much, gent'men," said Pip, nodding to them casually. "And I'll 'ave another, Miss Donna."

"_Miss Donna_," chuckled Remus.

"I'm calling you that from now on," said James.

Donna glared at them.

"I think we should have celebratory butterbeer," said Peter.

"Agreed," agreed Sirius.

"And how will you pay for it?" Donna wanted to know, preparing Pip's drink, as well as that of another patron at the other end of the bar.

The Marauders frowned. "She has a point," James allowed. "Maybe I _will_ run home..." This time, the suggestion was taken up with more enthusiasm.

* * *

When James returned to the Leaky Cauldron about a quarter of an hour after he had left it, the scene was largely the same, with a few notable exceptions. Donna's shift had ended, and a wizard that James didn't know worked the counter with Tom. Miss Shacklebolt herself, meanwhile, had taken a seat at a table with the other three Marauders, and there were two other witches with them.

It was a second before James realized they were Mary MacDonald and Marlene Price.

"Price, MacDonald," he greeted, confusedly taking the available chair at the now crowded table. "Fancy meeting you here."

"We came to meet Donna," Marlene explained. "She's agreed to help us with our Transfiguration summer work..."

"How philanthropic," James remarked.

"Not really. She's charging us a galleon apiece," said Mary.

"Time is money," Donna stated with dignity.

Marlene snorted. "Anyway, Sirius here said drinks were on you, so that's why we hung around."

James noted that they all had butterbeer. "Thanks, Padfoot," he said sarcastically.

"Not at all. Now..." Sirius took a swig of butterbeer and then cleared his throat: "Where was I?"

"You had just figured out who Pierson Peabody was," said Marlene.

"Pease_good_," James corrected. "And you did not figure that out, you liar."

"Shut up, Prongs. It's _my _story."

"But you're lying."

"Relax, Prongs," said Remus dryly. "In this version of the narration, he's already dueled a ogre _and_ tortured someone for information... I don't think anyone but Sirius believes he's telling the truth."

"Stop ruining the story," snapped Sirius. "So, Pierson Peabody..."

"_Peasegood_," said James.

"One more word from you, Prongs, and I'm writing you out of the story."

(Wreck and Debris)

Lily and her mother were the very last to leave the hall. While her mother collected up any items that needed to be taken home (or returned to their absent-minded owners), Lily meandered through the remains of what had been, ostensibly, an excellent party. Intact left-over food was to be wrapped up and probably frozen, along with the cake, and a few personal items had to be taken, but most of the debris was to be dealt with by employed others.

"I hope you were able to clear everything up with Petunia," Mrs. Evans called from across the empty hall. "You know I don't like it when you two bicker..."

Lily strolled idly to the table where a dozen plates of sliced and wrapped cake lay, ready to be transported to the car. She wished vaguely that she could explain that this disagreement extended far beyond who stole whose hairbrush or whether the Osmonds or the Carpenters were better.

"Don't worry, Mum," she replied. "Everything's cleared up."

Mrs. Evans would, inevitably perhaps, find out the truth later on, but Lily thought she might as well assuage her mother's fears for tonight at least. It had been a very long day.

They worked separately in silence for some time, before Mrs. Evans said: "You can go along home whenever you like, Lily. _Your own way_, I mean. There's not much left to do here."

"No, I'll go home with you," replied the daughter. "I'd rather you didn't drive alone."

(Lennon and McCartney)

The tables around them emptied and filled and emptied and filled, and the four wizards and three witches in the Leaky Cauldron chatted on. It was beginning to look as though the Transfiguration summer work plan was to be abandoned all together. As the hour approached nine, Sirius suggested they cease dawdling and get something "real" to drink.

"Alright, alright," said Marlene, getting to her feet. "I'll get a round. Does anyone _not _want beer?"

"Price," scolded Sirius, "if you're going to say ridiculous things, please don't insult us in the process."

Marlene rolled her eyes, but, laughing started towards the bar.

"I'll give you a hand," said James, following her.

When they had ordered their drinks, they hung around, waiting for Tom, and Marlene—casting an eye in the others' direction—said: "It's good to see you lot back together again. It was just unnatural not having you joined at the hip."

James smirked. "Well, we _are_ fairly important people."

"Ha. Right."

The Marauder considered letting it drop, but felt compelled to add: "I never did thank you for... y'know... talking to me last week. Trying to convince me to see sense."

"Are you thanking me _now_?"

"Consider yourself thanked."

"Consider yourself welcomed." Marlene hesitated. "About the other part of the conversation... what I said about myself..."

"I'm pretty good at secrets."

Marlene smiled gratefully. "Consider yourself thanked."

They returned to the table with the drinks, and Sirius—after taking a deep drink of beer—asked: "So, Marlene, Mary... where's John Lennon anyway?"

The girls looked at him, bewildered. "John Lennon?" Mary repeated.

James nodded. "George, Paul, Ringo," he translated, waving his hand to indicate that Sirius meant them. "So where's John?"

Marlene caught on. "You mean Lily?"

"Obviously."

"She's..."

"Wait a minute," Remus interrupted. "Lily's not John. Obviously, she's Paul."

"Lily's not Paul," argued Sirius. "Marlene is Paul."

"Really? I thought I was Ringo..."

"If Marlene is Paul, can I be Ringo?" Mary wanted to know. "I like drummers."

"If Lily is Paul, who is John, then?" James demanded.

"Donna," said Remus.

"I am decidedly okay with that," Donna announced.

"No, Donna's George," said Sirius.

"Why is Donna George?"

"She's scary and always looks kind of angry."

"That's mean," said Marlene. "George is probably a _really _nice bloke."

"Thanks for the back up, Price."

"No, no," said Remus. "Lily is Paul, Donna is John, and _Marlene _is George."

"Why am _I_ George?"

"You just said he was probably a really nice bloke!"

"I'd still rather be Paul!"

"Wormtail," said Sirius, turning to Peter. "Settle the score. Is Lily John or is she Paul?"

Peter frowned thoughtfully. "John," he decided at last.

Remus groaned. James and Sirius grinned victoriously, and Marlene punched the air.

"I am _so_ Paul McCartney!"

"As long as I'm Ringo," concluded Mary with a shrug.

"Alright," said Sirius. "Now that it's established, where is the Nowhere Man at?"

"Her sister's wedding," said Marlene.

"Oh. That's today?"

"Shouldn't have to bloody go at all," said Donna bitterly. "You don't kick someone out of your wedding and then _make_ them attend."

"Evans got kicked out of her own sister's wedding?"

"Well _that's_ unfortunate."

"_Honestly_," muttered Mary.

There was a moment of silence, as each of her classmates considered the unfairness of Lily's situation. It was Marlene who broke the silence.

"Donna, what time is it?"

"Ten minutes to nine. Why?"

Marlene smiled broadly. "I have an idea, George."

"Agrippa's sake, she's _not_ George, she's _John_...'

"Moony, you don't have any idea..."

"Lily is _so_ Paul..."

"No, _I'm_..."

(Home and Away)

The family Cortina—with a sigh of finality—switched off at the turn of Edie Evans's key, and, as the headlights died, the two remaining Evans women sat in the dark car for a few seconds.

"It was a wonderful day, wasn't it?" asked the mother, a sentimental smile visible on her face, even in the minimal light.

Lily tried to smile. "Yeah. It was nice."

Patting Lily's hand one last time, Mrs. Evans opened her car door, and both women embarked upon the laborious—or at least tedious—task of unloading the car. Were it not for muggle neighbors, Lily would have completed the job with a quick spell, but the summer sun set late, and patches of pale grays and blues up above retained just enough light to make Lily wary of using magic out on the street.

When, at last, the car was empty and the kitchen and sitting room were considerably less so, Mrs. Evans poured herself a glass of water and announced that she was going to bed.

"Mum, it's barely nine," Lily pointed out, laughing.

"Yes, yes, I'm old, make your jokes now; I'll be dead soon."

Lily rolled her eyes, kissing her mother on the cheek anyway. "'Night."

"Goodnight, Love."

Lily heard rather than saw the dispatch of her mum's footsteps on the stairs and then the closing of her bedroom door. Exhaling heavily—due purely to exhaustion—Lily toed off her shoes and left them on the kitchen floor before grabbing a slice of cake and relocating into the sitting room.

She had every intention of switching on the telly, but she suddenly realized that the effort involved in such an act exceeded her capacity at the moment. Instead, Lily tucked her legs underneath her, snuggled up to a pillow, and took a bite of cake.

_"Merlin_, that's good," she said to the dark room, and she took another bite.

About halfway through the consumption of the cake, Lily began to compose a little song—an ode, if you will—to said food, and it was this that she was humming when there was a knock on the front door. Lily frowned at the interruption. She debated ignoring the inconvenient caller all together. However, there were only a few bites left of cake, and she swallowed them quickly, brushing crumbs onto the plate.

Then, sighing, she dragged herself off the couch—her feet ached a little—and slouched to the front door. She was almost certain the visitor would be their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who frequently telephoned or dropped by at what she considered all hours (in reality, a few minutes past nine) to request that Lily or her mother check her backyard for imagined hooligans (who were never actually there).

As a result, Lily was rather surprised to see not Mrs. Fitzpatrick, but Mary MacDonald and Marlene Price standing on her front porch.

"We're here to kidnap you," said Mary.

Lily stared, bewildered. "What?"

"We've come to kidnap you," Marlene reiterated.

"Oh?"

Mary nodded proudly. "And we brought reinforcements."

"What do you...?" But she soon saw what Mary meant anyway; the brunette pointed out to the strip of grass closest to the curb, where Donna stood, leaning against a car parked on the street, with four boys—Remus Lupin, James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew, she realized a moment later. "I don't understand."

"We never properly celebrated your birthday," said Marlene. "And Mary and I promised to make it up to you at your half birthday. Remember?"

"Vaguely..."

"And we all kind of want to get sloshed," Mary added. "Which really preceded the whole 'half-birthday' thing. That was actually a bit of an afterthought."

"We were already on your street before we remembered it," Marlene admitted.

Lily tried to keep up. "I just got back from my sister's wedding, and..."

"Oh, do you mean the wedding you were just kicked out of?" asked Mary innocently.

"Um... yeah..."

"The wedding of your _only_ sister who thinks you're a freak to a man that loathes you almost as much as you loathe him?"

"Yes..."

"Were there any cute groomsmen?"

"No, and why are you _trying_ to make me miserable?"

"Because we want you to come with us!" whined Mary.

"Why would that make me come with you?"

Marlene frowned. "Oh. Did we not mention that yet?" She turned and called over her shoulder: "_Potter! _Come here!"

James reluctantly got to his feet and jogged over to them. He was carrying a paper bag. "What it is then? Is Evans being a wet blanket?"

"Sod off."

"Show it," ordered Marlene.

"In public?"

"Very funny—you know what I mean."

James did. He grinned and pulled a bottle out of the paper bag.

"Tequila?"

"In a big way."

"And the Marauders know how to get by muggle drinking laws," added Mary.

Lily considered the three of them for a moment and then the other four out by the curb. At last, she shrugged. "Just... let me go tell my mum..."

* * *

They sat in a ring; James next to Sirius next to Marlene next to Mary next to Peter next to Remus next to Donna next to Lily next to James, with the tequila passed between them.

How they came to sit there, at the deserted, streetlight soaked top of a multi-storey car park is a long and complex tale, best summed up in Lily's current, half-incredulous, half-laughing exclamation of: "I can't believe we were thrown _out_—I've never been thrown out of _anywhere_... except a wedding, of course."

She took a swig of the liquor and handed it off to Donna, who, wiping off the rim with the sleeve of her shirt, shook her head and vowed: "I am _never_ going anywhere with you idiots again!" She meant, of course, the Marauders.

Sirius laughed, not really believing her. "We've never _actually_ been chased down the road like that," he admitted. "But you have to admit, Shack—it was pretty funny."

"It was _not_ funny!" Donna protested; she took a drink of the tequila. "It was... humiliating!" But even _she_ had trouble convincing herself, and she handed the bottle over to Remus.

"Do you _often_ get thrown out of pubs?" Marlene wanted to know, dropping her head onto Sirius's shoulder in her more advanced stage of intoxication.

"Are you kidding?" asked Remus dryly; "That's what they do to pass time."

"Honestly," agreed Peter, taking the bottle in turn; "that stunt was fairly tame. You should see them run 'Horatio.'"

"'Horatio?'" echoed Mary curiously. "Who's that?"

"'Horatio' is a game that these prats like to play to get thrown out of pubs," explained Remus, rolling his eyes.

"You're not exactly an innocent bystander, Lupin," Sirius pointed out; the bottle was handed to Marlene, but he took it from her. "You're two shots ahead of the rest of us, Price," he replied to her protesting pout. "And you'll thank me in the morning."

"What a gentleman," mocked Donna, while Sirius took a swig and presented the bottle to James.

"So, on average," Lily queried casually, leaning back against the palms of her hands, "how many pubs would you say that you're thrown out of... y'know... per week?"

"No more than one," said James solemnly, and the redhead laughed, taking the bottle from him. "Didn't know you were such a drinker, Snaps."

"Tonight I earned it," Lily replied; following her first gulp with another, before once again handing the bottle along. Curious, James looked at her, bathed in the orange light of the streetlamp, but he had no chance to inquire, because Marlene took that moment to announce that she was going to race Mary to the end of the lot, and both girls scrambled to their feet, scuffling towards the distant wall.

"We should probably make sure no one goes tumbling over any precipices," said Remus wisely.

Acknowledging the truth of this, the others also rose; Remus jogged after Marlene and Mary, while Sirius, Donna, Peter, Lily, and James followed at a slower rate.

Lily stole the bottle back from Donna and lagged somewhat behind the others, until James too fell back, watching her somewhat suspiciously as she took another swig.

"Alright. Spill it," he ordered, smirking.

"Spill what?" asked Lily, confused.

"What happened at this wedding? You must have done something... did you trip and everyone saw? Spill wine on the bride's gown? Lose the ring?"

Lily scoffed. "I didn't do anything embarrassing, Potter."

"Liar."

"I'm not..." But she broke off, because the grin on his face was just too all-knowing. Sighing, Lily relented. "I called groom's sister fat to her face."

James's expression immediately lit up, unable as he was to contain the amusement this inspired. "You _didn't_..."

"Don't laugh," Lily scolded.

"Well was she?'

"Was she what?'

"_Fat_."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Yes, very, but that's not the point! I feel... well, I don't exactly feel _bad_. That cow had it coming, but I shouldn't have attacked her physical appearance... it's very low. I _should_ have called her ignorant and mundane and stupid, but... but she was just standing there... all pink and chiffon-y and ugly and mean, and I couldn't think of anything—oh, stop laughing!"

"What did she _do_?" James wanted to know. "It must have been bad to earn such a reaction from Saint Lily."

"Don't call me that. And... she badmouthed my mum and dad."

James's eyebrows shot up. "Wait a minute; this bird was at _your_ sister's wedding, trashing _your_ mum and dad, one of whom is deceased, and all you did was call her fat?"

"Well... I threw champagne in her face."

"You should have smashed the glass over her head!"

Lily chuckled in spite of herself, but James remained resolute.

"I'm _serious! _That's what _I_ would have done!"

"Well... I called the woman she was talking with... this aging aunt, I guess—I sort of called her a 'sagging, irrelevant hag.'"

James stared at her for a moment and then began to laugh again. Something about this Lily found to be irresistibly contagious.

"Sod off, Potter—I _ought_ to feel guilty!" she said through giggles. James only rolled his eyes.

"Rubbish. You have nothing to feel guilty about."

Lily did not reply; instead, she turned her eyes to her friends. Sirius was making a dramatic show of pretending to rescue Marlene, which she, evidently, found exceptionally amusing. Lily frowned thoughtfully.

"James..." she began slowly. "You don't think...?"

James followed her stare to two of their friends. He shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

The wizard hesitated; "I just... reckon that Marlene is... better suited towards someone else."

Lily did not press the point. Rather, she tweaked the topic slightly; "Sirius and Remus told me about your epic journey today."

"Did they?" asked James, amused. "How did I miss that?"

"You were buying drinks."

"Ah. And did Sirius slay any dragons in this version of the account?"

"No, but _you_ battled a troll..."

"I was included this time? How fortunate!"

"Oh, yes, Sirius talked you up quite a bit."

"Decent of him, considering last time he told the story, he threatened to leave me out entirely."

Lily smiled, and they reached the end of the lot, where the others had congregated. "We're playing Ten Fingers," Marlene declared, having freed herself from Sirius's grip.

Remus sighed. "This is what we get for teaching her drinking games."

Except, when they had sat down in a row on the asphalt, leaning against the wall edge of the top level of the multi-storey car park, with the bottle continually passed down the line, the structure of "Ten Fingers" quickly degenerated into drinking and saying whatever popped into someone's head.

"Never have I ever... snogged Remus Lupin," said Mary, taking a drink of the tequila, because the rules had stopped applying a long time ago.

"Mary, don't deny it," joked Remus, taking the bottle from her. "We can't hide our love forever." He took a drink and laughed. "Never have I ever... killed someone."

"That you _know _of," said Sirius.

Peter took the bottle. "Never have I ever snogged a bloke."

"That you _know _of," Sirius repeated. He took the bottle in his turn and swallowed a large gulp. "Never have I ever... cooked my own supper." He shuddered at the mere thought. Marlene rolled her eyes.

"Never have I ever... dated Miles Stimpson." She took a drink. "Wait—no. I did that. For three _fucking_ years." She took another drink.

"Bitter, much?" scoffed Donna.

Marlene stuck out her tongue. "Never have I ever shagged Charlie Plex."

"You bitch." Donna took the bottle. "Never have I ever sung Gloria Gaynor into a hairbrush."

Marlene snatched the bottle back. "Never have I ever pretended to be sick, because I forgot to study for an Ancient Runes test."

"Never have I ever had my boyfriend snog Carlotta Meloni!"

"Never have I ever been hexed by Cassidy Gamp!"

"Never have I ever not eaten bread for a week, because I'm weirdly insecure!"

"Never have I ever..." Marlene paused. "What do you mean 'weirdly insecure?'"

"Oh, c'mon," snapped Donna. "You own a mirror. You can't _actually_ think you're morbidly obese."

Marlene stared at her.

"_This_ just got interesting," said Sirius. "Are you two going to snog now?" Donna kicked him.

"Thank-you," said Marlene to Donna eventually. "And I'm sorry I brought up the Cassidy Gamp thing."

"It's okay," replied Donna. The lot of them were quiet for a moment, and then Mary started a conversation with Remus and Peter, and James turned to Lily.

"I think they _are_ going to snog."

"Shut up and grab the bottle," Lily ordered, grinning, and James did so.

"Never have I ever called someone 'fat' and thrown champagne in their face," he said, taking a gulp.

"Never have I ever made up pet names for my supposed 'just friends.'"

"Touché."

"Cheers."

"Never have I ever... painted my fingernails," said Sirius.

"Never have I ever... jumped off a multi-storey car park!"

"Marlene!"

"What? I don't _intend_ to!"

"Never have I ever... flirted with an elderly person."

"Never have I ever... thrown apples at muggles on Boxing Day!"

"Never have I ever actually _celebrated_ Boxing Day..."

"Never have I ever... wait, no, I've done that..."

And it continued on in that fashion for some time. But then, eventually, the tequila bottle—though bewitched to hold a lot more than appearance suggested—began to run low, and the hours grew late, and the sentences (as edifying as they had been to begin with, of course) became less and less coherent, until, at last, yawning and stretching, Mary declared that she was going to go home.

"I'll go with ya, love," slurred Marlene, draping herself over her friend's shoulders.

"_Neither_ of you should be apparating," Remus scolded, getting unsteadily to his feet and helping the two witches up as well. "C'mon—we'll go down to the street and call the Knight Bus."

"Never have I ever ridden on the Knight Bus," yawned Marlene. She looped her arm through Remus's and dropped her head on his shoulder; "Is it fun?"

"She is _so_ going to vomit," sighed Lily, watching the three retreat. Peter trotted after them.

"Wait a minute; I'm coming, too!"

"I'm going, too," said Donna, primarily to Lily. "I work at noon tomorrow, after all."

"What time is it now?" Lily asked curiously. Sirius checked his watch, squinting to read it.

"Almost two. Or three. I don't know. Not early."

"_Exactly_," agreed Donna. She patted Lily's shoulder, and then followed after the other four towards the descending stair.

Sirius clapped James good-naturedly on the arm. "I'll see you tomorrow, mate."

"Yeah. 'Night, Padfoot."

Sirius saluted vaguely, nodding to Lily, and adding in a dignified farewell: "_Your highness_," before apparating away.

"I hope he doesn't splinch himself," she remarked, but the alcohol in her body prevented her from being too very worried about it.

"Nah, he's better drunk," said James. "C'mon..." He draped an arm over her shoulders. "I'll walk you to your door."

* * *

Lily and James appeared in the little patch of trees near the park where she had once played with Severus. Moonlight suited James Potter just fine, Lily reasoned, when they stepped out into the sand, and the white glow illuminated a part of his face, reflecting off one lens of his specs. It was a moment before Lily realized that she was staring and looked away.

"Which way then, Snaps?" James asked cheerfully, strutting out onto the grass and looking out at the rows of houses.

Lily giggled, inexplicably amused by the sight of James—James Potter, Hogwarts nemesis of once upon a time—standing in her ordinary, muggle neighborhood. He had been there earlier, of course, when the others had all shown up to "kidnap" her, but she'd been so distracted then that the thought had not really occurred to her.

She joined him on the grass, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the street. "_This_ way," and she guided him, looping her arm through his rather than letting go. Anyway, it was easier to walk with the support.

"Aren't you cold?" James wanted to know, as they strolled along. He eyed her exposed, freckled arms, and she laughed again.

"Firewhiskey, it so happens, is a coat made of wool," Lily replied.

"It's a nice dress," he told her. "You look like a sunflower."

"I like sunflowers," mused Lily inconsequentially. Yes, the yellow must really have been good for her.

They stepped into the street in order to cross, and Lily, overcome by the sudden urge to twirl, let go of James's arm. She spun around like a ballerina, and only stopped when she nearly tripped over the curb. Laughing, James hurried up to her, steadying her.

"_Hey_."

"Hey what?"

"_Hey_, I can take care of myself," Lily said, tossing her hair with faux indignation. "I have... reasonably good balance, you know."

"You've been drinking," said James.

"So have you," accused Lily. She hopped onto the sidewalk again and pulled James along with her, this time taking him by the collar of his shirt. "_This _way, Potter."

"I'm coming, _Evans_."

Very soon, they stood in front of Lily's house; the porch light was on. "Mum's gone to bed," Lily said. "She turns on the light when one of us is out but she doesn't want to wait up."

"Oh," said James. "So this is where the Her Majesty summers."

"It's no castle," Lily allowed. "But I rather like it."

"Castles are overrated," agreed James; he led the way to the door, and they stopped on the top step. "I would know... I live in one."

"So do I," pointed out the other. "Hogwarts."

"Fair enough."

"Well... aren't you at least excited about your holiday next week?"

James had once again brought up his impending trip to the coast earlier with something less than enthusiasm, and he now shrugged.

"On the beach at night alone, as the old mother sways her to and fro, something, something, something," chanted Lily, facing James, arms folded across her chest. He grinned.

"Do you always recite poetry when you drink?"

"Do you always... Hey..."

"Hey what?"

"You're orange."

"What?"

"Orange."

James arched one eyebrow, stepping subtly forward and cocking his head to one side. "What are you talking about, Snaps?"

Lily nodded towards the porch light. "Orange. You look orange." She giggled again, and James snorted.

"You're toasted, Snaps."

"Well so are _you_! I bet you couldn't even... couldn't even..."

"Couldn't even what?"

"I dunno! Do something really simple that only sober people could do! Snap with both fingers!"

James raised both hands to eye level and began to snap, causing Lily to laugh. "You're ridiculous," she told him. "Stop it."

"No," teased James. "You wanted me to snap, and I'm snapping."

"Shhhh," hushed Lily, glancing towards the upstairs window where her mother slept. "James, stop it!" But she wasn't really angry.

"Nope. I am _snapping_, Snaps."

"Stop it!"

"Nuh-uh..."

Lily grabbed both of his hands with her considerably smaller ones, trying to hold them down, to little success until James relaxed his arms. The victorious Lily smirked up at her defeated adversary, only to realize that she now stood quite close to him. The toes of her shoes brushed the rubber tips of his trainers, and she still held his warm hands in hers. The space between their noses was primarily due only to the height difference; James stared down at her, and she stared back, the smile not quite faded from her lips...

Her lips, which were, incidentally, dangerously near to his.

This sobered Lily at once, as did the unexpected seriousness of James's expression. Neither of them smiled now; it was almost as though all the air had been sucked out of each, and, for a second, they both held their breath.

James had really, really, _really_ nice eyes.

And he was about to kiss her.

No, _she_ was about to kiss _him_.

No...

Oh, what did it matter?

They were both moving closer and closer, diminishing the infinitesimal space between their lips. Lily wasn't conscious of closing her eyes, and she didn't close them all the way, anyway, but her lids dropped, and suddenly, she wasn't seeing James, but feeling him. Her purse fell to the sidewalk; her hands had moved to his shoulders, then his neck. She stood on her toes. His breath warmed her where it touched—her head was angled, tilted just to respond to the angle of his, and she wasn't sure if she actually _felt_ the brush of his lips or if that was only the anticipation... Imagination, maybe, because she'd wondered for so long what it might be like, and...

Wait.

_What?_

Lily opened her eyes.

"We've been drinking!" she sputtered far too loudly.

She stepped back, removing her hands from James and lacing them together behind her back, as though afraid they might act without her permission. James took a step back too, looking like he'd had the wind knocked out of him, as he ran one hand through his thick hair.

"I'm sorry," Lily apologized frantically, picking up her purse again. "I didn't... I should have..."

"No, no, it's fine," said James quickly. "I mean—you're right. Obviously."

He was processing.

Lily wondered if it was _actually_ possible to die from sheer humiliation. And the way her heart was beating—_that_ couldn't be healthy.

"I m-m-mean," she began, pushing her hair away from her flushed face, "it's just... it's been a really... emotional day..."

"No, yeah, I should probably go..."

"Yeah. I mean—you don't have to, but it's late, so you probably want..." (_Stop talking, idiot!)_

"Lily, calm down, it's fine—nothing... y'know..."

"Happened," she finished for him. "Right."

"I'll go."

"Okay."

He turned to leave.

"Goodnight!" Lily called after him, her voice unnaturally high. He faced her again, swallowing.

"Goodnight, Lily."

James once again started down the path to the sidewalk, but Lily—still quite flustered—felt the need to say _something_ else... _explain_...

"James!"

He halted once more, and when he looked at her, the wizard seemed considerably calmer. Lily, meanwhile, was about to hyperventilate.

"I'm—I'm sorry," she awkwardly reiterated. "I mean, I just... I can't..."

"Lily," he cut her off, and his voice sounded... strange; "it's _fine_. Like you said—we've been drinking."

"Right."

"'Night."

"Goodnight."

Then he left. Lily went inside.

Mysteriously unhappy with the "intoxicated" explanation for what had just happened (_Almost happened_, she mentally corrected), she closed the front door behind her, falling unsteadily back on it and breathing deeply to calm herself. She brought one hand up to her forehead in a moderately successful attempt to cool her burning skin. What—what exactly _had_ just (almost) happened?

Oh, Merlin.

What a day.

She sighed heavily.

"_Bloody hell_."

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, I'm not crazy, and I know that Lily and James aren't real people, but I swear to Billy Joel, when I was writing that last scene, they WANTED to make out. Like, there are legit versions of this, where they just make out. And even though I went into this chapter KNOWING that they _weren't_ actually going to kiss... even though I started the scene _knowing_ that they _couldn't_, I kept writing it otherwise!

So, what I'm telling you is that the keyboard on my laptop is _clearly_ a shipper.

For some insight into who will NOT be hooking up with whom, see the blog. Link in my profile.

Thank you to EVERYONE who has read and reviewed this story. It means so much to me. I cannot believe that I am 26 chapters in... that I actually wrote these scenes that have been in my head since LAT began! I'm really excited to continue writing as long as you'll continue reading, and though I completely suck and have not had time for review responses, please believe me when I say that I am very, very grateful for all of the feedback.

Much love to anyone who catches the "Shaken, Not Stirred" references.

Reviews are cinnamon rolls.

Love,

Jules


	27. Land of Dreams

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo-Ro.

**Before:** The summer before, Carlotta and Frank met on holiday, while the Longbottoms stayed at the Potters' West Country House. Frank and Carlotta kissed, and Carlotta wanted to have a relationship with him, but he was more interested in fixing things with Alice. After a night of drunken shenanigans with their friends, Lily and James _almost_ kiss, but Lily's backs off. The auror Lathe, who investigated at Hogwarts, killed death eater Logan Harper in an altercation in Hogsmeade, and the Harpers are now having him investigated, resulting in his suspension from the auror department. In the mean time, Lathe has been hanging around the Leaky Cauldron, where Donna and Sirius are both working. Adam McKinnon has a new girlfriend, Prudence Daly, prompting Marlene to acknowledge her feelings for him.

Chapter 27- Land of Dreams

Or

"Put a Little Love in Your Heart"

The afternoon sunlight filtered through her bedroom window, and suddenly, Lily became aware of her back coming into contact with something soft and cushioned—her bed. Her head dropped down atop the pillows, and—_Merlin —_he was kissing her again, on the neck this time, trailing down, and his hands... one, he used to prop himself up (she could feel the bed indent beside her), and the other trailed up her leg, pushing up the purple cotton of her skirt, moving higher and higher—he trailed his fingernails along her now exposed hip, and she sighed.

Lily opened her eyes again in time to see him grin crookedly at her, and she couldn't help it—she pulled his face down to hers, kissing him roughly, fingers now lost in his hair as she divided his lips. He kicked off his shoes.

With one hand still tangled up in his untidy black hair, she used the other to pull at his necktie—she hadn't realized he'd been wearing one until now—and his fingertips grazed her leg again, this time moving provocatively inward. Unbuttoning his shirt in haste, she could feel her heart quicken, anticipating the touch of more skin; her fingers moved deftly to undo the buttons, and the shirt was gone or discarded in a moment.

She disengaged her hands long enough for him to pull her insignificant white t-shirt over her head, and then there was very little between them. She kissed him, biting his lower lip, and his grip on her thigh momentarily became a little tighter. Her hands traveled downward, from his hair to his neck, shoulders, and back—smooth and warm and wonderful.

He ran one hand up the bare side of her torso (she shivered), ending in her loose hair. He cradled her head in his hand for a few seconds and—still kissing her aggressively—fell onto the bed, putting Lily over him. Laughing, she tore her lips away from his, and brushed kisses along his jaw, down his neck. She smiled as the skin of her stomach brushed against his abdomen, unexpectedly sensual.

Lily pulled back, just for a moment, because she wanted to look at him. He was so... beautiful. It was odd, almost disconcerting, except that just then, _nothing_ could be wrong or flawed.

_Finally_.

"Hi," James murmured, and Lily smiled.

"Hi."

He leaned forward—upward, actually—to kiss her again, but this time it was slow... Something bubbled up inside of Lily—not just butterflies... something deep and burning. Want or need or _something_.

She placed a hand on his stomach, but it soon moved upward, over his chest, around the shoulder furthest from her—all of this Lily hardly noticed, because the way he was kissing her was like nothing...

What the hell was that _ringing_ sound?

Lily woke with a start.

Her first instinct was to check her surroundings, just to make sure, but her bedroom was much as it always was, and she was alone in it. Thank God. She was neither in a state of undress nor wearing the purple skirt and white tee of the dream, but safely covered in the plaid flannel pajamas of last night. Her hair was not free and sprawling, but tied into two respectable plaits, somewhat muddled from a good night's sleep, but certainly no less principled. The only thing awry in the whole situation was that odd ringing in her ears...

Lily censured herself for idiocy a second later. The ringing, of course, was her alarm clock—the thing that had awoken her in the first place—and she practically fell off her bed to reach the nightstand and switch it off.

That, sadly, did not slow the beating of her heart.

She needed a shower.

Like... now.

(Horseshoes)

They hadn't kissed.

If they _had_, this might be something worth thinking about right now, but they _hadn't_, so... so it was fine. Well, not _fine_. Obviously, James would rather have preferred the whole thing if they _had_ kissed, but she was drunk, and so was he, and it would have been a bad idea, because she _certainly_ would have regretted it, and _that_ was even worse than the fact that she had deterred it. There were a million reasons _not _to kiss someone, but if you _did_ kiss them and then regretted it... well, that meant you hadn't changed your mind. And then there really _was_ no hope.

So, it was a good thing that they hadn't kissed.

Really.

Except...

He was _such_ an idiot.

Hadn't Lily made it abundantly clear for years and years that they were _never _going to be anything like _that_?

_ (But hadn't Lily once made it abundantly clear that she could not abide the sight of him, and now weren't they friends_?)

And hadn't he sworn to give up on her?

_ (But hadn't he done that before? And if he had held true to that, would he be friends with Lily now?)_

And hadn't he resigned himself to the fact that it was never, ever going to happen between them?

_ (Sort of.)_

James sat up in bed. The clock on the nightstand claimed that it was about half past eight, but James had been up for half an hour and didn't see how that was likely. He'd gone to bed rather late the night before, and he _ought_ to be exhausted... sleeping in, taking his time with his last morning at home before the Potters shipped off to the coast.

But something was bothering him—something he couldn't shake.

They _hadn't_ kissed. So what was his problem, anyway?

Well, he knew the answer to that. Unfortunately.

She didn't _want_ to kiss him.

She didn't _want_ to have anything like that between them.

Obviously, Lily _really_ did just want to be friends. Why in Merlin's name couldn't he just _accept_ that?

James dropped miserably back onto his pillows.

He was being stupid. The whole business was pathetic. They were (practically) _drunk _at the time. Lily probably hadn't given the matter a second thought.

(Nothing to Report)

Ira the cat followed Lily into the kitchen, where she grabbed the telephone receiver and dialed the familiar number. The line rang four or five times before a garbled voice of Mary MacDonald snapped: "This had better be good!"

"It's Lily. Did I wake you up?"

"It's eight thirty—of _course_ you woke me up! Now what's up, Lily? I'm beginning to regret giving you the number to my bedroom phone."

"Calm down, Mary," retorted Lily. She glanced around the kitchen to make sure that she really was alone, and, when satisfied, said: "I think I had a sex dream."

"Oi, really?" Mary's interest was piqued. "How was it?"

"Well... we didn't get to the sex part... the alarm woke me up."

"Your alarm is set for _before _nine o'clock?"

"_Really_, Mare? _That's_ the part you choose to focus on?"

"Right, right. So..." Mary's muddled a.m. brain took a moment to process, "it was really more of a foreplay dream."

"I suppose..."

"And you've never had a sex dream before?"

"No... I mean, I've had fairly... heated... dreams before, but this was... different."

Mary laughed. "You're even a virgin in dreamland!"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Thank you for that, Mary."

Still giggling, Mary seemed to be waking up. "So who was the bloke?"

_Shit_.

Lily realized she hadn't really thought this phone call through very well at all.

"_Lily_? Still there?"

"What? Yes. Here."

"Who was it? Who were you almost shagging?"

"No one."

The line went quiet for a few seconds. "Lily, do I _really_ have to explain how that works...?"

"_No_. I mean, there was a bloke, but he wasn't anybody really... just kind of... non-descript..." Lily bit her lip, wondering if this lie was as obvious to Mary as it sounded to her. Ira was scowling at her, but Lily refused to be judged by a cat.

"Ah, a fictional bloke." Mary sighed. "The best kind."

"Yep." Growing uncomfortable, Lily searched for an out. "Well, Mare, I'll let you get back to sleep..."

"What? No. You can't do that. It's not fair!"

"_Please_, you'll be asleep inside of five minutes."

"Well, probably, but I want _details_, Lily."

"Ew. No. Not on the phone."

"Not your style?" teased Mary.

"Ice it, MacDonald."

Mary laughed. "_Fine_. But I'm getting all the information tomorrow."

"What?"

"We're going shopping," Mary reminded her. "Marlene and I got our Hogwarts letters yesterday, so we were all going to skip around Diagon Alley. _Remember_?"

"Oi, right." Mary might have had a point about eight-thirty being too early: Lily tried to remember the exact conversation she'd had with Marlene the previous afternoon. "So... it's just us girls then?"

"You and me and Mar," chirped Mary. "Donna has to work. Of course, we _could_ invite the Marauders, as they're your new best _mates_ apparently..."

"No, no," said Lily quickly. "Just us girls. Please."

"Alright." Mary yawned. "Anyway, James Potter wouldn't be able to make it. He's gone on holiday with his family, remember, and you really ought to have the whole set if you're dealing with the Marauders."

Lily wondered how on earth Mary was able to recall all the minute details of everyone's lives, but decided not to question it. Of course, her friend was right. The other night, after the wedding, James had mentioned he'd be heading to the coast, so at least she wouldn't run into him in Diagon Alley.

Not that she was avoiding him.

Although, she was.

Absolutely.

"Mare, I'm gonna go."

"Fine. Call me later, Love—we can set details."

"Yeah, bye."

Lily hung up the phone and sat down at the kitchen table. A moment later, her mother entered the kitchen.

"Good morning, Lily."

"'Morning, Mum."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Sweet dreams?"

Lily almost fell out of her chair. _Bloody hell_.

"Fine. Slept fine. Nothing to report. I'm going to take a shower."

(Harthouse)

"James Alexander Potter, if I come up there to find that you are _still _not packed, I swear to Merlin, I will...!"

James appeared on the main staircase, levitating his fully prepared trunk down after him. Grace Potter broke off, mid-rant, and her expression softened immediately. "Hello, dear."

"You were saying?"

"Get down here—we're leaving in five minutes," Mrs. Potter said briskly, ignoring her son's sarcasm. "Your father is down checking the road to make sure its clear, and we'll apparate from there."

"Why don't we just floo?" asked James, trudging downward. "We wouldn't have to walk all the way past the wards."

"The exercise will do you good... and I don't like flooing with baggage. Risky. Child, have you even _touched_ your hair this morning?"

James made a face, automatically running one hand through his already disheveled hair. "I love when you call me 'Child,'" he remarked sarcastically, arriving beside her in the foyer. "It makes me feel so loved and appreciated... like, even though it's completely impossible that you've gotten me mixed up with another child, because I am your first and only, there is still a _slight_ chance that you don't actually remember my name, and you're only calling me 'Child' to conceal that fact."

Mrs. Potter had begun rummaging in her purse for something. "Whatever you say, Sirius."

"Very funny."

Just then, Mr. Potter appeared at the front door, and he did not look pleased.

"Is the road full of muggles?" asked Mrs. Potter, disappointed. "I swear, they must have a parade past there every weeken..."

"It's not muggles," said Mr. Potter, closing the door behind him. "It's witches and wizards this time."

"By the gates?" James queried, bewildered. "_Why_?"

Mr. Potter sighed. "The announcement of my resignation was just made."

"Oh, _no_..."

"They're clambering for a comment..."

"Alex, _no_," said Mrs. Potter firmly. "We're leaving today. You _promised_. It's the Ministry's own fault that they didn't make the announcement until after they found your replacement..."

"Interim replacement," Alex Potter corrected. "They still haven't chosen a permanent head of the department."

"Uncharacteristically inefficient," noted James, earning him a glare from both his parents. "Oh, what? _You're_ allowed to mock the Ministry, but _I'm_ not?"

"Exactly."

"Rubbish."

"In any case," Mrs. Potter continued, folding her arms, "we'll just have to floo away. They won't know the difference, and..."

"They _deserve_ some kind of statement," interjected Mr. Potter. "Grace, in times like these, the last thing people want is to have the head of D.M.L.E. dodging out on them..."

"Alex, you _promised_..."

"Believe me, Grace, I would much rather..."

James beamed. "Oh, _shoot, _it doesn't look like I'll be holed up in the middle of a muggle town with no contact to the outside world _after all!_ Well, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll pop over to Sirius's for a..."

"Hold it," interrupted his mother, rounding on him. "You can floo ahead to the house. Your father and I will be along in a moment."

"But..."

"Take the trunks with you."

"But..."

"James."

"_Fine_."

He obeyed, albeit reluctantly and with a mutinous scowl, levitating the two packed trunks into the library after him. Resting one of the trunks on the stone floor of the library's roomy fireplace, James brought the other to stand perpendicular to it. He grabbed a handful of ash-like floo powder from its usual crystalline bowl on the high mantle and stepped into the fireplace, sitting down on the reclined trunk and placing his free hand on the latch of the other. He closed his eyes instinctively, throwing the powder down to the ground and muttering: "Harthouse."

* * *

Less than a hundred years old, the Potter's West Country house had been a wedding present to Mrs. Potter from a beloved aunt. Though the nearby town was distinctly muggle, the area remained a popular spot for magic-kind to holiday, due mostly to the picturesque scenery and sparse population.

The house itself was a tall Victorian, not _very_ large, but certainly expansive enough for the three Potters. The entire exterior was painted white, somewhat distressed over the years of wind and rain, and yet resiliently pretty. There stood a lonely willow on the brief patch of unkempt grass that gave way to sand and dirt just a few paces from the house, through which a narrow path crept from the porch to the pavement, which in turn guided the winding, ten minute walk into town.

While not exactly derelict, Harthouse had an uninhabited feel that was not done away with when James and his mother unpacked the majority of a few weeks' necessities. Wind beat softly against the shutters, and the wooden floorboards creaked discretely as James tread cautiously over them; the sound of waves and smell of salt carried from the shore on the other side of a low hill half a mile north.

James had not been in the house a full hour—his mother only twenty minutes—when he realized that, even in the days of years gone by, when the Potters had come to stay in the house several times a year, it had felt similarly disowned.

"How long, then?" James asked his mother, as she set about conjuring a fire in the dusty fireplace.

"Your father will be here for supper."

James drew his wand and waved it once in the direction of the nearest sofa, effectively sweeping away dust that had settled there in a year's worth of unoccupied days. He took a seat there and was shortly joined by his mother.

"I suppose it's for the best," he remarked. "He couldn't very well just... leave."

Mrs. Potter only nodded, and then fixed a smile on her face. "It's a lovely house," she said unimportantly. "I wish we spent more time here lately."

James mirrored her expression. "Well, we've got almost a month now to get sick of it."

"Don't be cynical, James."

(Tuesday)

The first Tuesday of August was as hot and dry as the rest of the summer had been. Donna bid her brothers and sister farewell a few minutes before noon with no suspicions that today would be any different (or worse) than any other afternoon shift at the Leaky Cauldron. On her arrival, she was reminded of the first indication that today would not be a normal day.

Sirius Black stood behind the bar, serving a pair of witches their lunch, with a murderous expression on his face.

"Pining after your boyfriend since he went on holiday?" asked Donna, tying her apron around her waist and smirking at her co-worker's evident bitterness.

"You laugh now," retorted Sirius; "but just you wait. _Just you wait_."

"Just I wait for what?"

"Icarus Frop."

"What?"

"Icarus Frop," Sirius repeated. He disappeared into the back to clock out for a moment, and then returned, arms folded across his chest. Donna waited for an explanation. "Tom's _nephew_... we're supposed to be training him today."

"Oi, right," Donna recollected, pouring pumpkin juice for a witch at the bar. "The French bloke, right?"

"He's not French."

"I thought Tom said he went to Beauxbatons..."

"He did, apparently, for a few years. But he's English... or... something."

Donna frowned. "What does _that_ mean?"

"It means I'm not actually _sure_ what species he is, so I feel a little disloyal claiming him as a child of the same nation as I."

"What are you on about, Black?"

"Oh, you'll see what I'm on about..." A slight, somewhat vindictive smile grew on Sirius's face, the result of some combination annoyance and exhaustion. "In fact, I would really, _really_ like sticking around to _see_ you see what I'm on about, because you, Shack, are not as patient as I, and will probably... well... we'll just have to see what you'll do."

"_Black_..."

"Unfortunately," Sirius went on, "I have an appointment with a prospective renter for my flat, and must prematurely tear myself away..." He stepped out from behind the bar.

"But—where's Icarus Frop?" Donna wanted to know.

"He's on lunch. In fact... he's been on lunch since ten-thirty."

"_What_?"

"Believe me," said Sirius, starting for the door to Diagon Alley, "it's been the nicest hour and a half of my morning." He bowed his head as he reached the back exit; "Goodbye, Shacklebolt, and remember—hex first, ask questions later."

With that, Sirius was gone, and Donna was left thoroughly confused behind the counter. However, she quickly shrugged off Sirius's warnings, because he, as a Marauder, was known to be more than slightly dramatic, and more likely than not he was only toying with her. Anyway, the pub buzzed with the lunch hour crowd, and she had not the time to waste on pondering.

Icarus Frop made his first appearance about an hour into Donna's shift. He was tall and lean, with reddish brown hair he wore feathered and long, transitioning seamlessly into a neatly trimmed goatee. He had fair skin and a long, narrow nose that gave his face an angled, pointed look. He was not without a certain degree of handsomeness, but this fact was not lost on him either, and in his every word, he became, to Donna at any rate, less and less attractive. It started when he entered the Leaky Cauldron.

"_Hello_, Sugar," was Mr. Frop's greeting, and at once Donna's eyebrows shot up.

"No," she said.

"What?"

"I said 'no.' As in, _no_, you will _not_ call me 'Sugar.' Donna Shacklebolt is my name. 'Donna' will suffice, or 'Shacklebolt' or, if you are so inclined, 'Shack,' but only if you are so inexplicably inclined."

Wiser men would have cowered in the face of such sheer, unconcealed disdain, but Icarus Frop had twenty-two years of experience with ignoring the dignity of others (particularly the opposite sex, and he only smiled.

"Whatever you say, Sugar."

(Letter One)

Marlene Price stared at the opened letter upon her desk with all the contempt of someone deeply wronged.

Not that she _had_ been wronged. It was not Adam McKinnon's fault that she had placed such faith in his inaction, or that she had interpreted his silence on the subject of Prudence Daly as a hopeful omen. And he had no way of knowing what she wouldn't _tell_ him. He had no way of knowing that in his brief two pages of script, including a brief mention of his new love interest, he had effectively dispelled the one thing that she had clung to.

For, as long as Adam had _not_ mentioned his new relationship, Marlene had held out that it was not anything more than Mary claimed: a summer fling.

So with trepidation, Marlene had opened the letter brought by an unfamiliar owl, and read the news he might not have known that she already knew. And, on reading the old news presented as fresh, Marlene had placed the letter down on the desk and continued to glare at it from across the room.

Another letter sat beside Marlene herself on the bed—her school letter. She'd had it two days before and was supposed to see to the acquisition of its listed supplies today, with Mary and Lily, and with mixed dread and relief she anticipated that plan. Putting on a happy face was never any fun, and yet she did not think she could bear to be alone in the flat with the other letter much longer.

She had lunch with her mother that afternoon—not just with her mother, though: with her mother and her mother's new "friend," Graham.

Graham was as nice as Bill or Ned or William and any of the others—maybe a little nicer—but Marlene had the sneaking suspicion that this would be one of her last meals with him. She might or might not see him a few more times before she went away to school again, but the likelihood of his existing in her mother's sphere come December was _extremely _slim. Marlene knew the pattern all too well.

While Vivian Price showed Graham out, Marlene set about doing the lunch dishes. As she washed, she realized that meals with the Grahams and Bills and Neds of the world predictably spurred fleeting thoughts of Marlene's actual father. She had met him a handful of times, and he was nice enough. He gave her a stuffed monkey when she was six. He said he won it as a prize at a carnival game. Still (this, while rinsing sauce from a plastic plate) Marlene had no illusions about the man. He was no different than Graham or Bill or Ned—maybe a little less nice. There was no fantastic romance surrounding her beginning; Agrippa's sake—the term "love child" didn't even really apply.

She wondered vaguely if or when she had children of her own whether it would be very much the same. After all, she'd slept with Miles. She hadn't really wanted to... No, that wasn't right. She had imagined herself to be in love, and she had _wanted_ to... just not quite _yet_. But in the end, it seemed the logical progression of things, and everyone else at the time seemed so keen on the idea of shagging...

Marlene wondered next whether _requited _love was a wonderful as _unrequited _love was awful.

Then she wondered why all of her thoughts invariably returned to Adam Bloody McKinnon.

When she realized she'd left the tap running, Marlene decided she had better stop wondering and just finish the dishes.

(Enter Carlotta)

James's second lunch at Harthouse differed greatly from the first. For one thing, his father had joined them, in time for supper the evening before, as promised, and the conversation was kept considerably better. At this point, the majority of their time there had been occupied in preparing the house for human inhabitation and in rediscovering the various quirks that had been forgotten in their absence of five years.

The Longbottoms had summered there twelve months before, but there remained a lot of dusting and cleaning and retouching of basic spells to be done, including a warning bell for when muggles passed close by. So far, the bell had not sounded; it was the muggles' understanding that Harthouse was an old shack, deserted by its wealthy owners and occasionally the home to squatters. Actually, they were kind of right.

After lunch, James excused himself from his parents with the excuse of walking into town. Mr. and Mrs. Potter intended to go to the water that afternoon and did not join him. The moment he was appropriately dressed to consort with muggles therefore, James walked briskly out of the house alone.

The beach itself looked relatively vacant. The sky overhead was grey, and James zipped up his jacket before progressing up the path towards the village. The thought of apparating to London certainly crossed his mind while he walked, but his mother had insisted he leave his wand behind to prevent just such an incident as well as any other use of magic that the muggles might catch.

James stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling as glum as the dreary sky suggested. He reached the main road that led into town, and, as more and more shops popped up, his mind drifted to the shops in London, where he imagined his friends visiting at that very moment. He wondered briefly what Lily was doing on this particular Tuesday afternoon, but shook himself almost immediately. He had made a resolution not to think of Lily Evans... a resolution that was becoming increasingly difficult to keep, especially after the Incident That Shall Not Be Named (as he had mentally named it).

The seventeen-year-old paused in front of a sweet shop that reminded him of Honeydukes in Hogsmeade. Fliers for a street fair that night plastered half the window, but a muggle contraption that spun taffy was still quite visible on display, and James was momentarily fascinated by the smooth, un-mechanical movement. Suddenly—

"_James?"_

James looked up, his brain not quite registering the voice that his called his name. Then, he noticed a petite, slender brunette making her way up the street towards him.

Carlotta Meloni, as has been mentioned, would have been beautiful with a burlap sack and leprosy, so the sight of her attractively appareled in relatively slight muggle clothing was only improved by the fact that she was, at least, a familiar face.

"Carlotta Meloni—what are you doing here?"

Carlotta reached him, brushing her lengthy chestnut hair over her shoulder out of habit. She looked as relieved as he by the sight of someone she knew. "My family stays at the large blue house over on the hill."

James recollected this almost before she had told him.

"Oi, right, I remember. We're staying in..."

"The big white house," Carlotta supplied, blushing only faintly. "Yes, I know. The Longbottoms..."

"...Stayed there last year, that's right..." James overcame the shock of encountering her and began to better construct the reason for her unexpected presence. "That's where..."

"I got to know him," finished Carlotta drolly. "And civilization as we know it ended."

"It wasn't all _that_ bad, was it?"

"_You_ weren't on the receiving end of glares from every girl in the castle last year," Carlotta replied with dignity. "I _swear_: _one_ kiss from a bloke with a girlfriend, and suddenly you're practically death eater status." But there was humor in her voice.

"I don't see why you should take the whole blame," James pointed out. "From my understanding, he wasn't exactly beating you off with a stick."

"Although it would make a much better story if he did," Carlotta pointed out, and James smirked. She shifted her wait and tossed her hair again; "So when did you arrive? How long are you staying?"

"Yesterday and till the end of the month."

"Have you had your Hogwarts letter yet?"

"No. You?"

"No, but Shelley—Shelley Mumps, that is—had hers yesterday."

"How long will you be around then?"

"Two more weeks," said Carlotta.

"You don't sound too thrilled."

She shrugged. "I've been here two weeks already, and as if hanging around with my family were not dull enough, I'm to be spending the last few weeks of summer with them, too... although, we'll be in Italy then, so I won't mind as much. Anyway, there's no one very interesting in the village either, except a cute bloke who works at the pub, but I think his girlfriend hates me."

"Why?"

"I may or may not have snogged him."

"Unreasonable wench, that one."

"_Honestly_." She smirked. "Anyway, I've already been here two weeks and I'm sick of every other Meloni. I'm sure they'll insist on lunching with your lot one of these afternoons."

"Well it's just mum and dad and me, so I won't object."

"I hope I'll get to see something of _you_ now that you're here..." Carlotta went on. "Besides my family, there are only muggle around, and they're all right, but they're not much for conversation."

"Yeah, sure," agreed James without really thinking.

"Have you had lunch yet?"

"Yeah—just now."

"Oh."

James realized his accidental rudeness a moment to late. "But—um... what are you doing around eight?"

"I'm sorry. I have plans."

"Oh... well, that's..."

"Yes, I have a riveting engagement to sit on my bed and read the June issue of _Teen Witch_ for the seventy-second time."

"Do you think you could call it off?" asked James seriously.

Carlotta sighed. "I don't know. I could _try_... but if I could, what exactly do you have in mind, James?"

James pointed to one of the fliers taped to the window. "Street fair. I'm sure they'll have loads of inexplicably priced pottery and jewelry and little carved fish... locally made, of course."

Carlotta laughed. "I suppose _Teen Witch_ can wait till morning, then."

"It won't be very offended?"

"Oh, sure, but I can be quite persuasive."

(Shopping)

Lily had yet to receive her Hogwarts letter, but the majority of her necessary books and equipment was listed in Mary's and Marlene's, and so she joined them on the official start-of-term shopping trip to Diagon Alley.

Skipping ahead of the others into the Leaky Cauldron, Mary sat down at the bar, expecting to find Donna, but encountering a tall, bearded man instead. He was seated on a stool behind the bar and read a magazine, from which he glanced up only long enough to smile and wink at Mary. Then, he returned to his magazine as if there were no customers at all.

"Er... could I get a butterbeer?" asked Mary, bewildered, as Lily and Marlene took the seats beside her.

"Oh, sure," said the wizard, not moving. "The girl will be along in a minute."

And, true enough, Donna appeared a moment later, levitating three full plates at wand point. She did not notice her friends at first and floated the dishes across the room to the appropriate table. Then, she spotted the familiar faces and offered a weak sort of grimace that might have been intended to be a greeting smile.

"Have you been helped?"

"No..."

Donna turned to the young wizard and stomped her foot once, causing him to look up, startled.

"What? I thought _you_ were handling the bar."

"I _was_, so long as _you_ were handling the floor, so..."

"Calm down. I thought everything looked okay on the floor... nobody _asked_ for anything."

Lily, Marlene, and Mary exchanged incredulous looks at the ease with which Frop handled Donna's imperial air, but Donna's glare only became more intense. "When was the last time you even ch...? Never mind it. Go to the kitchens... there's another order up."

"I love it when you take that tone..."

"_Go!"_

And go he did. Donna turned to her friends. "What do you want? Butterbeer?" But they had not the time to answer before she was placing three opened bottles in front of them.

"Who _is_ he?" Lily asked. "And _why_ is he _here?"_

"His name is Icarus Frop," said Donna, pushing a stray curl from her face. "He's Tom's _nephew_."

"Bloody hell," said Marlene, and Donna nodded.

"I _hate_ sodding nepotism," she muttered darkly. "Apparently, his mum—Tom's sister—asked Tom to keep him out of trouble while he's in England, and Tom is looking to replace Black and me, as we'll be going back to school soon, so _we're_ supposed to train that idiot, and... well... as you can see, it's not going so well." She finished her brief rant and continued on another vein: "What are you lot doing here, then?"

"School shopping," Mary replied, cheering up.

"Oh?" Donna's interest was piqued. "You've had your letters?"

"Yes—or rather, Marlene and I have. Lily's hasn't arrived yet."

"Oh."

There was a brief, tense silence, as each girl realized the implications of the situation. Neither Donna nor Lily had received their Hogwarts letters, and both were probable contenders for Head Girl. Lily was the prefect for their house and year, but Donna had top marks in several classes, played Quidditch, and had been vying for the position for ages. Also, she was a pureblood.

Lily could not honestly say that she did not _want_ the Head Girl-ship, but she certainly didn't want it the same way Donna did, and she wasn't quite sure how things would be between them if she, Lily, got it instead. At the same time, prefects almost always received the positions of Head Boy and Girl, so if Donna didn't get it, Lily half hoped the job would just go to one of the other prefects. In any event, she wished her damned letter would just arrive already, so that they all knew one way or the other.

"_Anyway_," Marlene interjected after a few seconds, "we were just going to pick up some robes and books. Do you want us to fetch anything for you, Donna?"

"Sure. I'll go get some money." Donna disappeared into the back, but returned a minute or two later empty handed. "Actually—I just remembered... Bridget will probably want me to go shopping with her, so I had better wait till we get our letters."

"Oh, that's right, your sister's starting this year," Mary recollected. "Are you excited?"

"About having an eleven-year-old pester me with endless questions about Hogwarts?" asked Donna sarcastically. "Oh, thrilled."

"Don't listen to her," said Lily. "She loves it."

The girls paid for their drinks and left shortly after that. As Icarus Frop returned from his brief tour-of-duty, Donna glanced at the calendar. Tuesday. Ten more days until she would be paid.

"Hey, Sugar, that bloke wants another brew."

(Hot and Cold)

James Potter had a nice laugh. It seemed to spread to every inch of his face, lighting up his hazel eyes and drawing his mouth into a wide, carefree grin. The sound was deep and rich and vaguely childish, but almost always mischievous.

In so many ways, James was the golden boy—rich, clever, handsome, star Quidditch player and team captain—but in others, he utterly transcended that. He didn't like rules... maybe he considered himself above them, or maybe he just didn't consider them at all, but either way, he was... rebellious. Everything about him rebelled: his hair, his laughter, his friends... and that only added to his appeal.

Carlotta Meloni had not meant to make a study of James Potter, but it happened incidentally as they walked through the crowded high street, talking inconsequentially about the surrounding fair and its various curiosities.

James had stopped to chat with an elderly gentleman at a booth for "Potions," which had nothing whatsoever to do with real magic but must have been fascinating enough to a superstitious muggle. The man had said something amusing, and when James let out a great shout of laughter, Carlotta made her observations, seriously considering him for the first time in... well... years, probably.

"You're good with people," she remarked later, as the two continued to walk. James stopped to get ice cream.

"That's true."

"And humble, too," she added sarcastically.

"Oh, very." He handed her a cone and paid with a muggle note. It was a good thing, too, because Carlotta could never make much sense out of muggle currency. "How long have you been coming to Hartland anyway?" he asked casually, as they continued to walk.

"Four or five years," she replied. "You?"

"We used to come here all the time when I was little," said James, shrugging. "Mum got the house as a wedding present, but for whatever reason, we haven't been around much since I started school. Anyway, I preferred spending my summers with my mates."

"I _was _a little surprised to see you here without any other Marauders," Carlotta noted, and then she recoiled, recollecting how the school year had ended; "Oh, I forgot..."

"Forgot...? Oh, no." James shook his head. "No, Pad... er... Sirius and I are... fine now. No, the only reason I'm here alone is because mum wanted the family to spend 'quality time' together, or else I'd have had the other three out here in about a minute."

"So you've gotten back together, have you?" teased Carlotta, pleased. "Good. For a while there, it looked as though you two were _never_ going to make up."

"Well, you know, it's mostly for the sex."

"Isn't it always?" James laughed again, and Carlotta thought she rather liked the sound. "What was all of it about anyway?"

"What?"

"Your fight with Black, of course."

"Oh. That." James shrugged. "Just... something stupid."

Carlotta raised her eyebrows. "Lily Evans?"

James looked at her, surprised. "_What_?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "But you two stopped speaking to each other, and Lily Evans was always hanging around him then, and I know that you used to... or maybe..." She broke off uncertainly.

"There's nothing going on between Snaps and—that is, Evans and Sirius. Or me. Or anyone," said James briskly, banishing thoughts of the other night. _Because they hadn't kissed_, _and he'd promised himself_...

"If you say so," Carlotta was replying, meanwhile, with a certain indifference. "Incidentally... why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Nickname everyone. Your friends, Lily Evans, everybody else in the school..."

"Easier than having to remember their actual names."

"Tell the truth."

"That _is_ the truth."

"Have you nicknamed everyone, then?"

"Sure, just about." The conversation moved into much safer territory, and James breathed easily, finishing his ice cream and tossing the paper into a rubbish bin beside a pottery booth.

Carlotta looked doubtful, taking a bite out of her own ice cream. "Okay... McGonagall."

"Easy: Minnie."

"Right, of course. Er... Mundungus Fletcher."

"Dung."

"Damacus Weasley."

"Freckles."

"Adam McKinnon."

"Number Five."

Carlotta raised an eyebrow.

"Fifth roommate," James explained, and the brunette nodded.

"What about me, then?"

"What?"

"_Me_," she repeated with a challenging smile. "Me, Carlotta Francesca Meloni. What's my nickname?"

James grinned but did not reply. "Why do you want to know?"

The witch gasped in faux shock. "Well, now that you're avoiding the question I _have_ to know!"

"I don't think so..."

"Oh, c'mon, James, you have to tell me!" Carlotta half-pleaded, half-laughed. "What is it? Is it very rude or something?"

"I'm not saying anything..." said James, shaking his head and grinning.

"James Potter!"

"No!"

"I'm _curious!_ I won't be angry—even if it's using my last name, because Merlin knows there are_ loads_ of things you could do with that..."

But James continued to shake his head, smiling enigmatically,

"It must be terribly rude or embarrassing," Carlotta reasoned "Did you come up with it, or was it Black?"

"You're not getting anything out of me, Meloni."

"But, _J-a-a-ames..._" James, however, remained amusedly unyielding, and Carlotta was eventually compelled to give up her mission, at least for the time being. "I'll get it out of you eventually," she warned. They neared the end of the fair; shops gave way to houses, and the electric fairy lights that lined the road tapered off, so that the way was only very dimly lit. Still, the pair continued to walk.

"Sometimes I wonder what it might be like to be a muggle," Carlotta mused after a while. "I think it would be much simpler, you know... without magic... you wouldn't be so reliant on it. You could—I don't know... do things for yourself."

She folded her arms across her abdomen as they walked, turning her eyes up to the stars, unavoidably conscious of how lovely the both of them must look in the moonlight.

"You know, I think I might try it sometime," she continued, her smooth, swan-like neck extended and exposed when she tilted her chin upward for a better look at the stars. She guided herself listening to James's footfalls on the cobbled path beside her and occasionally glancing at him through her peripheral vision. He was not looking at her, but at the road, and that struck her as odd. "Living as a muggle, I mean," Carlotta added, when her companion did not inquire as to her meaning. "Just take a year and hide my wand and live like I don't even know magic exists. I think it would be a good experience..." (James continued to be annoyingly silent), "Don't you?"

"I don't know; maybe," said the other unhelpfully.

After that, James became almost monosyllabic in his responses, and Carlotta grew weary of holding up the conversation. They meandered for a while longer, and then, at her request, James deposited Carlotta at her house.

"You needn't bother walking me to my door," said Carlotta coolly. "I can't abide conventions."

All the same, she was annoyed with James and his sudden aloofness, and, more troublesome still, she couldn't make out what she had done to cause it. That he had become annoyed was a certainty, but _why_ was unfathomable.

As she did with all men who were displeased with her (and there were very few), Carlotta decided to put him out of her mind completely, and yet, even as she prepared for the night and climbed into bed much later that evening, she could not shake her nagging curiosity about the whole thing. She resolved that, should the opportunity arise (and she would certainly not seek it) she would discover James Potter's reasoning, so as to make an amendment—not to her own actions, of course, but to his opinion.

(Letter Two)

"Okay," began Sirius Black, as Donna entered the Leaky Cauldron Thursday evening. "I have good news and bad news."

Donna scowled. "You are _not_ leaving me alone here on a Thursday night, Black. That is _not_ happening. I'm sorry. I don't care _how_ much you think you..."

"No, it's not that," interrupted Sirius, rolling his eyes. "_I_ am sticking to the schedule. That's not the bad news."

"Then what is?"

"Well..." Sirius frowned. "Good news first. Your Hogwarts letter came."

"What? Here?"

"Five minutes ago. Mine arrived, too."

"Nothing gets passed Dumbledore, does it?" mused Donna vaguely. "So late in the day, though... it's odd. Where is it, then?"

"The counter in the back," Sirius replied, and Donna started back there. She stopped on reaching the arched doorway, however, and turned back.

"What the hell is _he_ doing here?" she demanded.

"And _that's_ the bad news," sighed Sirius.

Icarus Frop strolled into the bar area, grinning cheerily at Donna as he brushed passed her. "Hello, Sugar."

"Fuck off." With that, Donna went to retrieve her Hogwarts letter. Icarus Frop watched her leave, a certain smile curling onto his lips, as he walked over to Sirius, who was serving a witch her drink.

"Pretty fit, that one, isn't she?" Icarus muttered. He nodded to the doorway through which Donna had just departed. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Fuck off."

Icarus frowned, while Sirius put the bottle away. Then, comprehension dawned on the former's face. "_I_ see... _you're_ hoping to get a leg on, are you?"

Sirius exhaled heavily. He'd had a long day today, working all afternoon and most of the evening with Icarus Frop; he'd been forced to leave his own wand in the back, so that there would be no temptation to cast a nice little silencing charm on his boss's nephew.

"Frop. Go... do something else. Please. Don't you have any more magazines to read?"

"_You_ were supposedto show me around the evening shift, mate."

"Well... go sit over there..." Sirius pointed to a stool in the corner. "And watch."

"Whatever, mate."

Donna returned with businesslike, nonsense free speed, fixing her apron around her waist.

"Did you read your letter?"

"Yes," she replied, almost coldly and not meeting his eye. "Where's Frop?"

Sirius pointed him out.

"Oh."

"He thinks I want to shag you."

"I'm going to stab him."

"Not if I do it first. Bar or floor?"

Donna considered the question... there was far less time to stand around and _think_ when she worked the floor, and right now, she didn't really want to think about anything... particularly not about the twisted and folded, perfectly ordinary, badge-less Hogwarts letter in her pocket.

"Floor."

"Lovely."

(Love, Love, Love)

Mary MacDonald waved her wand over the recently painted nails of her left hand, sighing loudly. Marlene, who sat on the other side of the brunette's room, going through her records in search of a suitable soundtrack to the moment, glanced over at her friend. In addition to her personal manicure, Mary was humming under her breath, bobbing her head to inaudible music; she set down her wand and, with the now dried hand, began to paint the other set of nails.

"Mary," said Marlene, smirking. "Whatever it is that you have to say, just say it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," replied Mary. "What makes you think I have anything to say?"

"You've been out all afternoon," said Marlene, "and I know you didn't just call me over here to watch you do your nails."

Mary was unable to contain her grin now. She picked up her wand again and bewitched the polish brush to attend to her right hand on its own. Then, with her finished hand, she waved for Marlene to come join her on the bed. The amused blonde complied.

"Alright, what's this about?"

"Stebbins loves me," announced Mary, glowing. "He told me so this afternoon, at lunch."

"And do you love him?" asked Marlene.

"Of course I love him; he's cute and funny and rich... what's not to love?"

Marlene laughed and shook her head. "Congratulations, MacDonald."

"Thank-you, Price," replied Mary.

Marlene got up and returned to the LPs. "Alright, I know you're _dying_ to share the details—let's hear it, then."

Mary clapped her hands together excitedly—confusing the enchanted nail polish brush considerably—and tucked her legs under her, in preparation of the story. What followed was a detailed account of the entire production... what they had both ordered for lunch, what she was wearing, how he looked when he spoke, and, of course, a word-for-word recounting of the speech that had ended in the declaration of love. When it was finished, both girls lay down on the bed, and Marlene looped her arm through Mary's.

"I'm happy you're happy," she said. "You deserve a nice boy who will say nice things to you."

"Thank-you," Mary replied. "So do you." She frowned and looked over at Marlene. "Have you... y'know... heard from Adam?"

Marlene's breath hitched. "Yeah."

"Oh, Mar—did he mention...?"

"Prudence Bloody Daly?" finished Marlene. "Yep."

"Hell, I'm sorry, Price," said Mary earnestly. She sighed, squeezing her friend's arm. "It'll all work out in the end, though," she promised. "I can tell these things."

Marlene smiled weakly. "Enough about me, MacDonald. You've been holding it in terrifically; surely you've been wanting to talk about Stebbins."

"Oh, that can wait..."

"Rubbish. Your news is much more interesting."

"You're sure?"

"Of course.

Mary brightened considerably. "Did I tell you what he said when he dropped me off?"

"Only once..."

"It was _adorable_. He took my hand..."

(Cheap Thrills)

Friday evening, James took a bottle of wine and trekked down to the beach with Carlotta. A heavy wind beat at them both as they walked around the tide pools and rocks until the sun began to set. Then, James sat down in the sand and opened up the wine.

"I don't drink," Carlotta told him, as he offered.

"At all?"

"No. And neither should _you_." Laughing, she swiped the bottle from his hands and stuck it in a little mound of sand. "What do you need _that_ for? Isn't life fun enough without cheap thrills?"

"Hey—don't knock cheap thrills," retorted James, but he didn't fight her about the wine, instead laying back with his head in his hands. They were both quiet for a bit, as James stared at the sky, and Carlotta looked out across the waves.

"You know," she began presently; "I was a bit surprised you invited me to come down here with you at all."

"Why's that?"

Carlotta turned to look at him, eyebrows arched. "You were a bit cool with me the other evening... towards the end."

James sat up, and in moving thus, obscured half of his face from Carlotta's perspective, so that she only saw him in profile. "Was I?" he asked, propping his elbows up on his knees and fidgeting with his fingers. She had made him uncomfortable, but she didn't mind.

"Yes, you were," she insisted. "You don't have to apologize. I don't believe in apologies."

"You don't believe in apologies?"

"No. I live without regrets."

"That only means you haven't done anything sufficiently regrettable."

Carlotta looked doubtful. "Others would disagree with you there."

"I'm only saying that you've never done anything that offends your own conscience seriously enough."

Carlotta stared reflectively across the waves. "That's not true," she said after a while.

"Regrets?" asked James bluntly, and she nodded slowly.

"Yes." And, since she had answered his question, Carlotta felt vindicated in asking her own: "Why were you annoyed with me the other night?"

"Who says I was annoyed?"

"Well, weren't you?"

James sighed. "No, not exactly. I was—I reckon I was in a bad mood, and you were being phony."

Carlotta stared at her companion, incredulous and insulted. "_Excuse_ me?"

"Oh c'mon, Carlotta—you _must_ know that you're cool. Clever, fit, interesting and all of that... but sometimes it just seems like you're playing at it."

"Playing at what?" the witch demanded.

"At... at..." James searched for the words. "At being Carlotta Meloni."

"What?"

"I mean, come on. You don't expect me to believe you meant anything that you said, do you?"

"I don't say anything I don't mean!"

"You don't expect me to believe that you honestly plan on... on living as a muggle or any of that? You wouldn't _do_ it; you have no reason to. And that's fine. Really, but you don't have to say things simply to sound like... like people expect you to sound."

James leaned back again, propping himself up on his elbows, and Carlotta turned to study him, almost unconsciously. When she became aware that she had been staring, the witch looked away again; she made no reply, and if it had been anyone else, James thought he might have offended them. He guessed, however, and correctly, that Carlotta would not be seriously offended by his summation of her possibly one and only flaw.

"You think I'm artificial?" she asked eventually, unable to resist the urge to know definitively.

"No," James replied practically; "but sometimes, I think you... play up certain—attitudes."

"Everyone does that."

James shrugged. They were quiet for a long time. The sun sunk lower and lower, until at last it dropped below the horizon, and the sky was left an ever darkening canvas of grey and hazy blue.

"I was drinking when I kissed Frank," Carlotta said suddenly. James looked at her. "We were sitting by the water, just like you and I are, and we'd been... talking, drinking, laughing, and then—I don't know. It just happened. I kissed him, and he kissed me back." She had a hard, concentrating sort of expression, not moving her eyes from the horizon. "I thought I was in love with him."

James returned his gaze to the steam-like clouds. "Were you?"

"I don't know," Carlotta admitted. "He really did break my heart, though. You wouldn't think it, to look at me, I know, because... well... he's just Frank Longbottom, and I'm... I'm..."

"Carlotta Meloni."

"Right." She paused. "You're right about me. No one's ever said it to me, you know, but I—I do pretend to be... different. Unique, and all that."

"You needn't," said James.

Carlotta smiled a little. "But I _do_. It's easier when you can control your image. Everyone supposes that I'm—I'm this awful slag... that I wanted to take Frank just because I could. But that's not it. At first, maybe, but then... he didn't seem like other blokes. He didn't _want_ me. I don't know—maybe it _was_ a challenge. But I think I would have liked being in love with him."

"You're not a slag."

"Oh, I am," said Carlotta, still wearing a faint smile. "I have slept with a lot of people: I am the definition of a slag. That's fine." She shrugged. "Mostly, I don't care what people think of me."

"You're _not_ a slag," James insisted.

"It's nice of you to say, at any rate." For a moment, they did not speak. Then Carlotta, as though shaking off a fleeting feeling, brushed her thick hair over her shoulder, providing a clearer view of her exquisite face. "What about you, Oh Mighty James Potter?" she asked, and James smirked at her teasing tone. "Have _you_ ever been in love, Lord of the Stoics?"

He considered the question.

"Yes."

Carlotta turned her eyes once again towards the sky. "It goes away eventually, I suppose," she said roughly, and when James made no reply, she added, glancing at him again, "Right?"

James continued to watch the clouds. "I suppose so."

Then, they remained mute again for several minutes. At length, Carlotta spoke up. "You were my first kiss, you know."

"You were mine, too."

(Hyperbolic Satan)

"Where have _you_ been?" Donna wanted to know, as she poured the newly arrived Lathe his usual firewhiskey.

It was late Thursday night; Sirius had gone home, and Donna was left alone with Frop and Tom, which meant that the former was on his best behavior. Unfortunately, Icarus Frop's best behavior was well below mediocre.

"Usually you're mocking me for not having anything better to do," Lathe pointed out. "I don't show up for a week or two, and you assume something is wrong?"

"Well, you don't have anything better to do," retorted Donna. "So where else would you be?"

"Alright, fair enough." Lathe drank his firewhiskey. "My hearing started."

"Oh." Honestly, Donna had forgotten that he would _have_ a hearing at all. Lathe hadn't talked about it much; he kept conversations light. Kingsley had not mentioned it either, but, then again, Kingsley didn't talk about work as much as he once had. "That's... well, at least you'll know."

"Mhm," said Lathe vaguely, taking another drink.

Donna raised her eyebrows. "Is it going badly?"

"Oh, I don't know." Lathe shrugged. "They're examining memories of other aurors at the moment... it's not too bad, but it's not exactly a laugh having every aspect of your life dissected and analyzed.

"Oh," said Donna. "I imagine not." She handed butterbeers to a witch who had requested them. "When do they rule?"

"Friday—next Friday, not tomorrow."

"And then you'll know if you're sacked or not?"

"That's right. It _will_ be a relief knowing one way or the other, even if I'm sacked and forced into mercenary work."

"Heroic."

"Cheers."

Lathe took another drink of firewhiskey and noted Icarus Frop, seated on his usual stool with his usual magazine, for the first time. "Who's that?"

Donna glanced over her shoulder, and then rolled her eyes. "Satan, I reckon."

(Letter Three)

Lily had her second strangest dream that week on Friday morning. In it, she was attending one of the Slug Club parties, wearing a silver dress that had not fit her since fifth year. She moved through a crowd of nondescript faces, struggling against an invisible force that thickened the air and made movement difficult.

Music played, echoing separately from the chatter of the party, but it was not the sort that Slughorn would usually pick. There was no band; rather, a melancholy, vaguely jazzy tune sounded out. No one danced, but everyone—indeed, everything in the hall—seemed to sway.

Lily stopped when she reached Sirius Black, who stood in the corner of the room—the room, which was no longer Slughorn's chambers, but the Entrance Hall at Hogwarts. The two of them were now alone, but the music continued.

There was something that Lily felt she needed to say to Sirius—something she was desperate to tell him, but _couldn't_. She knew that when she told him, he would be furious—he would never speak to her again. Even now, he seemed to guess. His expression was grim.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized, but Sirius's eyes were directed away from Lily, over her shoulder. Lily turned instinctively to see what her friend looked at, but he was staring at the empty space across the hall. Lily turned back to Sirius, but he was no longer Sirius. Reginald Cattermole stood in his place. "So sorry," Reginald repeated.

Lily frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"He's dead," said Reginald. At first, Lily thought he meant Sirius, but something corrected itself in her brain, and she _knew_ whom he meant.

"No, he's not. He'll wake up," the witch heard herself reply.

"He's dead," insisted Reginald.

"No, he's _not_. He _can't be_."

"I'm so sorry," repeated the Hufflepuff, but there was little emotion in his voice. "So sorry."

"Stop saying that!"

"The letter. Read the letter. You know who wrote it."

"I didn't know," Lily argued, panicking. "How could I have known?"

"He's dead."

"_No_!"

Lily's own shout seemed to jerk her from slumber, and she woke in her own bedroom, sitting up quickly and still feeling vaguely uneasy. She had no idea why this was—indeed, she hadn't even known what made her feel so desperate in the dream itself—and breathed deeply several times to calm herself.

"_Lily_," called her mother's voice then called from the other side of the bedroom door. "_Please _tell me that you're awake. Your friend is here!"

Friend?

Bloody hell: _Marlene_.

"I'll be out in a minute!" Lily replied. She heard Mrs. Evans's retreating footsteps and swore under her breath as she noted that the alarm clock read 11:05. How in Merlin's name had she slept so late?

When the redhead entered the kitchen a few minutes later, she had brushed her teeth, unbraided her hair, and splashed some water over her face in the bathroom, but she still wore her pajamas.

"Oh, you dressed up for me," joked Marlene, who was seated at the kitchen counter. "You forgot we were supposed to meet today, didn't you?"

"No—I just overslept," replied Lily. "Sorry, Mar."

"No worries."

"Do you want breakfast? Tea?"

"I've already eaten, thanks."

Lily went to pour herself some tea. "I had the _strangest _dream."

Marlene smirked, and, glancing around the room to make sure that the pair was, indeed, alone, she asked: "Snogging more faceless blokes, are you?"

"Mary told you?"

"Shocking, I know, since Mary is so well known for keeping a secret," deadpanned Marlene.

"Fair enough," admitted Lily. "It wasn't like that, though... it was just... odd. Like..."

"Oh, look, your Hogwarts letter!" interrupted Marlene, pointing to the yellow parchment envelope on the counter, half concealed under the rest of the mail. "Sorry..."

"No worries..." Lily set down her teacup and hastened to the letter. The moment she picked it up, she _knew_, but, all the same, she opened it up and took out the small gold badge that glistened in the morning sunlight, drifting through the kitchen window.

"Head Girl?" said Marlene, beaming. "Congratulations!" Lily just stared at the badge, and the blonde frowned. "Aren't you going to... I dunno, run around squealing, tell your Mum... all that?"

"Donna," sighed Lily. Marlene understood at once.

"Right. Donna." She rose from the stool and walked around to stand beside Lily, picking up the letter from the counter. "Love, you can't let this be a bad thing. Donna will get over it."

"I guess," muttered Lily. She turned a hopeful eye to her friend; "But I reckon it'd go over much easier if _you_ were the one to tell her..."

"_Ha!_ Not bloody likely..."

(Comparison)

Physically, Lily Evans and Carlotta Meloni were not _polar _opposites.

Not that James was comparing them, because he definitely wasn't.

As Carlotta had predicted they would, the Melonis invited the Potters to lunch on Saturday. After the meal, their parents sipped tea and talked, the other Meloni siblings entertained themselves, and James and Carlotta walked the length of the wrap-around porch, talking mostly of their impending return to school. The subject was a mundane one, and James didn't think it particularly interested Carlotta; he changed the topic, asking about the portion of her holiday that had passed prior to his arrival, and there, Carlotta flourished.

It was then that James mused idly on how much Carlotta and Lily did _not_ have in common.

Not that he was comparing them, because he most certainly was _not_.

The two young witches did not sit at opposite ends of the spectrum, by any means, though they did, of course, differ significantly. Lily was taller, Carlotta rather the slimmer. Carlotta's sleek brown hair fell almost completely straight, where Lily's deep red locks looped and curled and waved depending on the day. And Carlotta's skin seemed much more receptive to the sun, her olive complexion having bronzed somewhat since June; Lily freckled in the sun.

Carlotta's smile was just about perfect; Lily's had more humor in it. Lily's walk was quick and direct. Carlotta moved gracefully and peacefully. Conversely, Carlotta had a more direct way of speaking. She quipped less than Lily.

Not that James was comparing them, because, really, he wasn't.

(Domesticity)

Donna Shacklebolt was not what one might call a "domestic" woman, but over the years, necessity had taken its toll, and when it came down it, she could cook a decent meal.

Sunday evening supper was nothing special—chicken, potatoes, peas, and bread—but it was pretty good, and her siblings enjoyed it. Kingsley had the night off, and after the dishes had been cleared away, he joined his oldest sister in the sitting room, where she perused an Ancient Runes book while Brice—the youngest—played with his toys on the floor.

"I hear you met Lathe," said Kingsley conversationally, switching on the nearby wireless.

"What? Oh, yeah..." Donna was distracted from her book. "He comes into the pub."

Kingsley nodded slowly. "I'm testifying in his hearing tomorrow."

Donna looked up, surprised. "You are? Were you... I mean, you weren't there when Logan Harper was killed, were you?"

"No. I'm more of a character witness."

"I didn't know you knew each other that well."

"It's a relatively small department, the aurors."

Donna set down her book. She curled her legs up under her on the sofa, and shifted herself to face Kingsley a little more. "Do you think he'll be charged?"

"No," said Kingsley, in his steady, deep manner. He looked into the dead fireplace. "He's a good auror, and we can't afford to lose any of those."

"Then why all of this?" Donna wanted to know. "Why the hearing, the investigation, the delay...?"

"The Harpers are old magic; they have friends and influence," said Kingsley. "Lathe's a muggleborn. That's the way of the world."

"But Harper was a death eater—no one in the Ministry is going to side with _them_, surely?"

Her brother took a moment to reply, and that troubled Donna considerably. When he did respond, his answer did not directly address the question: "Harper wasn't wearing a mask, and, frankly, it's a little difficult to _prove_ that someone is a death eater when they're not wearing the mask and cloak with the dark mark floating over their heads."

"People are doubting that Harper was a death eater?" asked Donna heatedly. "But they must have loads of evidence! Hell, _Lily_ could testify to that, if it came down to it!"

Kingsley shook his head. "It's fine," he said. "There _is _a lot of evidence. That's not really the problem."

Donna frowned, turning it over in her head. "Why do they need character witnesses?" she asked at length, and Kingsley smiled.

"You should be an auror, Donna. You catch things."

"Kill me; I'd rather scrub floors. Why do they need a character witness?"

Once again, her brother hesitated. "Lathe is very popular in the auror department—young, clever, talented..."

"You sound like _Witch Weekly_."

"The point is," Kingsley went on, "if a person gets to be liked by enough people, other people start to dislike him. And Lathe is a good auror, no matter how you look at it, so they find other things wrong."

"Like what?"

"Some... the Harpers, for instance, will claim that Lathe has a... certain resentment against pureblood witches and wizards."

"They're saying _that's_ why he killed Logan Harper?"

Kingsley shook his head. "They're saying he could have taken Logan in, but he chose not to..."

"Because he hates purebloods."

"Yes."

"Does he?"

Kingsley smiled and shook his head again. "I would hardly be testifying on behalf his character if I thought he did."

Satisfied, Donna decided that it was best not to express too much interest. She diverted her attention to Brice, and when conversation with her elder brother resumed, it was on a new topic.

"You're taking Bridget to Diagon Alley this week, aren't you?" Kingsley asked her. "To buy her things for school?"

"That's right. Saturday."

"Saturday? Couldn't you make it Thursday? I'm off Thursday afternoon, and I could stay home with Brice and Isaiah..."

"I've owled Mrs. Fowler," replied Donna. "It has to be Saturday. I don't get paid until Friday."

"But certainly..."

"Kingsley, be practical. We'll have two sets of tuition to pay, and then after I'm finished at Hogwarts, there will be Isaiah to think about. We have to take as many expenses from my pay as possible."

Kingsley sighed, but he must have known that his sister was right, because he didn't argue the point. "You don't mind working there very much, do you?" he asked at length. "The atmosphere is not too... unsavory?"

Donna thought of Icarus Frop, but opted not to mention anything. "No, it's grand."

Kingsley caught the sarcasm.

* * *

Tuesday afternoon, Donna was most unhappy.

"I swear to Merlin," she snapped, rounding on Icarus Frop, index finger extended threateningly, "if you call me 'Sugar' one more time, so help me, I will..."

She was prevented from finishing the threat by the sheer anger that bubbled up inside of her when she noted that Frop, far from intimidated by the venom in her tone, continued to smirk at her.

"Don't be that way, Dinah..."

"_Donna_."

He ignored her correction. "...We could be such friends if you'd only soften up a bit." Donna's hand moved instinctively to the pocket where she stored her wand; "Then again, I think I like the spark..."

Donna only just stopped herself from hexing the bloke, and settled instead for a retort she knew he would not understand: "Don't mix your metaphors, Frop. Fill that order."

In no rush to follow that command, Icarus Frop strolled lazily towards the kitchens, and Donna turned back to the bar, just in time to see Lily Evans sitting down, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

"He's still here?"

"Fucking nepotism," muttered Donna. She read her friend's expression quickly and knew what this visit concerned in a single, knife-twisting moment. She provided Lily with a bottle of butterbeer and sighed. "You got Head Girl, didn't you?" she asked, rather masking the bitterness she felt. Lily nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"Everyone knows it should have been..."

"No, don't say that either," said Donna briskly. "Really, it's just salt on the wound at this point."

Lily frowned, evidently trying to think of something she _could_ say. Donna saved her the trouble; she was, after all, her best friend.

"You deserved it. I didn't."

"But your marks..."

"My marks are excellent," Donna agreed. "But that's it. You... you're the type of person who helps first years with their homework and volunteers to help in the fucking Hospital Wing. Everyone but the librarian loves you, and..." This with a little difficulty: "...it makes sense that you would get the badge."

"I wish it had been you."

Donna nodded; that Lily said it with complete sincerity was only proof of what Donna had just claimed. Most people would not have been genuine in such a statement, but Lily was.

That, unfortunately, did not assuage Donna's scarcely diminished bitterness—bitterness, but not animosity. It was, after all, _Lily_.

"You haven't killed that bloke yet," the redhead observed presently, while Donna poured sherry for Pip at wand point. She nodded towards the back, where Frop had just retreated.

Donna rolled her eyes. "He gets worse every day. I'm complaining to Tom tonight; I swear."

"You _should_," Lily urged. Frop reappeared, winking at Lily as he levitated a tray to one of the tables (the wrong one, incidentally, and Donna was required to correct the error). Lily rolled her eyes.

"Alright there, Ginger?"

"Hello," she replied.

Donna intervened quickly. "What are you doing in town, anyway?"

"Food for Niko. There's a shocking lack of owl pellets in the muggle shops."

Icarus began to make some comment, but Donna cut him off. "More butterbeer for table two."

"You've got two legs," the wizard replied. "As I am _well_ aware..."

"_You're_ doing the floor," snapped Donna. "_Go_."

He leaned over the bar, rather close to Lily, and she automatically leaned away. "I want to work up here."

"Too bad. _Go_."

"Aw, Sugar, don't be like that..."

"Fucking hell," muttered Donna, grabbing the butterbeers and sending them over to the table. Frop smiled victoriously; Lily raised her eyebrows at Donna, mouthing, "_Sugar?"_

Donna only rolled her eyes.

Eventually, Frop won the battle, and Donna allowed him to work the bar. His attentions thus divided between Lily and another young, attractive witch who had stopped in for a late afternoon butterbeer, the redhead decided to leave before she had finished her own drink. Picking up her purse to pay, however, she noticed the seat beside her become occupied, and the wizard who did so was not unfamiliar.

"Evans?"

"Lathe?" she replied, surprised. Though Donna and Sirius had both mentioned that the auror was prone to stop by through the course of the investigation on him, she had not actually seen him since the end of the last term, before Luke left school. "Hello."

"Hello."

"I—er—I heard your hearing was last week."

"They finished taking testimony today," replied the auror. "They're making the decision this week."

"Oh." The onslaught of reminders that Lathe prompted—Luke and Logan Harper, that dreadful night of the full moon, Valentine's Day, the file of Logan's crimes, and Mrs. Harper's sharp reprimands—put Lily at something of a conversational disadvantage. "Good luck," she said eventually. "You—I mean, it's not really... fair..."

Lathe shrugged. "I suppose the Ministry has to be thorough."

"'Still seems like a bit of a waste of time."

Frop poured Lathe his drink, and the auror raised his glass to Lily. "Cheers."

He took a drink and winced, just as Donna arrived behind the counter once again. She arched an eyebrow at Lathe's drink. "Since when do you drink gin?"

"I don't."

They all looked to Frop. "That's not gin; it's firewhiskey."

"It's clear," Lily pointed out.

Frop checked the bottle. "No, you're right. It's gin. Sorry, mate... got a bit distracted, there." He winked at Lily again. "You needn't have complained though..." he added, grabbing a bottle of Belledone firewhiskey; he was about to pour a new glass, when Donna took the bottle from him and replaced it with a bottle of Ogden's; "They're practically the same thing..."

"You're supposed to give people what they _order_," said Donna. "Not whatever's closest to you. Did you even _read_ the book your uncle gave you. You're supposed to have that memorized." She vanished the unwanted gin from Lathe's first glass.

"Read the book?" guffawed Frop. "That's what _you're _here for, Sugar."

"No, that's _not_ what I'm here for, and _don't call me Sugar_."

A wiser man might have caught the look in Donna's eye and backed off, but Icarus merely smiled, patting her on the shoulder. "Sugar, my job here is cert. Tom's my uncle, and my mum _asked_ him to keep me here, so the only way _I'm_ leaving is if I want to. You, on the other hand..." He smiled. "Now, excuse me, there are some fantastic pictures of Eva Kelley in my mag, and I'd like to get back to them." He sat down on the stool and began flipping through the magazine. Donna was positively shaking with anger. Lathe and Lily both looked uncomfortable.

"Maybe I should stay..." muttered the latter, but Donna shook her head.

"Go on; the owl emporium isn't open that late..."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, go on."

With a last encouraging look to Donna and a polite nod to Lathe, Lily slipped out through the entrance to Diagon Alley.

A table of wizards in the dining room then requested another round of butterbeer, and Donna, fuming at Frop, went to fill it. Then, a call from the kitchen told her one of the lunch orders was up, and she did not even bother asking her protégé to lend a hand, but brought the meal to the proper table.

Lathe nursed his firewhiskey, probably because he correctly guessed it would be a while before he had the opportunity for refill. Donna, meanwhile, went about her usual work, as though Icarus Frop were not there at all.

When there was a brief lull in the demands, she returned to her spot behind the counter (her stool still usurped) and found Frop watching her.

"Can I help you?" she snapped.

"You know, Sugar," Icarus mused, "you're pretty fit, but you act like a barking mad dragon lady, and it's a complete turn off."

Donna reached for her wand, but then thought better of it. "Speak to me again, and I'll kill you. _Sugar."_

"Interesting choice of nicknames there," Lathe interjected. "One has to wonder why he might choose 'Sugar,' though. Seems like... I dunno... 'Hemlock' might be more fitting."

Donna glared at Lathe. "You've been waiting to use that one."

"For at least ten minutes," he admitted.

Rolling her eyes again, Donna stepped out to wait on an elderly wizard in the dining room.

"Hey—Frop," said Lathe, drawing the would-be bartender towards him. He leaned forward and muttered conspiratorially to Icarus: "How well do you know that Shacklebolt bird?"

Icarus smirked, leaning over the counter. "Not too well. Bit crazy, but I think she fancies me."

"What about the 'barking mad dragon lady' bit?" pressed Lathe.

"Well—you've got to make sure these tarts don't get too high opinions of themselves. Anyway, reckon I'll get a leg-over with her before the end of the week... looks like she'd be a decent shag." He eyed Donna lecherously, and added to Lathe: "Pretty fit, yeah?"

"Oh sure," he said, picking up a neglected newspaper from the counter and avoiding eye contact. "Especially considering the dementors." He took a casual drink of his firewhiskey, pretending to read. Icarus looked at him, bewildered.

"Dementors?"

"Yeah," Lathe continued; "I mean, usually, when a person spends a year in Azkaban, it's not a pretty sight once they're out. Adds ten years to a witch, they say, but Shacklebolt... doesn't look a day over eighteen."

Icarus was, however, stuck on the earlier part of the sentence. "A—a year in Azkaban? _Her_? I thought she was a Hogwarts student..."

"Well, she's not about to advertise that she spent a year in prison, is she? Or, for that matter," Lathe went on, "that she hacked a bloke to pieces. I mean, it's not exactly the first impression a bird wants to make... especially to a bloke like _you_, right? I'm surprised you never heard of her—it was all over the papers."

"I don't pay much attention to the papers, and I've been travelling a bit..."

"Well that would explain it. If you'd seen the pictures..." Lathe paused, shuddering. "Well, you wouldn't likely forget it."

Icarus cleared his throat; "Y-you're having a laugh with me, aren't you? I mean, she didn't really...?" He was watching Donna with distinct suspicion now, however. Lathe looked deathly serious.

"Why would I lie about that?"

The half hearted smile on Icarus's face faded at once. "She—she really killed a bloke?"

"Oh, sure," said Lathe. "Her boyfriend. Yeah, they reckon one day Shacklebolt just... snapped." He swallowed a bit more firewhiskey. "Look at her—a bit scary, yeah?"

"Yeah. _Yeah_, I'm starting to... but she only had a _year_ in Azkaban?"

"Yeah," sighed the auror; "she was really only there during the trial, y'know? She got off, in the end. The problem..." He leaned closer, and so too did Icarus, "was just a lack of evidence. I mean, they figured he was dead, right, but all they could ever find of him was... well..." He trailed off meaningfully, taking another drink of his firewhiskey. Frop, however, did not catch the meaning.

"All they ever found was... what?"

Lathe arched his eyebrows significantly. Icarus caught on and almost literally jumped back.

"Oh my _Merlin_!"

"Well," Lathe amended, "_that_ and the fingernails."

The unfortunate bartender now looked as though he were going to be sick. "Oh, don't _you_ worry about it," Lathe assured him. "I'm _sure_ it was just a one time thing. Maybe spontaneous magic... I doubt they've even invented a _proper_ spell that can slice like that..."

And _that_ was when Icarus decided he had better slip into the back room. Donna finished with the patron and noticed the unsupervised Lathe.

"Don't you _eat_?" she asked the wizard, returning to the counter. "All you ever do is drink firewhiskey."

"Correction—all I ever do _here _is drink firewhiskey."

"You're going to get..." But Donna broke off, noticing now that she was alone behind the bar. "Where did that prat go?"

"Who? Frop?"

"Yes, of course."

"He was vile," said Lathe simply.

"Agreed, but where did he _go_?"

Lathe shrugged. "Argentina, probably."

Donna scowled, but at that moment, Pip, at the end of the bar, requested another sherry, and Donna was compelled to fill the order. When she had finished the task, she paced around behind the bar, flipped through the deserted _Teen Witch_, and then resolved to see if Icarus had gone to the kitchens. She returned a moment later, more bewildered than ever.

"The cooks," she began to Lathe, "say he sprinted off out the back, and took his cloak with him."

"Imagine having a cloak on a day like this," was Lathe's only remark, and he continued to scan the Quidditch scores in _The Prophet_. Donna pushed his nearly empty firewhiskey away from the auror and crossed her arms.

"What did you two say to him?"

"To whom?"

"Frop, who else?"

"Who says I said anything to him? Maybe he forgot about a previous engagement and had to rush off to meet it."

"What did you say to him?" Donna repeated.

"Nothing important. We discussed current affairs."

And, no matter how hard Donna pressed, that was the most she got out of Lathe the rest of the evening.

(Loquella)

It was because they spoke the same language.

Often since Adam McKinnon's May confession, Marlene had wondered why he loved her at all. She was not the prettiest, nor the smartest, nor the most talented, nor the most athletic, nor the superlative in any respect; she wasn't _bad_ in any of those, but she wasn't the best. She was shockingly mediocre, and that Adam or anyone else could generate a feeling as strong as love for dull old Marlene Katherine Price was somewhat shocking. Downright inexplicable, actually.

She was lending a hand in the MacDonalds' greengrocery on Wednesday, next door to the flats occupied by both families. When called upon to ring up a customer, Marlene randomly stumbled upon the realization that she did, in fact, know exactly why Adam had loved her.

It was because they spoke up the same language.

They understood one another in a way that few people did. Lily understood Marlene, and Mary almost did, but Adam might have been the first bloke that did—the first boy who thought of Marlene how she actually _was_. And she, in turn, understood him. She got his jokes, listened to his music, interpreted the things he said in the way that they were supposed to be interpreted. They spoke the same language.

And then, the inevitable crashing thought:

So, apparently, did Prudence Bloody Daly.

(Obvious)

"Are you dating Carlotta Meloni?"

The question—posed to James on the second Thursday of the Potters' stay at Harthouse—was made all the more disturbing by the fact that it was posed by, of all people, Mr. Potter.

"_No_," replied James, taking a muggle jacket from the closet, and, in his tone, fully expressing his unwillingness to discuss the matter with his father and mother.

"It's a reasonable question," said Mr. Potter.

"You _are_ spending an awful lot of time with her," agreed Mrs. Potter. Both parents sat in the dining room with their newspapers and the remains of breakfast, while James—in the adjoining entry way—prepared to step out with the young lady in question.

"That's because _you_ two are old."

Both parents looked up from their newspapers to arch their eyebrows at the young wizard.

"'Teach _you_ to ask about my love life," replied James, grinning.

Mrs. Potter rolled her eyes and returned to her newspaper. "Well if you're not _dating_ Miss Meloni, what is it that you two get around to so often?"

James pretended to consider the question. "Casual sex."

"_James_."

"Oh, leave it, Mum," James pleaded, strolling into the kitchen. He leaned over the back of Mrs. Potter's chair and kissed her on the cheek. "She's only introducing me to the bloke that sells her Manticore Hash... _Only joking! _Honestly, woman!"

Mrs. Potter smacked her son's arm, and he recoiled, laughing.

Rather later, James was having lunch with Carlotta in a café in town, and the topic of dating once again came up, although in rather a different context.

"I just don't much care for it," Carlotta said, sipping at a tall glass of water (she "didn't much care for" pumpkin juice either). "I don't think commitment is natural. And I'm not _just saying_ that..." she added, somewhat defensively. "I mean it."

"I don't doubt you," replied James. "You're a seventeen-year-old bloke's dream, you know. Are you _certain_ you've never snogged Sirius?"

Carlotta laughed at that. "I'm _sure_."

"Odd. The statistical probability alone..."

"Shocking. It must have been bad timing." She took a bite of the cake she had ordered. "You said I was a seventeen-year-old bloke's dream..." Carlotta hesitated infinitesimally; "But not _yours_?"

James raised his eyebrows.

"You're not interested in _something casual_," the witch elaborated. "Is that it?"

"Oh, I dunno." He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, and chewing a chip from his plate with considerable thought. "I don't reckon I'd be any good to a bird."

"I know what you mean." Carlotta leaned over the table. "I'd be a rubbish girlfriend. Fidelity seems such a drag..."

"You were willing to try with Frank, weren't you?"

"And look how well that turned out."

"Well, you can't let one disappointment get you down."

"I've never had any trouble getting or keeping any bloke I could possibly want," said Carlotta calmly. "Until I actually _wanted_ to keep one."

"So you picked the wrong one."

"You don't _pick_. That's not how love works."

"I thought you were a cynic."

"I thought _you_ were a cynic."

"Fair enough."

Carlotta's full red lips curved into a sort of smile. "I'm not a cynic," she said at length. "I'm really a romantic. I'm a great believer in love... just... not the boring, stuffy, monogamous kind. Like my parents."

James nodded.

"Do you know what I mean?"

"Afraid not. My parents routinely make me sick with their lack of stuffiness."

Carlotta laughed. "Well, that's rather the exception, I think."

"Maybe." James shrugged. "But not everyone's very obvious in love."

The smile faded from the witch's face, slowly, to replaced by a hard, concentrating look. She was studying him again, James could tell.

"You know, James Potter, I think you're a fraud, too."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not a cynic at all. You only pretend." Carlotta smiled again. "And there you were, telling me off for trying too hard."

James matched her expression. "I never said I wasn't a hypocrite."

"Well what do you know," muttered the witch, taking to her cake again. "We're two of a kind after all."

* * *

Twice now, Carlotta had been sorely tempted to kiss James Potter. The fact that she _hadn't_ seemed to her to completely contradict all logic; it went against the very fiber of her being. Urges were _not_ something to be restrained.

The only reason she had _not_ kissed James was Shelley.

Sweet, devoted Shelley; Shelley, who would stand by her no matter what anyone else thought of her. Shelley, who didn't think she was a slag at all... who idolized her best friend, even when Carlotta knew that she did not deserve it. Shelley, who had been unwaveringly in love with James Potter since they were eleven.

Carlotta's life had for many years consisted of _two_ main loyalties: her best friend's wants and her own personal desires. Until now, the two had never conflicted, and, if someone had asked her, Carlotta would have admitted that she didn't know which side would win out.

But that would be a lie.

Already, Carlotta knew—subconsciously, perhaps—exactly which loyalty had won.

(Locks of Love)

Marlene was over at Mary's on Friday evening, Stebbins have just departed from an extended luncheon. The two witches lounged about in Mary's room, with the brunette pulling far more of her weight with regards to the conversation. They both lay on the bed, and while Mary gabbed, Marlene stared listlessly at the ceiling, occasionally nodding and mumbling her agreement.

"You're bored, aren't you?" accused Mary eventually.

"No, of course not."

But Mary didn't believe her. Frowning, she sought a subject that would interest her friend a little more. "Have you heard from Adam anymore?"

Marlene shook her head.

Mary sighed. "And... how are you feeling?"

Marlene shrugged. "Antsy," she said at last.

"Antsy?"

"Yeah. Antsy. Restless."

"Well do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," said Marlene. But then, before Mary could reply, the blonde sat up and said: "I just... I can't—I'm uncomfortable with myself. I feel like I need to..."

"Change?" offered Mary.

"Exactly!"

"I understand. It happens. Sometimes I'll get so sick of myself, I get a fringe, and then I realize I want Farrah Fawcett hair, and Lily has to brew me a potion to grow it out again, and then I break up with a bloke and cut it again. Vicious circle."

"Cycle," Marlene corrected absently.

"Whatever."

"You know..." Marlene got to her feet. "That's not a bad idea..."

"Oi!" Mary jumped to her feet as well. "I know what you're thinking, but you are _not_ allowed to dye you're hair! You have to be blond, or it will _completely_ ruin the dynamic of our dormitory!"

"Shelley's blond..."

"Yes, but she's plain. It doesn't count."

"I'm not going to color my hair," said Marlene, waving her hand distractedly. She sat down at Mary's vanity, and Mary returned to the bed.

For a moment, Marlene looked at herself very hard in the mirror. She studied the details of her own face, the folds of her flaxen hair, as it fell in smooth, straight layers around her shoulders. Her hair was one of the features that Marlene really liked about her appearance—the softness and the femininity of it... Miles had always liked it, too, and Mary was always envious...

"Don't you ever just want to be something different?" Marlene asked suddenly. She didn't realize how long she had been drifting in her own thoughts, until she noticed that Mary had picked up _Teen Witch_ and was absorbed in the quiz on page 13.

"No. Sometimes. Yes, I suppose."

Marlene nodded. "I've always been kind of the same, y'know? And people sort of... walk all over me."

"No, they..."

"Yes, they _do_," Marlene interrupted. "Miles always did."

"Well, that was Miles. He was a git." Mary marked something in the magazine with a muggle pen.

"Yeah..." Marlene began to shuffle through the desk drawer, looking for something. "But I dated him for like... three years. I _let_ him walk all over me."

"It's not your fault, Mar," Mary replied automatically.

"Of course it is. I'm a bloody coward..." She spoke as though the realizations were occurring only moments before she voiced them. "I'm not independent... that's why I turned down Adam—because I was a coward, and it's because I'm so... so... spineless, that I'm sitting around... _pining_..."

"You're not spineless, Marlene."

But Marlene was paying even less attention to Mary than Mary was paying to her. The blonde finally found what she was searching for in Mary's desk drawer, and she withdrew it.

She scrutinized the image in the mirror again, running her fingers through her long, fine hair. She separated a thick lock of hair that framed her face on her left side, thoughtfully securing it between her index and middle finger.

She picked up the object she had taken from Mary's drawer.

Scissors.

And then she cut.

"_Marlene!" _shrieked Mary. She leapt up from the bed in time to see one, long golden tress fall to the desk. "Okay—okay-okay-okay, don't panic. We can fix..."

"Mary, shut up for a minute," Marlene interrupted.

"But, _Mar_, you have such lovely long..."

Marlene silenced her with a look. She separated another lock of hair and cut again.

"Marlene Price, you can_not_ cut your own hair," Mary scolded helplessly.

"You'll have to touch up the back," agreed Marlene, cutting again. Mary winced. Marlene smiled. She cut again. "Mum used to cut hair for a living, you know, Mary. I know what I'm doing."

"B-b-but _why_?"

"Because I need to _change_," said Marlene earnestly. "I'm so sick to death of being this way."

"Mar_lene_..."

Marlene cut again.

"Trust me, Mary." She had a kind of smile on her face as she asserted: "I know what I'm doing."

She cut again.

(Friends Like These)

Friday evening, Donna was working with both Tom and Sirius to accommodate the weekend crowd. Tom was in the kitchens most of the evening, while Donna and Sirius tended the bar and the floor. It was one of the busier nights that the Leaky Cauldron had seen since The Week of the Demands, for there was a Quidditch match on the wireless.

Around seven, Lathe showed up, but, for perhaps the first time since he had begun to come to the pub that summer, he was not alone. A handful of wizards accompanied him, and Donna recognized a few as her brother's co-workers. Laughing and talking loudly, the aurors took a table some distance away, but one of them did not sit down, coming over to the bar to get drinks instead.

"Hey—your Kingsley's sister, aren't you?" asked the wizard.

Donna nodded. "And you're... Bones, right?"

"Edgar, that's right."

"Lathe got off then, did he?" asked Donna, nodding towards the wizard in question. Bones nodded.

"Kingsley told you about the case?"

Donna nodded, because it was easier than explaining.

"We invited your brother out tonight, mind you, but he was working," Bones went on. "Great auror, your brother is."

Donna smiled politely. She didn't argue the matter; she didn't much feel like it tonight. "Thank-you. What can I get you lot?"

Edgar Bones ordered a round of beers, and Donna sent them over with a levitation spell.

"Looks like Lathe is alright, then," said Sirius, returning from the kitchen where he had just deposited an order. "Too bad."

"Why?" asked Donna, confused.

"He won't be hanging around anymore..." Sirius replied, as though it were obvious. "Afternoons are dead dull here, Shack, and he has the _strangest_ stories. He never did finish telling about the manticore in Hungary."

"You ought to re-examine your priorities," said Donna primly. She turned to two new arrivals at the bar: "What can I get... oh, hullo, Lupin. Pettigrew."

Remus bowed his head. "Donna."

"Hullo," said Peter.

"Feeling better, Moony?" asked Sirius, and off Donna's inquisitive look, he said: "Remus has been a bit under the weather."

"Just a summer cold," said Remus. "And I'm much better, thank-you."

"You do look a bit pale," Donna told him. "Of course, you lot _always_ look pale..."

"Very funny," said Sirius.

"Butterbeer?" asked Donna, and Remus and Peter nodded. "You have a new table, Black," she added, glancing towards a few witches in the corner.

"My work is never done," sighed Sirius.

"Not until eleven o'clock, it isn't."

On nights like these—busy ones—time passed quickly, and nearly an hour had disappeared before Donna held another proper conversation with either co-worker or customer.

"Firewhiskey, neat," said Lathe, leaning over the counter, but not taking a seat of course, for his table remained full of noisy aurors.

"Ogden's or Belledone?" Though she knew the answer.

"Ogden's."

Donna picked up a clean glass. "You'll never guess what happened," she said, pouring the liquor.

"What?"

"Icarus Frop quit."

"No kidding."

"Yes. He barely gave his uncle any explanation as to why he wanted to do it, too. He just decided he wanted to see Canada and wrote his mum requesting the money, and then off he went." Donna set the Ogden's down and met Lathe's eye. "Any idea why that might have happened?"

"None whatsoever," said Lathe. "Although, you should know, you can be quite intimidating when you want to be."

"Maybe—although, I have the strangest feeling that it was something that one of the customers said."

"It's been known to happen."

Donna folded her arms. "You didn't hear anything suspicious, I suppose?"

Lathe shook his head. "Not that I recall." He began rooting about in his pocket for money for the firewhiskey, but Donna, rolling her eyes, waved him off.

"Aurors don't pay tonight... and you're an auror again, it looks like."

"It looks like," he agreed.

"Congratulations—on not going to prison, that is."

Lathe picked up his glass and raised it to her, and Donna nodded. Then, he returned to his table, and Sirius returned from taking an order. He looked at Donna, eyebrows arched, as did both Remus and Peter.

"What?"

Sirius grinned. "You _like_ him."

"_What?"_ Donna put down the bottle of firewhiskey. "I do _not_."

"She does," agreed Remus, awestruck. "This is weird. Am I dreaming?"

"Does Donna Shacklebolt _fancy_ a bloke?" asked Sirius incredulously. "I feel like we should inform _The Daily Prophet_."

"They wouldn't believe it," argued Peter. "I'm not even sure _I_ believe it."

"Fuck off, all of you," snapped Donna.

"Bloody hell," muttered Sirius, shaking his head. "I can't believe it. Donna Shacklebolt has grown a heart."

"You shut your mouth, Sirius Black."

(Two of a Kind)

The Potters' second Friday at Hartland was the Melonis' last, as they were scheduled to leave late the following morning. According to Carlotta, they would be spending their remaining weeks of the summer holidays in Italy with her father's family.

They really could not pick a finer evening for their farewell; the clouds cleared, and the sky was a rich blue, marked with bright, clear stars and a waning gibbous moon. The weather was, comparatively speaking, warm, and the muggles in the town had some kind of carnival.

The Melonis hosted a nice dinner, to which the Potters, as well as two older wizarding couples from a nearby town and two unmarried witch sisters—other friends of the family in the area, apparently—were all invited.

After supper, the adults sipped wine on the porch, and the younger Melonis played with Zonko's firecrackers. When no one was paying attention, James and Carlotta snuck down to the beach, because Carlotta wanted to walk in the water once more before they left.

She took off her shoes and walked along through the wet sand and low waves trickling up to her toes. James kept close, but he didn't get his feet wet. When Carlotta grew cold, the pair retreated to the rocky sand dunes further from the water.

"I'm glad you showed up here," Carlotta mused, as the pair watched the water. "It would have been terribly dull these last two weeks if you hadn't, I think."

"Same to you," replied James.

"It's odd," she continued. "You and I don't really... we don't really talk at school. We haven't for a while. You're always with your Marauder friends, and I'm... I've always got other things happening."

"Plus," said James idly, "I don't think your best mate likes me very much."

Carlotta blinked. "What?"

"Michelle... er... Shelley, that is. She always gets really quiet and angry-looking around me. I can't imagine what I might have done to offend her... I don't _think _I ever hexed her, but..." James chattered on; Carlotta barely listened.

She had a choice—an opportunity. If she told him the truth—that Shelley was, in fact, mad about him, he almost certainly would not _pursue_ Shelley, but he probably wouldn't let anything happen with Carlotta either. She had that feeling, anyway... she was almost sure of it. All she had to do was tell the truth now.

"Shelley's just shy," Carlotta said instead. "Honestly, I don't think she's granted you enough thought to dislike you."

"I guess I'm just full of myself," replied James, grinning.

"I think you are," agreed the brunette. "But it's not a bad thing."

"That's generous of you."

"Not really." Carlotta remembered something that she had been meaning to say for a while. "Thank you for the other day... when you said I wasn't a slag. I've been told I _was_ a slag, and I've been told it didn't matter if I was, but most... most people don't argue the basic principle of the thing."

James looked a little confused. "You're welcome, I suppose."

"Anyway," Carlotta went on, more casually, "when we get back to Hogwarts, we'll have to make sure we pay more attention to one another."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll ignore me completely," joked James. "After all, you'll warding off your dozens of admirers..."

Carlotta rolled her eyes, purposely knocking into James with her shoulder. "I never let my admirers get in the way of my friends," she informed him, staring straight at his profile with a challenging smile. James turned to meet her stare, his chin nearly resting on his shoulder, with hers only a few inches away.

Neither stopped smiling; Carlotta moved immeasurably closer.

"Teeglow," said James suddenly.

Carlotta cocked her head to one side, bewildered. "What?"

"Teeglow. The Marauder nickname for you: it's 'Teeglow.'"

"What does that mean?"

James grinned more broadly. "It was an... identifier, I suppose. T.G.L.O. The Good-Looking One. Teeglow."

And Carlotta made her decision.

She closed the distance between them in half a second, pressing her lips firmly against his. He shifted, turning towards her and responding in kind. Thoughts in his brain died, guilt in the back of her mind faded, and the kiss deepened.

(Letter Four)

_"You're toasted, Snaps."_

_ "Well, so are you! I bet you couldn't even... couldn't even..."_

_ "Couldn't even what?"_

_ "I dunno! Do something really simple that only sober people could do! Snap with both fingers!"_

James Potter was vaguely conscious of the fact that this was a dream. He stood outside Lily Evans's house at night, just as he had that night, a few weeks before, with Lily in her yellow dress, cast in the bright light and deep shadow of the streetlamps. She was looking at him, laughing, just as she had been then... he knew exactly what would happen next. Then, she was staring at him, just as she really had that night.

Her lips moved, as though forming slight words, and yet there was no sound. His throat had gone dry—they stood so close, and she... she was moving closer to him. He was moving closer, too.

With a _thump_ her purse fell to the sidewalk. Her arms glided over his chest, warm where they came into contact with his t-shirt. The tips of his shoes brushed against hers. He started to close his eyes, but the anticipation he experienced was a mere memory of the anticipation of the _actual_ night, because this was a dream, and he already knew how this scene ended.

Still, a small part of him thought that maybe, just maybe, it would go differently...

She was so, so, _so_ close... he could almost feel her lips...

What the hell was that ringing sound?

James opened his eyes suddenly. He checked his surroundings, just to be sure, and found that they were, indeed, that of his bedroom at Harthouse.

A chilly breeze drifted through the window he had left open, and—James noticed—there was a letter on his desk.

The ringing sound echoed through the house again, and at first, James thought it might be the muggle ward. But no, he realized a moment later, it was a different kind of ringing—the doorbell. Yawning, James climbed out of bed and grabbed a shirt, which he pulled over his head, before starting for the letter on the desk.

It was his Hogwarts letter.

The doorbell persisted, and James wondered vaguely why his parents had not answered it already. It was past eight, and they were almost certainly awake by then. Still, grabbing the still sealed Hogwarts letter, James made his way out of the room and downstairs.

The house was drafty in the mornings, and as he jogged downstairs, muttering to the still anonymous but almost certainly unwelcome visitor at his front door, James rather wished he'd put some socks on.

He opened the door, and on his porch stood Carlotta.

"Hi."

"Hi," she replied, anxiety in her voice.

"Oh... um... c'mon in." James stepped aside, glancing about for his parents, who had yet to make an appearance.

"They're at my house," Carlotta told him. "Your mum and dad, that is. We're leaving today—they're saying goodbye to my parents."

"Right. Oh... right... I um..." James fidgeted uncomfortably with his hair, realizing how completely _awful _he must seem right now, not having gone to see her off, especially considering the night before...

"I figured you'd still be asleep, though," Carlotta went on. "So I snuck over while they had tea."

"Oh. I'm... I'm glad you did."

Carlotta smiled. James nervously tore at the corner of his Hogwarts letter, still in hand.

"Listen, James," she began, and she closed the front door behind her. "The thing is... I like you."

James opened his mouth to reply, but the witch cut him off again.

"No, wait, let me finish. I like you. I really do... I like talking to you, and snogging you was pretty nice, too, and... I just like you. So, if you're not opposed, and understanding that this could get... very, very complicated..." She took a deep breath, "I would like to date you."

The witch watched him carefully, waiting for his response.

"Carlotta..." He ran his hand through his hair again. "I—I like you, too. I really do. I wouldn't have... I mean, last night—it wouldn't have happened if I didn't like you..."

"But...?"

"But, I'm not sure it would be fair to you if I started something with you. I..." James hesitated. "I have... issues."

To his very great surprise, Carlotta smiled. "Me too," she said. "I'm hung up."

"Me too," said James.

"Okay." They were both quiet for a bit. Carlotta broke the silence. "I'm willing to risk it if you are."

James raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"I'm a girl who will try anything once." Carlotta tossed her hair. "I suppose that should apply to an actual relationship, too."

James grinned and so did Carlotta. She took a step closer, placing one hand on the back of his neck and pulling him down to her. And, as they kissed, James dropped his Hogwarts letter to the floor.

Carlotta pulled back abruptly. "What was that noise?" she asked, but she answered her own question, bending over and picking up the badge that had fallen from James's torn envelope. She held it up for them both to inspect, and in the stark light of the entry way, two letters gleamed on the golden surface. H.B.

Carlotta looked confusedly at the wizard. "Is that...?" Her voice trailed off, disbelief overpowering her, and James took the badge in his own hands, studying it as though he were not quite sure whether his eyes were correctly conveying this information. "James... is that...?"

And it was.

James's eyes grew wide.

"_Fuck_."

* * *

**A/N:** So, there you have it. As I have oft implied, this was a very difficult chapter for me to write. I felt SO traitorous writing James/Carlotta... not just to you guys, but to me… and Lily! Lol, Lily was barely in this chapter, oddly enough, but she is all over Chapter 28. And, for those of you who hate me so, so, so much right now, just know that this is _for the best_.

PLUS, Chapters 28 and 29 are the aforementioned "strangest thirty-six-hour period of Lily's life to date." Which can only mean good things...

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! I deeply appreciate the feedback; you all are _amazing_!

Reviews are my birthday (on Monday!)

Cheers,

Jules


	28. Phoenix

**A/N: **Weird, weird, _weird_ chapter.

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo-Ro

**Before: **Lily and James almost kiss, but then Lily is like, "no," and then James goes on holiday with his family, and it's supposed to last a month, but for the first two weeks, Carlotta Meloni stays nearby, and the two hit it off. In the Biblical sense. James gets Head Boy, and Lily gets Head Girl. James is less than thrilled. Donna's parents were killed by Voldemort in her fourth year. Marlene is hung up on Adam, and she cuts all her hair off because she's sick of pining.

Dedicated to an "Anonymous" who is having a hard week. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 28- "Phoenix"

Or

"Stand By Me"

In an unexpected ending to the strangest thirty-six hour period of her life, Lily found herself sliding her feet into her brown high-heeled sandals. There was no hope for her hair, so she pulled it into a single plait, which she hung over her right shoulder and tied with navy ribbon. She brushed a light dusting of blue powder on her eyelids, applying a veneer of pink lipstick over her chapped lips and enough ivory concealer to fill in the imperfections on her face, incurred through the last day and a half of madness. She felt odd, blinking her eyelashes over the mascara brush and surveying the finished product in the looking glass: her flower patterned navy blue peasant dress (which revealed two thirds of the legs she had shaved only minutes before), the gold bangles that hung on her arms (half concealing bruises from that sodding door), and the large hoop earrings she had worn to Petunia's wedding (an eternal five weeks prior). Yes, it was an odd sight indeed. The unmistakable air of exhaustion (exhilarated, excited, proud exhaustion) that presented itself in her mirror image was the only clue that the last thirty-six hours were anything more than an unusual dream.

They were certainly no dream.

Somehow, despite the fact that her form was not all that it should have been, despite her futile wish to look perfect for this particular occasion, and despite her knowledge that she would soon have pictures taken, forever immortalizing this weary, sleep-deprived, hungry (Sirius's crisps seemed an eternity ago) version of herself, Lily had never been so proud of her appearance. Every battle scar, every indication that she had not slept the night before, not eaten for hours and hours, not had a relaxing moment to herself in days, was a medal of honor.

"You look nice," said a voice somewhere behind her, and Lily realized that she had been so absorbed in the moment that she had failed to notice that she was no longer alone in that little room. James Potter stood there, still wearing that ridiculous (okay, maybe not _completely _meritless) black hat.

"Thank-you," the redhead replied, sighing, as she turned to face the new arrival. "So do you. Fedora aside..."

"I could use a shower... and I thought we learned not to mock the fedora."

"We could all use a shower, and it's still a ridiculous hat."

"You're better at faking it, and the hat is _classy_."

"Well you're welcome to borrow some perfume."

"That would just spawn a whole new set of problems," said James, and Lily didn't really know what he meant, but she didn't feel like questioning it.

She turned and set her mascara back down on the table. "So what are you doing here anyway? Why aren't you with the boys?"

"I was sent to look for _you_ actually," James replied. "They'll be starting in a minute."

"I see. You drew the short straw, did you?"

"Volunteered actually," he corrected. Lily looked at him curiously—hadn't he had enough of her over the last two days? James hesitated before continuing: "I just—I wanted to talk to you..."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "About what?"

For a few moments, James hesitated. When he did speak, he had that look about him, as though he had wanted to say one thing and ended up saying another: "I guess to say thank-you."

"Thank-you for what?"

James shrugged, his hands in his pockets. "Trusting me, I guess. And the thing with the door, too."

And, quite suddenly, the sight of James there was ridiculously endearing. Lily crossed the distance between them in about a second, pulling him into a tight embrace. He seemed stunned for a few seconds, before relaxing a little and reciprocating the hug, his arms wrapped around her waist. They had never—she thought—been so close, and James was right—he _could_ use a good shower, but, Lily found she didn't mind the vague scent of fatigue and _life_. It was James. It was the same James who had sat and stood and ran and shouted with her that day. He had held her hand, and that had meant something, though she really didn't know what. She didn't question it either, just as she did not question his presence with her now. It was James—she knew better now than to question anything.

She didn't want to let go. Something strange—familiar and alien at the same time—stirred in the pit of her stomach as they stood there. She was suddenly conscious of ever inch of her body—the stubble on his unshaven face that bristled against her bare arm, his arms on the crook of her back. She had never found much solace in another's arms (for her, comfort was better achieved in solitude), but just then, this was exactly what she needed. She didn't want to let go, but, when he began to pull away, she did.

"You weren't kidding about the perfume," he teased, once they broke apart.

"And you weren't kidding about the shower," she replied lightly, before adding more seriously, but with a small smile: "Thank-you for checking in on me, but I'll be alright. Really, I'll be just fine."

James folded his arms, his expression changing. "And what if you're not?"

But Lily didn't even have time to inquire to his meaning now; Marlene's voice interrupted them, as the witch herself appeared on the threshold. The only one of them who'd had a chance to shower, the blonde had certainly benefited. She looked refreshed and calm in her cotton green dress.

"They're ready," Marlene informed the pair, smiling softly, as she tucked a short lock of her new pixie cut hair behind her ears. "Are you?"

Lily looked at James. "'Course _I_ am," he told her. "I don't have a job to do though, do I? Are _you_ ready, Snaps?"

The redhead moved hastily across the small room to a table in the corner, where there rested her ribbon-tied handful of yellow daisies. She picked up the simple bouquet and turned to the other two. "I'm ready."

As she followed James and Marlene into the corridor, Lily reflected once more on the surrealism of it all: in the last thirty-six hours, she had been hugged, pushed, hit, hexed, chased, and kind-of arrested... She had never been so tired in her life, and yet—if presented with the choice between standing up now or lying in the softest bed imaginable—she wouldn't change a thing. What a strange day, indeed.

(Thirty-Four Hours Earlier)

"_Only two days after the leak that interim head of the Department of Magical Law-Enforcement, Egbert Dearborn, would likely retain the position recently vacated by Alexander Potter, _The Daily Prophet_ reported that Dearborn was in the process of imposing a new piece of legislation, the Magical Population Protection Act_. _Today, Dearborn confirmed that he has been involved in drafting the Act..."_

Lily's hairbrush only just missed the wireless, as she hurled it across her bedroom at the offending box in a futile expression of her displeasure.

"Bloody lunatics," she muttered to no one in particular, before rising from her desk and manually switching off the news report. She picked up the hairbrush again and dragged it through her wet curls a few more times before tossing it on the bed. "Swear to Merlin, the whole world is going mad..."

It was comforting to know, at least, that she could speak as loudly as she liked without her mother knocking on the door to question her sanity. Mrs. Evans's five day trip—beginning two days before—to the Dursleyhome meant Lily had the entire house to herself until Wednesday night. Petunia and Vernon had returned from their honeymoon the week before, and Petunia wanted her mother to come and spend some time in the new house while Vernon was away on business.

Lily, having attended boarding school for the last six years, had found solitude hard to come by, and—though she loved her mother dearly—she had been looking forward to a few days on her own. Then, this—the Magical Population Protection Act.

_The Daily Prophet_ sat beside the hairbrush on her bed, and its account of Egbert Dearborn's Magical Population Protection Act was as good a description as any.

_The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will now be responsible for the number of muggleborn witches and wizards accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While, previously, all known muggleborns of sufficient magical ability in the country have been granted Hogwarts letters, Egbert Dearborn plans to limit the number to two every year, so as to minimize the possibility that a muggleborn, breeding with a witch or wizard, will pass on the "muggle trait." _

Huffing, Lily pulled on her dressing gown and went into the sitting room, where she turned on the telly to calm her nerves. She had every moment of the day planned out: a nice breakfast of tea, toast, and eggs; an hour or so of television, some quality bonding time with Victor Hugo or F. Scott Fitzgerald, a quick run, and then maybe she'd try to cook something for supper.

The distressing news, both in _The Prophet_ and on the wireless, only served to hamper the one goal of such a day: relaxation.

As it turned out, Lily didn't even finish breakfast.

With the hum of the television program in the background, Lily set about cleaning herself up; she dried her hair by magic and put on her make up, and then began to fix two slices of wheat toast. The kettle was on the stove for tea when the doorbell rang. Lily sighed—it was probably the postman with some question, as she could not imaine who else it might be—and made her way towards the door.

However, standing on her porch was, not the postman, but James Potter.

He was wearing a red t-shirt and a fedora.

Lily had been rather expecting their first meeting after the post-wedding almost-kiss ordeal to be rather awkward, but she had also expected it to take place on the Hogwarts Express, or back at school, and she rather hadn't counted on being barely clothed at the time. The surprise of seeing him there on her door step when he was meant to be across the country on holiday might have dispelled any opportunity for severe discomfort, except that Lily suddenly became _quite_ conscious of the fact that besides a considerably oversized t-shirt, all she wore was a bathrobe. She immediately pulled her robe across to cover her front.

"Nice shirt," said James, and Lily, blushing slightly, scowled.

"Nice _hat_."

James rolled his eyes. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Something about this boy always brought out the fight in Lily. "_No_. What are you doing here? Why aren't you at the coast?"

The wizard ignored her question, however, and posed his own: "Want to go to a protest?"

Lily stared. "_What_?"

"Clearly, Snaps, you haven't read _The Daily Prophet_ this morning."

"Yes, I have." Lily caught on. "Wait, is this about Dearborn's legislation..."

"Well it's not about his favorite color. It's a lovely bathrobe, incidentally, Snaps, but are you sure you want your neighbors to see it?"

Lily rolled her eyes and stepped aside. "Alright, come in. But don't touch anything." James complied, removing his still unexplained hat but keeping it in hand, as Lily led the way into the kitchen and turned off the stove.

"Is your mum here?" James asked.

"No—she's staying with my sister. What exactly is going on?"

"Fairly disreputable and shady things, mostly," he replied. Lily offered him a chair and then tied up her robe more securely.

"Toast?"

"No, I've eaten."

Lily looked at him.

"Maybe a slice."

The witch placed one of her slices on a plate and put it on the kitchen table before him. "So?"

"Well," said James, "if you've read _The Prophet_, you've got the gist of it I suppose. A few weeks ago, the Ministry announced that Egbert Dearborn would be temporarily replacing my dad as head of D.M.L.E. Dad wasn't a fan, but Dearborn was only supposed to be _interim _head of the department, until they chose someone that could actually _do_ the job."

"But on Sunday someone at the Ministry talked to someone at _the Prophet_ and said that Dearborn was going to get the job for cert," said Lily. "I heard about that."

"Right, well, they're making the official announcement of their decision tomorrow."

"They can't possibly pick Dearborn," Lily muttered, chewing her toast discontentedly and leaning over the island counter. "This 'Population Protection' rubbish—it's practically death eater jargon."

"No one was supposed to know about that," James told her. "Not until _after _dear cousin Egbert got the job."

"_Cousin_?"

"Well... he's my mum's cousin. She's a Dearborn, too. Long story. The point is, the news got leaked yesterday."

"How?" Lily wanted to know. "The paper and the broadcast weren't very clear..."

"No one knows," said James, but he had a mischievous kind of grin.

"_You_ know, don't you?" the witch half accused.

"Of course _I_ do. I know everything."

"Well?"

"I'm assuming you understand that this is strictly between the two of us? And... Padfoot and Moony and half a dozen others, but..."

"Right. Secret. Got it."

"Alastor Moody—head of the aurors—found out. He told Professor Dumbledore, Dumbledore owled my dad, and Dad talked to Dorthea Grey at the _Prophet_, who—for all her faults—knows how to protect a source. Anyway, that's the short version of why all the Potters got ushered away from the West Country prematurely, and _also _why I'm here."

"No, I don't think you've explained that part yet," said Lily, raising her eyebrows.

"Haven't I?" James finished the toast and got to his feet, twirling his hat around his finger. "Oh, well—being well-connected and, y'know, just generally fantastic, I happen to know that very shortly, a few dozen witches and wizards are going to be standing in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren in the Ministry of Magic, demanding that Egbert Dearborn and his Voldemort-sympathetic legislation be rejected. And so I repeat..." He grinned: "Do you want to go to a protest?"

Lily pulled her bathrobe a little tighter.

"Just—give me a minute to change."

James shrugged and nodded, and Lily started for her room.

"Oh, make sure you wear something red."

"Of course, they _would_ pick red," the witch lamented, frowning at her similarly colored locks. Lily sighed and entered her bedroom. She left the door open a crack, because she didn't entirely trust James alone in a kitchen full of potentially dangerous muggle appliances, but he soon meandered into the sitting room, where she had left the telly on.

"What's this?" he called, while Lily rifled through her drawers for jeans.

"What's what?"

"On that tell-a-thing of yours! The program!"

Lily located some trousers, pulled them on, and, fastening the buttons at her waist, came out into the hall to see what James was talking about.

"It's just a show," she insisted, starting to return to her room again.

"Who's the ugly bloke with the ridiculous hat?"

"He's Tom Baker, and he's not _ugly_," Lily called over her shoulder. "I happen to adore him, so don't make fun!"

"His hair is ridiculous," noted James, sitting down on the sofa.

"_Your _hair is ridiculous!"

"He's _old_. How could you possibly fancy _him_?"

Lily stuck her head out of her room again to reply: "I fancy a bloke in a scarf, alright? Now stop bothering me, I'm trying to find something to wear."

It _was_ something of a struggle, as Lily, a consummate redhead, did not own many items of clothing in that shade. Ultimately, she found a plain white t-shirt, which, with a little help from her wand, she charmed a bright, cherry red color.

She emerged five minutes after having entered it, and James jumped up from the couch, replacing his hat upon his head.

"Ready?" he asked cheerfully.

Lily nodded. "I have to lock up, though." She did so by magic. "We can apparate from here."

"That's fine," said James. He drew his wand, but Lily hesitated. "What?"

"I should telephone my mum."

"Why?" asked the other, bewildered.

"In case she phones the house and gets worried," replied the other. She crossed back to the kitchen and picked up the receiver, dialing her sister's number as it was written on the notepad on the counter. "Wouldn't _your_ mum be worried if she didn't know where _you_ were?" Lily added to James, as the line rang.

"She'd be _more_ worried if she knew where I was," James replied. He leaned against the door frame. "Which is why I told her I was hanging around at Sirius's."

Lily's eyes grew wide, but at that moment, a voice on the other end of the line answered, and she was distracted. "Hello?"

"Oh—hello—Petunia?"

"Yes?"

"It's Lily."

No reply.

"Your sister..."

"I know who it is."

"Right. Is Mum there?"

"No—she went to the grocer."

"Oh." Lily, inexplicably embarrassed that James should hear even half of this conversation, made haste to end it. "Could you—tell her I went out with some friends? So, you know, if she calls, and I don't answer..."

The younger sister trailed off, and for a few seconds, the elder made no answer. Finally: "I'll tell her."

"Thank-you."

Petunia hung up. Lily ran a nervous hand through her hair and then did the same. She grabbed her wand, slid it into the expanded back pocket of her jeans, and nodded in a businesslike way to James. "Ministry of Magic, then?"

"Oh—not quite. There's actually somewhere else I wanted to stop first. I was hoping you could help me with the address..."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "_Where_?"

* * *

"_Oh-my-God-Marlene!" _Lily half shrieked, when Marlene Price opened her front door. "Your _hair!_ It's..."

"Gone," finished James.

"It's beautiful!" Lily went on, while Marlene beamed. Unlike her friend, the blonde was already prepared when her two collectors arrived; she was fully dressed, red shirt included, and a brown satchel bag was slung over one shoulder.

"Thank-you," she replied, pleased. "Hi, James."

"Hi."

"You didn't tell me you cut your hair!" Lily protested.

"I wanted it to be a surprise! Do you really like it?"

"It's _beautiful_, really! I can't believe..."

"_Hey_," James interrupted; "Price, your hair is lovely, but do you think we could... y'know... go? Priorities and all that..."

"Right."

"Is MacDonald coming?" James added to Marlene.

"Wait, how did you already hear about this, Mar?" Lily asked.

"Sirius owled me half an hour ago," said the witch, closing her front door behind her. "And Mary can't come. She's working in her parents' shop all day."

Lily looked accusingly at James.

"Hey, talk to Sirius," he defended himself; "I didn't owl anyone."

"Besides," Marlene added, "I'm just across town from Sirius. An owl wouldn't have gotten to you in time anyway." Her tone was brisk and efficient. "Mum's got a guest—we can apparate from the stairwell or the lift, though."

They eventually chose the lift. "Have you both been to the Ministry before?" asked James as they stepped inside. Lily nodded.

"We had lunch with Alice there once last summer, when she was doing her apprenticeship with the auror department," she told him. "But we used the visitors' entrance."

"That'll be fine," said James. The lift doors began to close. "On three, then... one... two..."

"Incidentally, Potter," said Marlene, "What's with the hat?"

* * *

A red telephone box on a dingy street constituted the visitors' entrance to the Ministry of Magic, and it was to this place that James, Lily, and Marlene apparated. There was no way that all three of them could fit inside the box at one time, so James suggested that he and Marlene should go through first, and Lily could follow. Marlene raised her eyebrows meaningfully at the idea, but Lily agreed quickly.

"You'll want to dial 6-2-4-4-2," James instructed her. "And when you're asked what your business is, you should say 'Guided Tour.' Ready?" he added to Marlene, and she nodded.

The pair stepped inside the telephone box, and Lily waited, somewhat nervously, outside. With the door closed, she could not hear what was going on inside, but when James dialed the numbers and waited for a minute, the expression on his face told her at once that something had gone wrong. He and Marlene stepped out a moment later.

"What's the matter?"

"They've closed down the visitors' entrance," said James, frowning.

"Do you think the others inside are in trouble?" asked Marlene anxiously.

"I doubt it—but Dearborn must have got word that something was brewing..."

The wizard appeared pensive for a few seconds; he removed and replaced his fedora several times, pacing back and forth. Marlene and Lily waited for him to come to a conclusion, and, at length, he did.

"We'll have to use a fireplace that's connected to the Ministry floo network. Dory said this might happen..."

"Who's Dory?" asked Marlene.

"Dorcas Meadowes. You'll meet her today. She's with us—she's inside now."

"Isn't _your_ house connected?" Lily wanted to know. "For your dad, I mean."

"No, they cut it off a few days ago," replied James. "Technically, you know, he doesn't work there anymore. He was bloody livid, but he's too prideful to do what everyone else does and just bribe someone."

"So..." Marlene hesitated, and then finished: "how are we going to get in?"

James sighed. "Your both sure you still want to go?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "There are three muggleborns in our house for our year _alone_," she reminded him. "Dearborn wants to allow two a year from here on out..." She trailed off significantly, but Marlene completed the thought for her.

"What if it had been one of us?"

They both looked at James.

"Alright," he said. "We'll have to use Dorcas's floo."

"She works for the Ministry?" asked Lily.

"No, but her sister does. Emmeline. Scary witch, she is, but... well, you'll meet her, too. We'll have to do side-along apparition, as neither of you have ever been to their house. It should be fine, but... oh, hang on—I'd better tell Sirius."

James removed his hat once again, but this time with a purpose. He looked down into it, and Lily was momentarily reminded of muggle magicians who pulled rabbits out of top hats. Muttering something that she could not make out, James reached below the brim, but he did not withdraw a furry white bunny; rather, he took out a familiar looking mirror.

"Expansion charm?" asked Marlene, voicing Lily's thought, and James nodded.

He looked into the glass and said in a clear, determined voice: "Sirius Black."

For a second, nothing happened. Then, a voice did reply, but it was not Sirius's, nor did the face that appeared moments later belong to the Marauder.

"Donna?" said James, confused, and Lily moved around behind him to get a look.

"Yes, it's me," Donna Shacklebolt replied, and there was a bite of frustration in her voice, although they soon learned that it was not directed at James.

"So Padfoot managed to convince Tom to let you off for the day?" James concluded.

"He did, yes," replied Donna. "Hullo, Lily."

"Hey, Don. Where are you?"

But her friend was momentarily distracted by something not reflected in James's mirror. "Look on the mantle," she said impatiently to someone. "Well, you probably missed it!" Donna returned her focus to the mirror. "Black can't find the floo powder at this place..."

"You're already at Dorcas's?" asked James.

"Yes. The visitors' entrance is closed."

"We know," said James. "We just tried it. You might have let us know. Did Sirius get McKinnon?"

"He doesn't come home until tomorrow," said Marlene, at almost the same time that Donna replied: "He hasn't come back from holiday yet."

"Too bad," muttered the Marauder. "If there's no floo powder over the mantle, there might be some in the kitchen."

"Did you hear that, Black? There might be some in the kitchen! I _told _you...!"

"Why don't you floo from _your_ house, Donna?" Marlene asked. "Aren't you connected for your brother?"

"A brilliant idea," replied Donna sarcastically. "I wish _I_ had thought of it... only, I _did_, and Black said we... _did you find it_?" This, presumably, to Sirius. "He found the floo powder. When will you lot be here?"

"In a minute. We just have to apparate over."

"The password is..."

"'Dumbledore,' I know," James interrupted.

"Alright," said Donna. "Well... I suppose I'll see you in a... what?" Again, to Sirius. Donna appeared to listen to something that the Marauder on her end was saying from across the room, but Lily could not make it out. Frowning, Donna turned back to the mirror. "Potter, Black tells me to ask: 'Have you told yet?'"

"Tell him he's a git," said James impatiently. "See you in a few." Shaking the mirror a few times, he placed it under the lining of the hat's interior, and then returned the hat to the top of his head.

"What was _that_ all about?" Lily asked curiously, but James did not seem to hear her. He took Marlene's hand, and instructed that she take Lily's. "On three, then... one, two..."

* * *

Lily had never met Dorcas Meadowes, but when James had delivered the password to the front door, admitting the three young people into her foyer, she felt at once that she would like the woman.

It was an old Victorian house, unexpectedly bright and welcoming on the inside. A yellow cat slept on the dark oak staircase, and the walls were littered with magic, moving photographs.

"This way, then," said James, leading them down a corridor and into a large, sitting room. An outdated television box sat in the corner, possibly to lend the illusion that muggles lived here, though the fact that none of the furniture was situated in a way that would allow anyone seated upon it to conveniently view the screen somewhat defeated this purpose. The walls were marigold, the sofas and chairs the color of toffee, and on the low coffee table stood a vase of sunflowers. Lily smiled at them—her favorite flower—until a voice popped into her head... James's half-intoxicated slur: "_You look like a sunflower_," from the night after Petunia's wedding...

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, Lily withdrew towards the large fireplace. Sirius and Donna had evidently left the floo powder on the mantle for practical purposes, and, from the china bowl, James took a handful of the ash-like substance. Lily and Marlene did so as well.

"I'll go first," Lily volunteered, but James shook his head.

"I'll go... in case anything goes wrong..."

"You'll be in just as much trouble as I will," the redhead protested, but James had already stepped onto the hearth. Before she could argue anymore, he threw the powder down and called loudly: "The Ministry of Magic!"

In a giant tongue of green smoke, the wizard disappeared. Lily and Marlene exchanged looks.

"Flooing scares me," said the blonde with a shudder. "You're more than welcome to go first."

Lily snorted, but followed James's steps into the high fireplace. She closed her eyes, threw the floo powder, and imitated his address: "_Ministry of Magic!"_

When she opened her eyes again, cool green flames died around her, and she stepped out onto the polished wood floors of the Ministry of Magic Atrium. James waited for her a few paces away, and Marlene had joined them a minute later.

"_Merlin_, I hate that," she muttered, stumbling over to the other two.

The Atrium was crowded and loud, but from where they stood, only the tops of the golden statues constituting the Fountain of Magical Brethren could be seen, and Lily at least was anxious to see what was happening there.

"C'mon then," said James, and he led the way through the crowd.

Up until this point, Lily had been unsure of what, exactly, she should expect upon arrival at James's so-called protest. She had seen _muggle_ protests on the news, of course, but if six years in the magical community had taught her anything, it was that witches and wizards often did things slightly differently.

Whatever Lily _had_ been expecting at the word "protest," however, it was not what she found. If she hadn't already known that something was going on, Lily might never have noticed the difference. Witches and wizards appeared via floo network in the various terminals that lined the walkway, hurrying to their destinations without disturbance. Tourists loitered, listening to chatty tour guides as they described various features of the Atrium—the large golden Magical Brethren fountain in the center, plaques that lined the walls, and portraits of donors smirking and waving from their frames high above. The so-called "protest" consisted of about two dozen people in red, sitting on the edge of the Fountain of Magical Brethren—and Lily was already acquainted with about a third of those present.

They didn't seem to be doing much.

"Is it a _silent_ protest?" Lily muttered wryly to James. He merely grinned.

"_No_. It just hasn't started yet. C'mon: you'll want to meet everyone." But before any introduction could get done, a voice erupted in the noise, calling his name.

"Prongs!"

The three looked about to see Remus pushing his way towards them. He was grinning broadly and also wore both a red shirt and a fedora, identical to James's except in color (brown).

"It's only been an hour, Moony," James pointed out, but Remus rolled his eyes.

"Lily! Hi!" He gave her a quick hug. "Prongs, Peter doesn't know how to get to Dorcas's, and he's not very good at blind apparition with just an address. He wants someone to pick him up, but Sirius doesn't want to, and—_Bloody hell, Marlene!"_

Remus seemed to just realize that the blonde standing beside James was not a complete stranger, but rather one of his classmates.

"Agrippa's sake, I didn't recognize you! Sorry—that's really rude, but..." Marlene laughed off Remus's stammered apologies, and they exchanged a quick hug, before Remus resumed his rapid-fire speech to James. "Anyway, Padfoot doesn't want to fetch him, so I'm supposed to ask _you_ to..."

"Bloody hell, I don't want to go," argued James irritably. "I've only just arrived!"

"Go tell Padfoot that. He won't listen to _me_..."

"_Fine_." James started to leave, but then remembered the two witches he had brought along. "Oi, you want to come along? I can..."

"Is that Sarah McKinnon?" Marlene interrupted, pointing to a pretty, petite witch of about twenty, who was seated on the ledge of the fountain. Under her cherry robes, she wore a shirt that bore, in large green print, the letters: M.F.P. "I think I'll go say 'hi.'"

"I'll go with Marlene," Lily agreed, and James looked a little relieved.

"Great, okay."

And with that, he disappeared with Remus into the crowd. Marlene started towards Sarah McKinnon, Adam's older sister, who had been two years ahead of them at Hogwarts and always rather fond of Marlene. Lily made to follow, but someone tapped her shoulder, and she turned.

Standing there was a vaguely familiar young wizard, wearing a maroon fedora. He was probably in his early to mid-twenties, and not too much taller than Lily, but he was thin and had a long face, which suggested height that was not actually there. He had fair hair, freckles, and wore a shirt identical to Sarah McKinnon's, with the same green lettering of "M.F.P."

"So you're the girl, are you?" the wizard asked, almost accused really, but there was a hint of humor in his blue eyes.

"What girl?" asked Lily, bewildered.

"My cousin's girlfriend of course. You should know that I'm very protective of family."

"I'm not your cousin's girlfriend," Lily replied. "Who's your cousin?"

"If you don't know who my cousin is, how can you possibly know you're not his girlfriend?"

"Because I'm not _anyone's_ girlfriend."

"That's the spirit, Mate."

"No—really. I'm _not_."

"Oh." The wizard raised his eyebrows. "Well, that doesn't make much sense, does it? Men will always be a mystery to me, I suppose." He shrugged. "But you're the ginger, aren't you?"

"I'm _a_ ginger, but not the only one I imagine. Who are _you_?"

"I'm Sam of course. Are you Lily?"

"Yes." Something clicked in Lily's brain, and she remembered where she had seen this person before—in the pub, on the Thursday of the Week of Demands. He had been sitting with... "Wait, are you...?"

"Well, I rather assumed you were James's girl," Sam chattered on casually. "You're the one Black always used to tease him about. I suppose you're the ginger but not the girl."

Had she been less distracted, Lily might have blushed. As it was, she found herself rather flustered. "You're James Potter's cousin?"

"Almost. His mum's cousin, really, but it's more or less the same thing. Well, if you're not James's girl, I reckon I can be nice to you after all. Fortunate, really—you seem an awfully good sport." He took off his fedora and bowed slightly. "Sam Dearborn, and—before you ask, yes, I am, unfortunately quite related to the bloke we're supposed to be protesting. Eg's my older brother... always _was _a pompous git growing up. Kids these days... _honestly_… well, what are you waiting for?"

Lily was beginning to catch the rhythm of Sam's all-over-the-place way of speaking. "For you to let me get a word in edgewise," she replied, and when he grinned at the reply, she mirrored his expression.

"I mean, oughtn't you to be meeting everyone?" he asked. "I'm supposed to look after you, you know."

"Who says?"

Sam's grin only grew broader. "Who do you think? Lily... Hayes, is it?"

"Not even close. Evans."

"Damn it all. Pleasure to meet you anyway."

Lily took the offered hand.

"Come along then," Sam continued, half turning away from her. "You should meet everyone else. Oi—Dory!"

A short, middle-aged witch in long scarlet robes turned around in response to Sam's call. She had wiry hair, shoulder length and black as ink, except for a strip of snowy white framing her heart shaped face. Everything about her—from her merry brown eyes to her plump figure—was distinctly rounded, and as Lily connected the woman to the house through which she had traveled earlier, she thought they fit quite well.

"Hello dear," said the witch. "Who are you?"

"Lily Evans."

"I'm Dory. Dorcas Meadowes."

"I've just come from your house, actually. I..."

"Oh, have you?" asked Dorcas absently. "The cat didn't bite, did she? Maura's awfully temperamental."

"No, she was sleeping."

"Oh, lovely. Whatever were you in my house for?"

Lily wasn't sure whether or not Dorcas was joking.

"Flooing of course, Dear," Sam piped up. "Never mind Dory, Lily Evans. She's senile."

"I most certainly am _not_."

"I can't thank you enough," Lily said anyway. "It's a lovely house."

"Well, aren't you nice?" Dory beamed at the younger woman. "You must be the ginger, then."

"Fits the bill, doesn't she?" Sam agreed. "Sorry," he added to Lily; "we're quite rude sometimes. Dory practically raised me, you know, and sometimes we forget that other people can hear us spewing nonsense. Where's Emmeline, Dear? Lily ought to meet Emmeline... show her that all purebloods aren't raving lunatics. There are a few sober-minded individuals amongst... oh, Lily, you don't object to the word, do you?"

"What word?"

"Pureblood."

"Er... not particularly, no."

"Lovely. I once knew a bloke who became _extremely_ ruffled whenever I said the word. I don't mean to knock anyone else. I was a Hufflepuff for a few days once, so..." He trailed off, as though his meaning were obvious, though Lily had no idea what it was. "Oh, there's Em. _Em!"_

James had described Emmeline as Dorcas's sister, but the two could not have been more different. Lily had not suspected her to be one of their number, actually. Emmeline was considerably taller and younger, about thirty-five, judging by the look of her, with soft brown hair, pulled into a neat, McGonagall-like knot. She was lean and clad in sensible business clothes, and she did not light up as Dorcas had done in response, but raised a thinly manicured eyebrow.

"What is it, Samuel?"

"You ought to meet Lily. She's just arrived," said Sam, very quickly. "James Potter brought her."

"There are too many teenagers here already," said Emmeline, with a hint of anxiety in her voice. "I don't mean it personally," she added, "and we appreciate your presence, but it's too risky as it is, with all of these young people running about..."

"Ignore my sister," said Dory, smiling brightly. "She was born forty."

"I was born _practical_, Dorcas."

"However you like to say it, Em," teased the older woman. "Anyway, as far as I'm concerned—the more young blood the better. No one believes the elderly."

Sam snorted. "Young at heart, Dear. Let's see—who else had she better meet? Oh, there are Gideon and Fabian Prewett..."

But Lily was already well acquainted with the two lanky redheads that constituted the Prewett twins. They had been a few years older than Lily at Hogwarts—both Gryffindors and members of the Quidditch team (Gid a former beater, Fabian the seeker). They stood some distance away, almost on the other edge of the fountain, and Lily had not spotted them at once. She smiled and waved and probably would have gone over, had she not been approached just then by two more former classmates: Frank and Alice.

"_Lily!"_ Alice practically squealed, throwing her arms around the redhead's neck. She and Frank both wore dark maroon robes, with engraved silver badges pinned to the lapels, reading: _A.T_. Frank looked much the same as he had in June—the last time Lily had seen the two older students—but Alice's hair was longer and straighter, pulled into a low pony-tail at the moment. Almost immediately following her exclamation, Alice recoiled, eyes wide. "Good Merlin, I sound so _girly_. I haven't had the opportunity to use that voice since June! Agrippa's sake, Lily, you look wonderful! How are you? How's summer? Have you...?"

"Are you going to let her _answer_ any of those?" asked Sam, and Alice made a face at him.

"Quiet, Dearborn."

"You two know each other?" asked Lily, surprised. "I feel _so_ left out."

"I have a cousin who's a Dearborn," said Alice; "and Sam's brother is one of our trainers... Auror training, that is."

"Your brother...?"

"Oh, not Egbert," said Frank, speaking up. "Doc. Speaking of which—is Doc coming, Sam?"

"Not likely," replied the wizard, rolling his eyes. "He thinks it's all very silly. Of course, Doc tries to stay a-political, even if, deep down, his loyalties are in the right place. Doc and I are the black sheep of the Dearborns..."

"Wait a minute," Lily cut in. "It's not _Caradoc _Dearborn, is it?"

"Oi, that's right!" Alice remembered. "You _know_ Doc, don't you? He substituted when Professor Black..." she broke off. "Anyway, you know Doc, I suppose."

"Well, there you go," said Sam. "Not so left out, after all."

"When did you arrive, Lily?" asked Frank. "And how did you hear about this?"

"James Potter showed up on my doorstep about half an hour ago," replied Lily. "I'm actually _still_ a little confused about what it is, exactly, that we're doing."

"Nothing right now," replied Alice. "We're waiting for the Wizengamot to come out of counsel."

"Why?"

"Well, since Potter Senior retired before his usual term," Frank explained, "they have to vote in his replacement."

"The vote isn't until tomorrow," said Sam. "But all the same, we think it would be much more effective to be marching at a time when the entire Wizengamot isn't locked in a secluded dungeon."

"Marching?"

"Merlin, James didn't tell you much, did he?" asked Alice.

"Come to think of it," Lily admitted, "he _was_ a bit brief." (_Short, really. Was he _angry_ with her?)._

"We're walking the Atrium," said Sam. "It's very historical, you know. Wizards protesting for muggleborn rights did it in 1845, and in 1963, there..."

"She doesn't want a history lesson," interrupted a new voice behind Lily, and she turned, smiling, as she recognized the voice.

"Sirius."

"Lily," he replied. He was wearing a cardinal red shirt—which suited him quite well—and a sleek, silver fedora.

"You know," she said, as James and Remus came up beside their friend, "I think the fedora works for you."

"You've _got_ to be kidding me..." grumbled James, and Sirius smirked.

"So, who's getting Peter?" Lily asked.

Remus rolled his eyes. "We all are. These two couldn't agree on who ought to go."

"When are the other A.T.s coming, Frank?" asked James.

"Auror Trainees," Alice explained to Lily's inquisitive look.

"Ten minutes. All of them except Dawlish."

"_All _of the auror trainees oppose my git brother?" asked Sam, surprised. "Not that I object—it's just surprising."

"Not really," said Alice. "The A.T.s do a lot of work in the auror department, and that's a part of D.M.L.E. No one there seems to like him much, which is why it was such a shock that he was named to be given the job permanently."

"Probably bribed someone," said Sam dryly.

"He _is_ a git," agreed Frank. "No offense, Sam, but he can't even remember his own secretary's name. Speaking of which, I believe Reese will be joining us."

"How is it that _all_ the A.T.s can get out?" Lily asked. "I mean, don't you have training?"

"It's furlough week for us," said Frank. "There's one every couple of months."

Donna and Marlene joined the group, as did Sarah McKinnon, who immediately stood beside Sam, draping an arm around his shoulders. "Elphias says fifteen minutes," she told him and the others. "And Miss Shacklebolt says her brother won't be joining us."

"He's on a mission," Donna elaborated. "Anyway, it's just as well..." This last part she uttered rather quietly, however, went unnoticed by nearly all.

"I suppose it's better that way, anyway," said Frank. "The A.T.s are on furlough, but the aurors certainly aren't, and they're actually doing a job that _needs_ to be done, regardless of who the head of the department is."

"Besides," agreed Alice, "we've already got Emmeline Vance—she's from D.M.L.E."

"Alright, then," said James. "I suppose _we_ ought to get going."

"Right," said Sirius. He turned to Lily. "When I get back, you had better march with me, Evans. There are some things we had better discuss."

"What things?"

"Come on, Sirius," said Remus loudly.

Sirius winked at Lily, and the three Marauders turned and disappeared in the crowd amongst the floo networks.

"What is _that_ all about?" Alice asked, and Lily only shook her head.

"Search _me_. The lot of them have been acting awfully mysterious..."

(Opposition)

The three Marauders peered around the corner of the alleyway into which they had just apparated. No one seemed to be about, and so James stepped boldly out.

"You haven't told Lily, yet, then," said Sirius, folding his arms as he and Remus closely followed their friend.

"Haven't told her what?" asked James forcibly.

"Either thing," said Remus. "I'm _assuming_ you haven't mentioned the Head Boy badge yet either?"

"It hasn't come up," defended the other. "We've been a little busy, in case you haven't noticed."

"She would like to know about that, considering that she's Head Girl," said Remus. "And she owled me last week... before I knew _you_ got it, terrified that Snape would get it."

"Why would that 'terrify' her?" James wanted to know, as they crossed a road. They were still a few blocks away from Peter's.

"I don't know," said Remus. "But she thinks it might be Snape, because she's already discounted the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw prefects for our year, so you really ought to put her mind at ease."

"Oh who the bloody hell cares?" grumbled Sirius. "What about the other thing?"

"Yes, what about that?" Remus also wanted to know.

James rolled his eyes, quickening his pace so that he walked a little ahead of the others. "I don't understand why you two are so fixated on my telling Lily about Carlotta. It's not as though I have any _obligation_..."

"Maybe not an _official_ obligation," protested Remus. "But everyone knows that you and Lily have a... history."

"_No_, Lily and I do _not_ have a history. _I_ have a history, but _Lily and I_ do not, as was made abundantly clear the other night..."

"You almost snogged!" Sirius argued.

"_Almost_! But we didn't, which seems to be the important detail that you're ignoring."

"It still seems like mixed signals to _me_."

James scoffed. "There are a lot of things about which Lily could justifiably lecture me, but _mixed signals_ are not among them."

"Okay, hold up, Prongs," said Sirius, grabbing his mate's arm and pulling him to a stop, facing the other two Marauders in the middle of the pavement. "The fact is, you brought Lily to the Ministry today... that has to mean _something_."

"No it _doesn't _—Carlotta's in Italy. I couldn't possibly have reached her..."

"But of all the people in the world," Remus went on, "you fetched _Lily Evans_."

"It's not like that! I _told_ you: Carlotta and I are actually going to have a go at a relationship, and I'm not going to..."

"No, no, no," interrupted Remus. "That's not it."

"We just want to know why _Carlotta _and _why now?"_ Sirius asked. "Is it because she's really fit and kind of slutty?"

"Padfoot, shut up." James started to walk again, but Remus and Sirius deterred him.

"Hang on, Padfoot didn't mean anything by it!" Remus insisted. "He just meant... I mean, now that Lily is actually warming up to you..."

"You jump into bed with Carlotta?" Sirius finished. "It doesn't make sense. I _would_ say 'it's not like you,' except it's _exactly_ like you to go and do something stupid when Lily starts warming up to you. Under normal circumstances, I would say, 'go ahead! Carlotta is unreasonably good-looking, and it's nice work if you can get it.' But _now_?"

James groaned. "_Why do you care?" _he demanded. "Honestly, _why on Earth_ does this bother you at _all_?"

Sirius scowled. "You want to know why we care?"

"Yes."

"You _really_ want to know?"

"_Yes!"_

"Moony, tell him why we care."

Remus folded his arms, shaking his head in what must have been unspeakable annoyance. "We _care_," he said, "because for six years, we have sat through rants, and complaints, and hours upon _hours_ of brainstorming sessions while you concocted _truly_ awful ways to ask that girl out..."

"We have listened to things," said Sirius, "that _no_ man with... _anything_ going on downstairs should _ever_ have to listen to! Half the time, you were just talking to yourself! 'WHY_ is Lily Evans mates with Snivellus? _WHY_ does she think I'm the devil's illegitimate son? _WHY_ didn't she agree to date me when I bewitched her dinner to ask her out? _WHY _did I think it was a good idea to bewitch her dinner to ask her out?_"

"And _all of that _was always followed by—_not that I really care_," Remus picked up, and Sirius rolled his eyes. "But of _course _you bloody cared! You sodding _stalked_ the girl for six years! You stopped hexing people... you quit _smoking_..."

"I did not quit smoking for Lily Ev..."

"Yeah fucking right," Remus interrupted, and both of his friends were taken aback by the use of profanity from their mild-mannered cohort. "You'd have jumped off the Astronomy Tower to impress her! In fact, I'm glad you didn't think of that, because if it had occurred to you, you _probably_ would have done it! And then your ghost would have haunted us, wandering the corridors, moaning about how Lily Evans wasn't impressed when you committed suicide for her!"

"Are you two done?" asked James, vexed.

"_Done_?" echoed Sirius. "Prongs, this is just the bristles on the broomstick. I would wager that... seventy-two percent of your waking thoughts since you started Hogwarts have been about Lily Evans! And I don't even want to _think_ about your non-waking thoughts, because, frankly, that's gross."

"Okay, _maybe_ two years ago," James interrupted; "But that was two years ago. Times change, and..."

"And you're an idiot," said Remus. "Two years ago, Lily Evans couldn't stand to be in the same room as you! This morning, you show up on her doorstep and she pretty much blindly follows you to the Ministry of Magic!"

"To say _nothing_ of the fact that you almost snogged!" Sirius added. "I cannot be the only one who remembers that!"

"Operative word being 'almost!'"

"Operative word being 'you're an idiot!'"

"That's _three _words, Padfoot."

"Semantics! The point _is_..."

"What _is_ the point?"

"You want to know the point?"

"Yes!"

"You want to know what the _point is?"_

"_YES!"_

"Tell him the point, Moony."

"This point _is_—all of _that_... all the whining, all the scheming, all the not smelling like tobacco, all the angst-ing..."

"I did not _angst_..."

"_ALL OF THE ANGST-ING _will have been for _NOTHING_, because _you_, Prongs, are going to _quit?_ You never quit on anything—remember second year, when you wanted to try out for Quidditch, but Declan was captain and he said all the positions were full, but you pestered him for days and days to hold tryouts, and then he did, and then you made the team..."

"Edging out a fifth year, incidentally," Sirius noted. "_That_ wasn't pretty."

"But you _never_ quit at anything before you've gotten the results _you_ want," Remus went on. "Not on the animagi or the Marauders' Map, or _least of all _Lily Evans. So on some level, Sirius and I _don't_ care..."

"You don't?"

"We don't?"

"_No_. Obviously, Carlotta Meloni is..." He trailed off.

"Fit," allowed Sirius.

"_Really, really _good-looking," agreed Remus. "And it's not that we're _opposed_ to you having a girlfriend..."

"Eh. I'm a little opposed."

"But, c'mon—after all this time, all this effort, all of those rejections, now that you're finally... making progress with Lily, you just want to _give up_?" At some point, Remus's argument had turned into a sincere question. He waited with a certain earnestness for James to answer. James's reply, however, was somewhat unexpected.

"Do you _hear_ yourselves?" he asked. "Honestly—you're describing me for the last six years, and I sound like an idiot... I sound insane! Apparently, I would have been willing to jump off the Astronomy Tower? And for a girl that couldn't even 'stand to be in the same room as me?'"

"That's not what I..."

"But it's _true_. And I'm not 'making progress' with Lily. She is... she's is _never_ going to feel that way about me. If the other night taught me anything, it's _that_. And—I don't feel great about that, but don't I have the right to at least _try_ to? Lily is..." He searched for the words, "She makes me kind of crazy, in case you haven't noticed, and I _know_ that you have. Carlotta—I like Carlotta. She _doesn't_ make me crazy; I can just—enjoy being with her. She's... fun. I deserve _that_ at least..."

"But..."

"But _nothing_, Padfoot! If I'm giving up on Lily, it doesn't mean that all of the effort that went into trying to get her to fancy me was a load of dung... it just means that, maybe the goal wasn't what I thought it was. Because... because I've pretty much done all I can do as far as making myself good enough for her, and she just wants to be friends, so... so—I have to deal with that and _move on_."

"But what about 'the quaffle and the snitch?'" Sirius asked, in a last ditch effort. "Don't chase the quaffle if you see the..."

"First of all," James cut him off, "don't quote my mother to me. _Second of all_, Sirius—I'm a chaser. Maybe I'm not supposed to catch the snitch... because, y'know, the quaffle is just fine. There is _nothing_ wrong with the quaffle. You throw it around; it doesn't try to _hide_ from you..."

"Are you planning on throwing Carlotta around?"

"It's a _metaphor_, damn it."

"Alright, _fine_," said Remus firmly. "Prongs, the thing that _really_ matters here is that you're completely over Lily. So _are_ you?"

James sighed. This bloody hot weather was getting to him. "Yes," he said at length. "_Really_," he added, to Sirius's skeptical look. "Can we go get Peter now?"

And, turning, he headed down the block.

"Yeah fucking right," mumbled Sirius, as they followed.

"Maybe he's telling the truth," reasoned Remus. "After all, he _did_ tell Sam to keep an eye on her, and the Prongs of years gone by wouldn't trust _any_ bloke around Lily."

Sirius snorted. "Yeah, but it's _Sam_."

"So?"

His friend looked at the young werewolf, confused. "_Sam_, Moony."

"I know. _So_?"

"_Sam_. _Sam Dearborn_."

"I know who he is! What are you talking about?"

"You honestly don't know?" Sirius asked incredulously.

"Don't know _what?"_

"Lily's... not exactly Sam's... type."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Lily is a good-looking, intelligent, funny, and talented girl. What exactly about her isn't any bloke's_—_much less Sam's—'type?'"

And then Sirius began to laugh. "The last item on that list, Moony. _Merlin_, and you're supposed to be the brainy one! Oi—Prongs, guess what...!" He jogged ahead to catch up with James.

Remus kicked a pebble down the pavement. "Why does no one ever tell me _anything_?"

(Zeitgeist)

Lily's estimation of two dozen "protesters" ("marchers," as Sam called them) turned out to be false. By the time they started walking, there were about fifty witches and wizards involved, half of whom arrived either after Lily or—like Emmeline—Lily had not guessed to be part of the anti-Dearborn cause. Still, the majority wore some shade of red.

An elderly wizard in a mustard yellow trilby approached the group with which Lily stood just before—now including Donna, Marlene, Frank, Alice, Sam, Sarah McKinnon, and Gideon and Fabian Prewett—and was introduced as Elphias Doge. Doge informed them of the route—the length of the atrium hall, back towards the fountain, and around it—and warned them all to stick close together and not draw their wands unless absolutely necessary.

"We'll walk for about an hour," he told them. "Show that we have no use in Egbert Dearborn or his 'Population Protection.'"

With that, Doge departed to fill in another group of the plan.

As it turned out, Doge's estimation of the day turned out to be all but entirely wrong.

But more on that later.

"He made it sound so dull," observed Sam. He linked arms with Lily. "Walk with me, Evans? You can protect me. I'm a bloody coward you know."

"Fine, but only if you tell me what those hats are about..."

"They're about looking marvelous," Sam replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. People seemed to be forming some broad sort of queue, into which Lily and Sam sidled up, while Lily reached over with her free arm and snatched the fedora off Sam's head. "You must be bloody mad," Sam accused idly. "Wearing maroon with that hair of yours."

"I think it's rather fetching," Lily joked, though she rather assumed that the hat, combined with her hair, combined with her shirt must have been a truly horrendous sight.

"Oh, yes, terribly," agreed Sam sarcastically.

The Marauders had not returned yet, when the fifty of them began to march, and Lily might have been worried, if she hadn't been far too distracted with how awkward it was at first. News reports never said how awkward this sort of thing really _felt_.

A lot of the other people in the Atrium were staring at them. Some watched with a vague curiosity, reading the words that Elphias Doge had conjured in glittering red letters over their heads, "_Get Dearborn Out of the Ministry, Keep Him Out of Hogwarts." _("A bit of a mouthful, that," noted Sam, rolling his eyes. "Poor Doge—he ought to have picked something catchier, like... "Down with Dearborn!" And Lily didn't even bother pointing out the humor in Sam's exclamation). A minority of outsiders sent the marchers encouraging looks, but most seemed to view the event as a passing oddity and not much more.

However, the first significant boost to Lily's morale arrived in the form of nearly twenty Auror Trainees, who joined the group before they had gone once around the Atrium. The new A.T.s wore maroon robes, identical to Frank and Alice's uniform, and, by increasing the number of walkers almost by half, brightened the mood considerably. They were also responsible for raising a chant of "_Dump Dearborn!"_, which Sam took up almost immediately, and Lily could not help but smile a bit at his enthusiasm.

Eventually, he took a break from his chanting—though the others, including (rather to Lily's surprise) Donna and Marlene, continued on—and turned to Lily long enough to ask: "What's it like... Hogwarts?" He had been watching the words overhead, too, and was apparently taken captive by the last one.

Lily raised her eyebrows. "It's... brilliant. Didn't you ever go?"

"I went," said Sam. "Got sorted into Hufflepuff, though, and as far as Mum was concerned, that practically made me a squib. So, she decided enough was enough and brought me home."

"Oh..."

"It was years ago," Sam went on, grinning. "I reckon I've moved on. But all the same, I wonder how it must be to... to always be around people one's own age."

"You were taught at home, then?" asked Lily curiously, and Sam nodded. "Well... it's brilliant. I wish I could say it wasn't, but... everything there is—fantastic. Always new."

"The castle's hundreds of years old, you know..."

"Mmm, but it's—it's always changing. You never know what to expect. And there's always something to do, and something to find out, and... I don't know. There are... twice as many things about the world to find out as there were before I knew that I was... y'know—a witch." Lily bit her lip, trying to find a downside. Unable to think of any, exactly, she tried a different tactic: "But you grew up in a pureblood house, so—I reckon you've got all that there."

"Maybe," said Sam evasively.

Lily frowned. "Anyway, that's why _I'm_ here."

"Oh?" Her companion brightened a little, amusement in his blue eyes. "I thought you were here for my cousin."

"Oh, because I'm a girl," said Lily sarcastically, "and my only concern is _boys_."

"_No_, because my cousin is positively _dishy_..."

Lily laughed. "Well, I'm not here heeling it after James," she said. "I just think anyone who can should be allowed to go to Hogwarts. Don't _you_?"

Sam did not reply. Instead, he stole back his hat. "Sorry, Ginger, but it _really_ isn't your color."

For the next twenty minutes or so, marching was uneventful. The chant of "Dump Dearborn!" was born and died every so often, and, though the Atrium grew stiller as the morning went on, the marchers were no less enthusiastic. Lily alternately joined in the chants and talked with those around her—Marlene, Donna, Sam, of course, and Frank and Alice—and, at one point, had a quick discussion with a wizard that she didn't know who had asked her if she had colored her hair specially for that event.

(The Marauders had still not returned.)

It was almost ten thirty before anything really interesting happened.

It began with a burst of green flame in one of the fireplaces, and two wizards emerged from it, wearing shirts like Sam's and Sarah McKinnon's, marked with the green "M.F.P."

"Is that Elisha and Garrett Jordan?" Sam asked of no one in particular. "But that doesn't make sense... they were supposed to be in Cartagena..."

Sarah McKinnon had joined Sam in less then a minute. "Whatever are Elisha and Garrett doing here?"

"And what's with the shirts?" Marlene wanted to know, glancing at Sam's and Sarah's matching articles of clothing.

"M.F.P," Sarah replied, distracted. "Magic for Peace. We're members."

"Aren't those the witches and wizards that were getting knocked off in July?" Donna asked in an undertone of Lily, and the redhead nodded. The newcomers who had inspired such surprise in their club-mates soon found Sam and Sarah, and they were beaming.

"What are you doing here?" Sarah asked. "Aren't you meant to be in Columbia?"

"Caught a few portkeys back twenty minutes ago," said one of the wizards. "Tilly flooed us."

"Tilly?" echoed Sam. "Tilly's involved?"

The wizard nodded, and both he and his companion (brother, Lily would later find out) looked strangely excited. "Wait till you see. It's all Potter's doing."

"_Grace's_ doing?" asked Sarah. "What do you mean?"

But before the wizard could reply, six fireplaces beside which the crowd now marched flared up—not an altogether unusual occurrence, of course, except that Elisha and Garrett were suddenly very keen to see who had arrived. Two witches and a wizard wearing M.F.P. shirts were among the six; a wizard whom Lily thought might have been Benjy Fenwick (the Hufflepuff prefect for their year), and Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew were the other three.

"Peter! Remus!" Lily hailed at once, and as the two Marauders fell into the crowd, they moved towards her. But the show was far from over, as the floo terminals continued to light up with more and more witches and wizards, some wearing "M.F.P." shirts and red robes, and some not. Sirius was in the next batch, and he joined his friends, looking quite pleased with himself.

Emmeline Vance could be seen questioning a tiny wizard who had just arrived in cardinal red robes, and Lily turned to the Marauders.

"What's going on?"

All of the marchers had stopped to watch now, and many of the dozens of Ministry workers moving through the Atrium paused in their own work as well.

"It was James's idea," Sirius replied to Lily's question (four more wizards joined the crowd—one actually carrying a banner that read "_Dump Dearborn!"),_ "we stopped by the Potters', and..." But he broke off, waving to someone who had just appeared by floo—James, himself, actually.

Lily had long ago been forced to reconcile herself with the fact that James Potter was a good-looking bloke, and, being as they were something of enemies at the time, she had done it reluctantly. But in all her years of acquaintance with him, Lily did not think she had ever thought James quite as handsome as he looked now. He was grinning, and something about him suddenly seemed to contain a certain _energy..._

"Half of M.F.P. is here," marveled Sarah. "Only Tilly could have contacted _everyone_ so quickly..."

"Someone needs to explain what is going on _right now_," Donna insisted, folding her arms. "Because my head is beginning to hurt."

"That's not a pretty sight," Marlene agreed.

James took of his hat, apparently for the sole purpose of running a hand through his hair, before replacing the fedora upon his head. "Sirius and Lupin and I went to fetch Peter," he began, speaking very quickly. "And once we'd collected him, I realized that I'd forgotten... a... well, I'd forgotten something at home that I rather thought I should have with me, just in case I should need it for anything."

Lily looked at Sirius, who leaned close and whispered, "_The cloak_."

"So we decided to go back to my house to pick it up," James went on. "And when we got there, Mum was having a meeting with Tilda Figg. Tilly's the head of M.F.P., and she and my mum were chatting over what their next move was going to be with this Dearborn business... so I risked my mum turning into a raving lunatic and locking me in a cupboard for the next eleven and a half years, and decided to spill about this little tête-à-tête."

"She didn't know about it?" asked Sarah, surprised. "I thought Tilly knew everything."

"Well, she knew about it naturally," replied James. "They talked about it for about a minute on the wireless, but she didn't reckon it to be very much of a big deal... which, let's face it, it wasn't."

"So Tilly," Sirius resumed, "said she could double the numbers in about half an hour, because, as the president of M.F.P., she had ways to get in touch with all of 'em."

"Don't forget about the other part," said Peter cheerfully; "_The Daily Prophet _and the witch from the WWN..."

"Right," said James. "After Mum got done hollering at me for lying to her about visiting Sirius, she, naturally, forbade me from coming back to the Ministry..."

"Which lasted about a minute," said Remus dryly; "because James talked his way out of it, like a git..."

"Sod off, I was brilliant," insisted James. "And I asked Mum how one would go about tipping off someone who might care at _The Daily Prophet_ that a few hundred witches and wizards from all over the country would be marching at the Ministry of Magic in protest of Egbert Dearborn."

"And Mrs. Potter agreed to tip off a few people she might know at _The Daily Prophet _and some witch who does a broadcast on the WWN..." finished Remus.

"But I don't understand—these people aren't _all_ M.F.P.," said Sam, frowning. "Who are all the others?"

"That's the best part," said Remus. "They all owled friends or family or whatever. We were over at Dorcas's for only, maybe, fifteen minutes, and almost hundred people showed up to floo from there..."

"It must have looked funny to the neighbors," added Peter. "All those people going in, like she was having a party or something."

"And there's more coming, too," said James. "Morty Fenwick is M.F.P. and his wife works in Goblin Liaison, so they let people use their floo-connected house... Curly's around here somewhere, actually..."

"His name is _Benjy_," Remus reminded him, shaking his head.

"Right. Benjy. Whatever."

In half an hour (they had now walked the Atrium twice) seventy was one hundred fifty, then around two hundred fifty before the hour was up. Roughly half of those who arrived (and more continued to floo in) wore M.F.P. shirts under their red robes. Lily recognized dozens of the newcomers as former Hogwarts students, but there were also a great number of significantly older witches and wizards that Lily didn't know. Emmeline Vance was almost smiling.

A redheaded wizard joined in the march beside Sam, whom he apparently knew. He struck up a conversation, at one pointing turning to Lily and asking, quite politely: "Excuse me—are you a Weasley?"

"No..." she responded uncertainly, and the wizard laughed.

"Terribly sorry," he apologized good-naturedly. "I only asked on account of the hair, you know." He indicated to his own flaming locks. "I'm Arthur."

"She's one of James Potter's friends," said Sam.

"I see!" said Arthur. "Are _you_ the ginger then?"

"I wish someone would tell me what that _means_," grumbled Lily, as Sam laughed.

"She's muggleborn, Arthur," he said, and these seemed to be magic words, as Arthur at once began to bombard Lily with questions—all enthusiastically and courteously asked—about muggles.

The walk ended later than predicted, around noon, as the Atrium filled once again with Ministry workers on their way to the floo terminal for luncheon. The marchers themselves now gathered around the Fountain of Magical Brethren again, made distinct from the others by their robes. Lily didn't want it to end, and this sentiment must have been shared, as a middle-aged gentleman (possibly in his forties or fifties, but it was always difficult to tell with witches and wizards) stepped up on the ledge of the fountain and began to speak.

"That's Victor Vance," explained Sirius to Lily. "Emmeline's husband. You met Emmeline, didn't you?"

Lily said that she had and then took a moment to listen to Victor.

"Some of you here," he began, and his voice was gentle but firm, "are very young. And..." he smiled, "some of you here would say that _I_ am very young. If you belong to the either category, however, you can probably remember very clearly when the earliest disappearances at the hands of Voldemort began." A chill—pardon the cliché—seemed to run through the entire hall. Vance had not magically magnified his voice, but it echoed in the Atrium when he spoke, and those who were there strictly professionally—now including half a dozen, busily scribbling reporters—seemed to have stopped to listen.

"The first ones," Vance went on, "seemed random and unconnected. And then there were murders—some high profile, some that were barely reported..." Lily looked over at Donna, whose face was fixed in a stony gaze upon Vance. Her hands shook almost imperceptibly. "And Voldemort took credit for those, and we all _knew_. And we've known for a long time that some have agreed with him and what he does, but I think we—we hoped that there were enough who knew better. And we hoped that the Ministry... that those charged with our protection knew better. Some at the Ministry _have_, and some have stood idly by, but I don't think that any have ever so actively supported Voldemort's agenda in law."

At first, Lily wasn't aware of clapping, and then she was. She was not alone either; the other marchers joined in at the same moment, and for nearly a minute, the clattering of applause filled the hall. Another chorus of "_Dump Dearborn!_" was begun, and Lily did not feel silly joining in... partially because the nearby Sirius was practically singing it.

He noticed her laughing at him and waved her over to where he stood, at the edge of the crowd, furthest from the fountain. There were very few people between them and the regular Ministry workers, many more of whom took note of the increased numbers, and a greater percentage of which now seemed to watch with less than pleased expressions.

"What was so important that you said you needed to discuss with me earlier?" she asked, half joking,

Sirius sobered slightly. "All sorts of things," he covered unconvincingly. "I haven't seen you in weeks, Love. Isn't there anything you'd like to discuss with _me_?"

"Not really."

"Well, thanks."

"Well I wrote you twice," Lily defended herself. "Oi—I got Head Girl! Or did I tell you already?"

"Moony told me." Sirius sighed dramatically, as the crowd around them roared. Victor Vance descended from the fountain ledge, to be replaced by Dorcas Meadowes. "I suppose you'll be bouncing around handing out detentions and deducting points from me, now."

"I don't intend to bounce, no," replied Lily. "Otherwise, that sounds fairly accurate."

Sirius smirked.

"There's something you're not telling me," Lily accused, watching him carefully. "What is it?"

"Well, Love, there are a lot of things I'm not about to tell you _now_. We're in the Ministry of Magic. Don't want to get arrested, do I?"

Lily protested, but before she could get very much of her complaint out, another voice rang out—not Dorcas's, and much louder than any other in the hall, so that even amidst the dull roar of chatter, this shout was clear and startling.

"_Mudbloods!" _a wizard shrieked, and since Lily stood in the back, she had but to turn to see the man. He was tall and dark haired, with a goatee and grey eyes, and there was a slight flush in his pale face as he shouted: "_Mudbloods and blood traitors the lot of you!_ But you'll get what you deserve!"

Almost in one movement, Sirius pushed Lily back further into the crowd, away from the wizard, and reached for his own wand. James seemed to appear out of nowhere, and at first Lily thought he was going to draw too, but he did not. He said Sirius's nickname in a hushed tone, as the angry pureblood continued to shout at the group, and Lily—still stumbling from Sirius's push—managed to get to Sirius and grab his wand-bearing fist.

"All of you! The times are changing, and all of this goddamn mudblood _waste_ is going to _end!_" A slightly shorter wizard, about the same age (fifty or so), stood at his side, nodding his approbation smugly.

Remus arrived a split second later; he grabbed Sirius's opposite shoulder, but, Lily realized, he wasn't restraining it. It was almost a reassuring gesture.

"Let go of me," muttered Sirius.

"Give me your wand," countered James, and his friend handed over the wand without question. Lily was reluctant to let go, because she feared Sirius would do something reckless to the shouting wizard, but Remus, who had stepped back already, sent her an imploring look, and she released the Marauder's hand.

Sirius stepped forward, detaching himself from the crowd—nearly all of whom were watching the shouting wizard (Lily was certainly not the only witch who had been moved inside by an overenthusiastically protective wizard).

"Don't you think you had better get home?" said Sirius loudly, and the older wizard's eyes flickered towards the younger. Surprise, then anger, then malice all flared up on his face in sequence. "I'm surprised she let you out of the house at all. You must have been very well behaved..." And despite the mocking nature of his words, he spoke in an even, unfeeling voice.

Lily suddenly realized who this wizard must be.

"_You_," the man almost whispered. "I should have known."

"Perhaps..." began the smug, shorter wizard, quietly, "we should not waste anymore time."

The other wizard ignored his companion. He stepped closer to Sirius. "How's your eye?" he asked softly, and if Lily had not been standing just behind her housemate, she would not have heard. "All healed?"

Sirius's fist clenched; Remus and James exchanged looks. "Leave," said Sirius quietly. "Now."

And then, another voice interrupted the exchange. Dorcas spoke from the front of the crowd, and all that she said was this: "Horatio Meadowes, 1972." Practically everyone turned to look at her, except Sirius and the wizard, who were lost in their own world. Dorcas continued: "Philip Stoake, 1976. Abel Diggory, 1976..." Her voice trembled.

"Jonah McKinnon, 1972," Sarah McKinnon spoke up forcefully.

"Ellis Smith, 1975," said a witch's voice, but she stood far away, and Lily could not see her.

"Hawthorne Longbottom, 1974," said Frank.

"Marquis and Christine Shacklebolt," said Marlene, and Donna looked at her, surprised. "1974."

"Cary Young, 1976," said one of the _Daily Prophet_ reporters.

"Ava Lescano, 1976," said someone Lily didn't know, and more followed. She turned to Sirius again.

"Come along, Cygnus," said the dark wizard, who had not broken eye contact with Sirius. "We wouldn't want to get dirt on our robes."

_"Josiah Johnson, 1975."_

"Yes, go along, Uncle Cygnus," muttered Sirius spitefully. "Someone might see him consorting with his son."

"_Rainier Prewett, 1976."_

_ "Faye Weasley, 1972."_

"_You_ are not my son," spat the wizard. Then, with a swish of his black cloak, he turned and walked hastily towards the floo terminals, followed closely by Cygnus. Sirius turned and rejoined his friends.

"_Augustus Pepper, 1973..."_

Sirius did not make eye contact with any of his friends, until, after a minute, Lily looped her arm through his. "Well at least now I've met the family," she quipped, and Sirius chuckled bitterly. He mussed her hair with his free hand.

"_Miguel LaMonica, 1973."_

_ "Avery Crouch, 1974."_

_ "Nari David, 1976."_

* * *

"So, James, you're from a wizarding family. How would you say that this announcement from Dearborn affects _you_?"

Watching James Potter reply to the questions posed by the _Daily Prophet's_ reporter—a pretty, dark woman, whose quill rapidly took down everything—was like watching a different person. No, Lily amended in her mind almost immediately: it was like watching a different incarnation of the same old James Potter. It was like watching him talk about Quidditch or the Marauders... only more so. He seemed so utterly passionate—whether conveying enthusiasm for the number of people who had decided to protest or anger at the actual announcement. The golds and greens and blues of his eyes became more pronounced, the inflection of his voice more powerful. If Lily had found herself disagreeing with anything he said, she would have been petrified at the prospect of debating him now (although, she couldn't deny that the idea was mysteriously exhilarating as well).

"Well," James answered to the witch, "first of all, this _does_ affect me. That should be established. This affects every witch and wizard. It's an—an awful affront to the entire magical community—on top of all the ethical issues of denying the right to carry a wand, it's extremely dangerous to limit magic society like this. And, second of all, even if it _didn't_ directly affect me... even if some of my best mates weren't half-blooded and muggleborn... it's just a matter of right and wrong. I would never feel comfortable with myself or the wizarding community knowing that this kind of thing went on. I mean—we're not perfect as it is... but Dearborn and his 'Population Protection' routine is just—it's just going further backwards."

"Now, there haven't been many demonstrations like this for the last few years," the reporter went on. "The death eaters seem to intimidate people from showing. Why is this different?"

"Well, I think everyone here today hates the death eater movement—I mean, no question—but we're not here protesting that. This is the Ministry of Magic... this is the group that's supposed to be working _for_ us..."

James went on to answer the question, and Lily couldn't help but smile as he did so. His gestures, expressions, and words were just so _James_—it was fascinating to see them in this unusual context. He was enjoying himself; that much was evident, though the situation was anything but cheerful. Even when furious (and he did nothing to hide his anger at the words 'death eaters' or the name which he so unflinchingly uttered: "Voldemort"), he seemed to relish the situation.

Lily was reflecting on this fact when the reporter posed a new question: "How do you think the muggleborns out here are feeling today?"

"Oh, I'm sure they're a hell of a lot angrier than I am," said James folding his arms. "But I'm the wrong person to ask." He nodded towards his companion. "Lily's a muggleborn."

Lily froze, as the reporter took interest in her for the first time since their hasty introduction five minutes prior, when the two of them—Lily and James—had been asked to give a few words. "'Lily,' was it? Excellent. So, how are _you_ feeling?"

"Um..." She looked at James, who nodded encouragingly, a sly, crooked grin on his face. Riled (or possibly motivated), Lily locked eyes with the reporter. "Scared," she said. "Really, terrified, actually. I was—um—made aware of the fact that I'm a witch before my Hogwarts letter was delivered. I found out when I was about nine. I, um, I could fly off swings without hurting myself, and I could make flowers bloom... I blew a door of its hinges, once... just, uh, things like that. If I had never received my Hogwarts letter... never been admitted into this world, what would I have done? Would my uncontrolled magic get stronger... what would I have done with that part of me? So, I'm afraid for all of the brilliant witches and wizards who are threatened by this development. I'm also afraid for the magical world—like James said—because that's _my_ world, too. I'm afraid that we have a government that would cave to the demands of a murderer and his followers. But, I mean, at the same time, I'm optimistic... because there are so many people here—muggleborn, pureblood, whatever—and they're not too afraid to be here, even though it's... well, frankly, it's dangerous."

Out of the corner of her eye, Lily could see James watching her—the mischievous expression gone and replaced by something unreadable with only peripheral vision.

"What do you have to say about the rumor going around that the aurors are going to come and strip the protestors of their wands while they're on Ministry property?"

"Well, it's incredibly illegal, for one thing. We have clearly demonstrated that we're here non-violently. We haven't destroyed anything, and the Atrium is supposed to be open to the public."

"I don't think they'll do it," added James confidently. "It would leave hundreds witches and wizards defenseless in the Ministry of Magic—that's like an open invite for death eaters, and the Ministry doesn't want them showing up anymore than we do."

"_Exactly_."

The witch nodded slowly, checking something on her scroll of parchment. "And what do you feel is the general response towards _them_...?"

There were about five of "them" just then, witches and wizards who stopped in the hall to shout and jeer at the marchers. The witches and wizards themselves changed, but there had been a steady stream of them since Sirius's father and uncle had left hours before.

"Sticks and stones," muttered Lily.

"At least they're not hexing," agreed James.

"Exactly. Honestly, this whole thing was only supposed to last two hours... I think it was the people shouting at us, calling us 'mudbloods' and 'blood traitors' that made anyone want to stay longer."

"Exactly," said James again.

The reporter suddenly smiled. "How long have you two been together, then?" she asked more casually.

"All day," said James. "We came down around, what? Nine? About seven hours, then?"

Lily blushed. "No, James, she meant..."

"Oh. _Oh!_ No. We're not..."

"We're not," agreed Lily. "We're just..."

"Mates," finished James. "Just friends. Comrades, at the moment. But not... y'know... anything like that."

"Not even close," added Lily. James looked at her.

"Well, gee thanks."

"I just meant..."

"I know what you meant."

The _Prophet_ reporter nodded, but she had a slight, knowing smile on her face. "So, since this law—if approved—won't take effect until _next_ fall, what kind of effect do _you_, as students, anticipate for the immediate term?"

They finished up the interview ten minutes later. Sirius could be seen speaking to a wizard from the WWN, and he seemed to have regained his spirits. Remus and Peter stood with Marlene, Donna, Frank, and Alice, and as Lily and James returned to the chanting multitude near the fountain, James grinned at her. "You were good back there, y'know."

"You weren't so bad either," allowed Lily, smirking. "I think you're enjoying this."

"What? Bureaucratic injustice? Oh, yeah, I'm a _huge_ fan..."

Lily shook her head. "_Battling_ bureaucratic injustice," she elaborated. "I think you like _doing_ something."

"Well, don't you? Anyway, you know better than anyone that I like a good fight."

"I know. I'm surprised you haven't punched anyone yet."

"Well, the afternoon is young."

"_James_..."

"Don't worry, Snaps. I won't hit anyone. I'm not an _idiot_."

"Hmmm, debatable."

"Git."

At that point, the two were separated in the bustle of the crowd—cheering for the latest wizard to stand up on the fountain ledge and speak. Lily found herself in the company of Sam Dearborn, whose applause and loud approbations were more enthusiastic than anyone else's. "You're not embarrassed to be seen with me, are ya, Kid?" teased Sam after letting out a great wolf-whistle in response to some anti-death eater statement.

"Humiliated, actually."

"Oh, very funny." Sam removed his fedora and folded up the flap as James had done earlier. "Hungry, Kid?"

It wasn't until Sam said it that Lily realized that she was, in fact, famished. She hadn't eaten since the toast that morning, and when Sam handed her two biscuits wrapped in plastic, Lily had never seen anything so wonderful in her life.

Five o'clock was the end of the natural working day, although the Ministry never emptied altogether, and a large number of salary employees stayed well after—aurors included. But that was the funny thing about today: there didn't seem to be any aurors. Lily would admit that she did not know _many_ aurors by name, but she did know quite a few by sight (including those who had been stationed at Hogwarts for security over the last year), in addition to the handful that she actually knew (Kingsley Shacklebolt and Lathe, for instance), and all day, though she had seen a great number of Ministry employees pass through the Atrium, she had not seen a single recognizable auror. Indeed, she had not even noticed a witch or wizard wearing the cloaks and badges typical of that department.

And that was odd. She thought, perhaps, that the auror department used a special floo terminal on their own level.

It was almost five o'clock when Egbert Dearborn sent out his assistant. The assistant was a tall, thin fellow, whose physical characteristics and mannerisms both bore a striking resemblance to a grasshopper's. Lily pitied him, because the poor wizard did not seem to want to be there very much at all.

One of the A.T.s, a muggleborn, had just finished speaking from the ledge of the fountain about her own experiences at Hogwarts, and when she stepped down, the assistant's magically magnified voice could be heard, though his position on the opposite end of the fountain made him initially invisible.

"Ladies and g-g-g-gentlemen..." croaked the man, and Lily hastened through the crowd towards the fountain itself. She, like many others, climbed up onto the ledge to get a better look at the wizard addressing them. "You must all be qu-qu-quite tired by now, and the head of the D-D-D-Department of Magical Law Enforcement..." There were resounding jeers—Lily did not join, because she wanted to hear what else was to be said—and the wizard wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, "..._The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement _requests that you d-depart at... at once."

"Oh, Eg _requests_, does he?" Lily could hear Sam whispering derisively.

"If you do not," the wizard went on, "Mr. Dearborn would like you to know that he will b-b-be forced to take action against a-a-any participants d-d-d-disturbing the p-p-peace."

Sam, who stood quite close to Lily, excused himself and proceeded to walk around the ledge of the fountain to the side directly in front of the assistant. It was a difficult process, as dozens of others stood on the ledge for a better view as well, but he made it fairly quickly, and addressed the wizard in a sardonic tone.

"Now, Caleb, hadn't you better get home? My brother doesn't have you running personal errands after hours again, does he?" He stood out like a lone flame amongst the red embers of the other marchers.

"It's not yet five o'clock," retorted the assistant named Caleb with dignity.

"But he does, doesn't he?" said Sam with a smirk.

"Samuel, get down from there," Emmeline Vance muttered, pushing through the crowd towards him. "You are _not_ to let yourself get riled..."

"One moment, Em. Caleb, you are much better than this. I think we both know that whoever replaces my brother will be a vastly superior boss, too." Caleb said nothing. He adjusted his round-lens spectacles. "So, I hope you will convey my best wishes to dear old Eg, and tell him his little brother isn't leaving until _he_ does."

"_Samuel_."

Sam hopped down from the fountain, and the wizard called Caleb was very shortly gone.

Tilda Figg, an elderly witch with frizzy brown hair, who had been introduced earlier as the head of M.F.P., approached them as well, and her expression towards Sam was maternally disciplinarian. He accepted his mild scolding cheerfully, for, as an M.F.P. he was meant not to retort in such a context.

Lily climbed down from the ledge and wandered away, finding Marlene and Donna not far off.

"You don't suppose that they could really... arrest us or something, do you?" asked Donna, and though her tone was decidedly curious, there was a hint of something else in her facial expression.

"No idea," said Marlene, strangely unbothered by the idea. Lily raised her eyebrows at her friend. "There are hundreds of us, including a Potter, a Dearborn, a Black, a Longbottom... they're not going to put _everyone _in prison."

"Right," agreed Donna. "Of course." She seemed slightly reassured.

"What?" inquired Marlene. "Nervous, Shacklebolt?"

"You know perfectly well this isn't my thing," snapped Donna, folding her arms. "_Involvement_, and all that. I'm a live and let live type."

"Live and let die, more likely," retorted Marlene, and Donna scowled. Lily thought she understood Donna's attitude a little better, but was none the happier about it and, simultaneously, none the more willing to argue it.

"New topic," she suggested. "Isn't... er... Remus looking lovely today?'

Donna only rolled her eyes, and Marlene shrugged off the debate. However, shortly thereafter, another A.T. who had begun to talk atop the fountain ledge began a new chorus of "Dump Dearborn!" and Donna kept a keen eye on the rapidly filling Atrium. More and more Ministry workers filed through the Atrium, as they had done at lunch hour but in greater amounts, and there was an increased number of those who shouted the derogatory slang like that of Black Senior earlier.

And then, at exactly five o'clock, a new stream of Ministry employees entered the Atrium. They came through the corridor that led to the lifts, and wore uniform charcoal grey robes. There were about two dozen, universally male, and they did not head for the floo terminals. Nor did they meander, but walked—marched, really—in an orderly fashion. Some stopped at the side of the fountain (several paces from the perimeter of the red-robed protesters) nearest the lifts, and others continued around, but every few paces, another wizard stopped and turned, facing the fountain with a fixed, determined expression on his face.

"Hit wizards," Lily heard someone whisper, and she momentarily left Donna and Marlene to find Alice for confirmation.

"Yes, they're hit-wizards," said Alice, as they grey-robed wizards continued their surrounding of their red-clad guests.

Donna had followed Lily to their A.T. friend, and she did not look pleased. "We _are _going to be arrested," she muttered resentfully. "This will _not_ look good on my record."

"Calm down, no one's getting arrested," insisted Alice. "Hit-wizards are supposed to catch criminals."

"Which, if we stay past closing hour, could include us," Donna pointed out.

"Yes," allowed the A.T., "but hit-wizards aren't supposed to make arrests of Ministry employees in the Ministry; that's an auror's job. It's a silly bylaw we had to memorize in our first week of training."

"Then why are they here?" Lily wondered. "And why wouldn't they send aurors?"

"'Can't, I reckon," said Alice, but she did not elaborate, as they were joined by Frank Longbottom and Victor Vance.

"Are you certain?" Vance was asking of Frank, who had a solemn expression as he nodded.

"Yes," said the younger wizard. "It's best if I do it."

"If you do what?" his girlfriend demanded, but Frank only shook his head, in an "I'll tell you later," sort of way.

Emmeline joined her husband, and she was still accompanied by Tilly Figg and Sam, as well as Elphias Doge and his mustard yellow trilby.

Like bees on honey, the Marauders and the Prewett twins also converged in their little circle to hear what the "higher ups" had to say. "Did you see...?" Sirius began to ask of Lily, and she nodded, glancing at the hit-wizards again. She cast an eye about for Marlene, lest anything be said that the blonde should hear, but her friend was now some distance away, in anxious council with Sarah McKinnon. Roughly half of the crowd continued on the chant, but everyone in Lily's circle was distracted.

"What are they waiting for?" Sirius muttered to no one in particular.

"For the hall to empty," Alice realized.

"Are we leaving?" Donna wanted to know. They all looked at Emmeline, Dorcas, Elphias, and Tilly, who formed a row that ran parallel to the hit wizards. Emmeline's steely eyes betrayed real emotion for the first time that day, and Lily thought it might have been fear. The expression was gone almost as soon as it had arrived, however, and Dorcas spoke: "Not now, I'm not."

"Me neither," said Sam at once.

"But they'll arrest you," argued Donna.

"No they won't," said Gideon Prewett. "They're waiting for it to quiet down. That gives us plenty of time to... protect ourselves."

"You're going to _fight _them? That's idiotic..."

"We don't have to fight them," muttered Fabian thoughtfully. "If we could just..."

"Oi!" Lily brightened. "We could do it muggle style and chain ourselves to something!" They looked at her. "Clearly, none of you are as enthused about that idea as I am."

"Wait a minute," Gideon said, "that might not be such a bad idea... I mean, not chaining, per se... hang on a minute, I'm going to have a word with Sarah... she'll be able to help. C'mon, Fabian..."

"The younger ones had better go home," said Emmeline, once the Prewetts had gone. James and Sirius at once began to argue, but she shook her head. "You're children."

"We're of age!" snapped Sirius.

"You're still students," Emmeline replied, coolly and calmly. "I know you imagine it's the right choice for you now, but you will be taking N.E.W.T.s this year—embarking on your careers next year... breaking the law does not look pleasant on your record."

"You lot have as much to lose as we have," retorted James. "Frank and Alice have _more_."

"Alastor Moody isn't going to kick us out of the auror program," said Alice confidently. "There's a reason they sent hit-wizards instead of aurors, and I'd bet you anything Alastor Moody is behind it. And if someone intercedes and makes him sack us, then that's a risk I'm willing to take."

"And I don't care about my sodding record!" James continued. "They can snap my wand in half for all I care!"

"You are not being rational," said Emmeline. "You feel this way now, but you cannot judge based on emotion."

"Well I _am_ being rational," Lily spoke up loudly. "If this thing goes through, it's only a matter of time before they snap _my_ wand anyway. Isn't that right?"

Emmeline met Lily's eye and was quiet for some time. "Miss Evans, there is something else to be considered on your part. You're muggleborn. We..." She indicated to the gathered group of Dorcas, Frank, Alice, Sam, and the Marauders, "are from large, influential families. I am sorry, but it's the truth. Potter, Meadowes, Black, Dearborn, Longbottom, Griffiths... these names mean something in England."

"What are you saying?" Lily asked.

"We're untouchable," sighed James.

"Not _quite_," Alice added. "But we're a fair sight safer from the Ministry than _you_ are."

"I don't care," snapped Lily. "I'm staying."

"So am I," said James.

"Me, too," said Sirius.

"Me, too," said Remus and Peter.

"Boys, Lily, think," pleaded Dorcas. "You have your parents to answer to as well..."

"_I_ don't," Sirius interjected.

"Nor do I," agreed James. "I'm of age, and they haven't been able to control me since I was four."

"If _then_," allowed Remus. "And I'm staying, too."

"I reckon Mum would be proud," agreed Peter.

"You can't force us to leave," Lily told them. "And you shouldn't want us to, either. A lot of the others have... have families and jobs to think about, and they can't or won't want to stay. You'll want numbers, and we're going to stay even if they lock us up in Azkaban for it."

"You've never met a dementor, Lily," said Frank darkly. "Or this wouldn't be so easy a choice."

"They're not going to lock us up in Azkaban," said Sirius, rolling his eyes. "The most we'd get is a fine for... I don't know, disturbing the peace."

The older group exchanged looks. Clearly not pleased by this development, Emmeline sighed nonetheless. "Fine. But _you're_ answering to your mother, James. If she comes around my house looking for someone to hold accountable because her only son is in prison..."

"I'll tell her it was Sam," replied James, beginning to grin.

Lily's heart beat quickened in anticipation of what was about to happen. She was not stupid—she knew it was risky and probably a bad idea, but leaving now... it would be backing down. Emmeline was right: they _had_ to stay.

Gideon and Fabian rejoined the group a few minutes later and the twins set out on an explanation of the plan.

"Gid, Sarah, and I could set up a net," Fabian began, as the others gathered closer. "Not a _normal_ net of course; it's a magic net. It allows you to be bonded—invisibly, of course—to a specific location or object."

"We were thinking the fountain, here," Gideon picked up. "Fitting, yeah? Magical Brethren and all that."

"And, of course, it will be better than a proper net," said Fabian. "You won't be stuck in one place. You can move around, within a certain area around the fountain."

"And anyone can add themselves or remove themselves from the net whenever they want, so long as they have the password," said Gideon.

"But no one can take anyone else out of the net, unless that person says the password, too," finished Fabian. "Got it?"

"What's the password?" asked Peter.

"We'll get back to you on that one," said Fabian. "As soon as we've come up with one, that is."

A meaningful smile grew on Dorcas Meadowes' lips. "How about 'Phoenix?'" she suggested softly; the joviality that Lily had till now seen constantly in Dory's eyes had gone, but a hint of the mischief remained. Suddenly, it occurred to Lily that Dorcas was not an average, middle aged witch. Several of the others—the Prewett brothers, Frank, Alice, Elphias, Victor, and Emmeline—seemed to understand the significance of this word Dory had uttered, but Lily did not, and a glance at each of the Marauders told her that they did not know either.

"We can do that," said Gideon. "So, do we all agree?"

They did.

"Are the kids saying?" Fabian asked; he meant Lily, Donna, and the Marauders.

"It appears so," said Emmeline stiffly.

"Figures," said Gideon, smirking. "Marlene Price heard the idea when we were over with Sarah, and she refused to leave too."

"And what is this 'kids' business?" James demanded. "You two are, what? Barely twenty?"

"Let's not have a tantrum, James," teased Sam, and Sirius snorted. James glared at him.

"What?"

"You know very well what, Git."

"Prat."

"Hippogriff."

"Kneazle."

"Well that's not very nice."

"_Boys_," Lily interrupted, effectively calling them to heel.

"Who else is staying?" asked Remus practically. "Lily's right—not everyone will be able to."

"I can spread the word to the others," Sam volunteered.

"But only those that you can absolutely trust," said Emmeline strictly. "And _no_ reporters." She made the provision with a significant look at a group of said journalists who were interviewing some Ministry wizards _not_ wearing red. Sam promised and departed towards a few M.F.P. members, and others in the circle dispersed, Gideon and Fabian subtly drawing their wands and setting about with the preparations.

Minutes passed, and at some point the Marauders departed, too; Lily stood with Donna watching the un-moving hit-wizards. The number of Ministry wizards departing work for the day continued to grow, but Lily guessed that soon it would shrink, and she was not looking forward to it. She folded her arms, observing the scene tensely.

One wizard in particular caught her eye. He wore cerulean robes and stood just behind the hit-wizards, a short, aged man with a quill and a scroll, upon which he scribbled rapidly, as though his life depended upon it. Lily had not seen him amongst the other reporters, and he seemed curiously fixated upon his task.

Presently, Gideon Prewett returned to the spot near the fountain. "The net's set up," he said, replacing his wand in his pocket. "Anyone who wants to leave had better do it now, while it's still busy. I reckon the hit-wizards might get a little testy about anyone leaving once the crowd thins. If you want to add yourself to the bond, _want _it, hold your wand, and say the password." He looked a little nervous as he bid them goodbye and departed again to relay the message to someone else.

Lily nodded. She felt about for her wand in her back pocket, but did not draw it immediately.

"I have to leave," said Donna suddenly, and Lily turned to her friend. "Kingsley's on a mission, and if he's going to be gone all night, I can't just leave Mrs. Fowler with the kids."

She was referring to her brothers and sister at home, and Lily almost understood. Nonetheless, Donna looked a little—guilty, really, and her friend thought she understood that feeling too.

"They'll be alright, Donna. You..."

"I have to go," Donna repeated firmly, and her hands were shaking again, as they had been when Vance spoke. "It's—it's not just Brice and Isaiah and Bridget... I have..." She hesitated, "this isn't my... thing. I'm not like you, Lily—I don't... I don't like getting mixed up in things."

"Don, it's _fine_..."

"I'm..." But Donna, on principle, did not apologize, so when she broke off, Lily nodded.

"It's fine," she repeated. "You should go now, before things settle down again..."

Donna frowned and slowly peeled off her red cloak, so that her remaining outfit consisted of a blouse and jeans that she had worn to work that morning.

"I'll... see you soon, Lily?"

"Right. See you soon."

And she left, slipping in with the rest of the crowd.

"You should go, too," said James, and Lily started at the unexpected sound of his voice. He stood behind her, where, apparently he had been for long enough to get the gist of her conversation with Donna.

Lily looked at him sternly. "I'll leave when everyone else leaves."

"Evans..."

But she had already drawn her wand. James's was in hand, too, as were many of the others', but they all seemed to be waiting for something. Lily saw no need to wait any longer, and so, before James could protest further, she closed her eyes, gripping her wand tightly in her fist, and whispered the word:

"Phoenix."

"It's not safe," said James.

"Then why did you invite me here at all?" Lily snapped, opening her eyes. "Honestly, you've been behaving so strangely, and Sirius keeps dropping these hints, like... whatever. And half the time you're ignoring me, and..."

"Well, I'm sorry if I'm a little distracted by the _war_ going on around us..."

"Sod off, Potter, that has nothing to do with it. I _know _it. You've been behaving oddly because..."

She was prevented from finishing the sentence by the arrival of Fabian Prewett. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, raising his eyebrows, as Lily recoiled, folding her arms. "But you can add yourselves any time."

"Gid told us. I already have," said Lily, a bit curtly, because she was still annoyed with James. "How do we know if it worked?"

"It worked," Fabian replied. He smirked, pointing at Lily's wrist, where a bracelet of sorts had appeared: it was a single gold band, not much thicker than thread, but Lily marveled that she had not noticed it at once. Fabian turned to James, as Sirius, Remus, and Peter came to join their friend. They did not wear the gold bracelets yet, either.

"Ready, then?" asked Fabian, knuckles white around his wand.

"Always am," muttered Sirius. They all held their wands at their sides, stiff-armed, and in unison uttered the word that would bond them to the fountain.

"Phoenix."

Gold bands appeared in a flash around their wrists, and Fabian smiled. There was, however, a trace of doubt in his eyes.

"Good. It worked."

"We'll be fine," said Sirius confidently. "'Sides, Fabian. You always did like to make a statement."

"As did you, Black," retorted the older wizard, rolling his eyes. He seemed marginally more confident, however. "I'm going to find Gid. See you lot in a bit, I suppose."

When the Marauders and Lily were alone, Sirius addressed the witch: "Shacklebolt left, did she?"

Lily nodded. "Had to get home to her brothers and sister."

"Right."

And nothing else was said on the topic. Lily had not forgotten her argument with James, but the same did not appear to be true of him. He suggested they all have a seat on the fountain ledge, and Lily reasoned that the debate would better be saved for another time. So, she walked with the Marauders towards the fountain ledge, where they all sat down. Sam Dearborn joined them very shortly, gold band around his wrist, and he was followed by Sarah McKinnon and Marlene, both of whom had bracelets of their own.

Benjy Fenwick ended up staying as well, as, of course, did the Prewett brothers, Emmeline Vance and her sister and husband, Tilda Figg, Elphias Doge, a handful of others that Lily had only met today, and many that she did not know at all.

Presently Frank and Alice came towards where Lily and the others sat, and they seemed to be arguing.

"Will one of you talk some sense into him?" snapped Alice, who was wearing a gold band. Frank was not.

"You're not staying?" asked Lily, surprised.

"Of course I'm staying," said Frank in an undertone. "But I've... there's something I have to do first."

"He's going into the auror offices to speak to Moody," Alice explained unhappily. "Victor Vance wants him to deliver a message, but..."

"Is Moody up there?" asked Lily. "I haven't seen a single auror all day."

"There aren't many about today," muttered Frank. "I think Moody has cleared the department in case Dearborn ordered them against us. He might be operating from somewhere else."

"Aren't the hit-wizards under this bloke's orders, too?" Peter asked.

"Yes, but they're not allowed to arrest anyone in the Ministry of Magic," said Alice for a second time. "Only in extreme cases are they allowed to do so; otherwise that's the aurors job. That's why they're waiting for everyone to leave..."

"What are you supposed to tell Moody?" Marlene wanted to know.

"I'm not supposed to say," muttered Frank.

"You shouldn't go," snapped Alice. "If someone knows you were with us..."

"A.T.s are technically Ministry employees, and it has to be an employee..."

"Vance can send his wife then. Or _I'll_ go. I don't want you going."

"I've already agreed, Al. C'mon..." Frank was half pleading. "I'll be fifteen minutes, and if I'm not back, you can send in the troops."

"What troops?"

"I don't know. The Marauders?" He grinned at the four wizards, but Alice did not seem amused.

"Francis Longbottom, you had better make damn certain that you're back in fifteen minutes."

"Promise."

"Good."

She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Love you."

"Love you, too." Frank glanced at Lily. "Keep an eye on her?"

"I always do."

"As do I," quipped Sirius.

"Not funny, Black."

"My apologies."

Alice rolled her eyes and sat down beside Marlene on the fountain ledge. Frank gave her a last smile and walked away from the group, towards and then past the hit-wizards. He reached the golden gate that stood between himself and the offices. Frank nodded to the security wizard, his A.T. badge visible, and Lily understood why it had to be a Ministry employee to complete Vance's task: they had to get through security.

At first, as Frank stepped through the golden gate, he seemed to be the only one going in that direction, but he had not yet disappeared before another wizard also took that route. Lily did not see his face, but he was tall and had a long grey pony-tail.

"Oh no," muttered Alice anxiously; she had craned to see her boyfriend depart and was now frowning.

"What?" asked Marlene.

"That bloke who followed him..."

"Is it a hit-wizard?" said Remus, and Alice shook her head.

"No, but Caradoc said he was one of Egbert Dearborn's cronies... what's his name? Script or Salt or something like that. I'd better tell Victor..."

"We'll tell him," said Sirius, rising. "Moony, c'mon. Lily...?"

Lily understood the implicit request and nodded, as she now fully comprehended Frank's request to keep on eye on Alice. He meant that she should not follow him into the offices. Sirius and Remus went to find Vance, and Peter followed, but James stayed behind.

More time and marchers slipped by, the red-robed numbers steadily diminishing. Soon, about a hundred remained, and, in the large Atrium, it seemed a very small number. Most sat on the ledge of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, some stood, and the hit-wizards in grey remained. Lily watched them watch her.

There was a bit of trouble with Emmeline before much time had passed; one of the reporters, a blonde with red lips and a mischievous smile, seemed to have crept in with those staying behind, and Emmeline was not pleased. She stormed by Lily, muttering to herself, but there did not seem to be much left to say on the matter, for the reporter had learned the secret of the net and on her wrist was the same gold band that was on Lily's and all the others'.

Frank did not return. Alice grew more anxious and began to pace.

"They... they wouldn't hurt him?" asked Lily as tactfully as possible, when Alice resumed a seat beside her on the fountain ledge.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I mean... legally, they can't. But if they're off book..." She looked at James, who was still with them. "I've known you for a long time, and if there's anyone I could trust to have an idea on what to do in a situation like this... well—Sirius is too rash and Remus is too sensible..."

"You mean, if there's anyone who can bend the rules for you," said James. He nodded. "You think we could get to him? Would you know where to go?"

"Wait, _what?"_ demanded Lily; she sat between the two and looked at each. "Think this through..."

"I think I might know where to go," said Alice.

"But how would you get _anywhere _without them seeing you?" Lily demanded in an undertone, nodding towards the hit-wizards.

James tapped his fedora. "I've got the Invisibility Cloak."

"But how to get under it?"

"Right," agreed James. He leaned over to see Alice better. She was watching him with such a combination of desperation and trust that Lily knew at once that James would not be able to resist.

"You don't even know Frank's in trouble," she pointed out anyway. "He could have stopped for a chat with someone and been delayed."

"It's been half an hour," said Alice. "And it takes maybe five minutes to get to the auror department."

"Maybe he couldn't find Moody."

"Then he would come back," whispered Alice fiercely. "The truth is, if that Salt or Skit or... Merlin, what is his _name?_ Svilt. That's it. Anyway, if _he_ questions Frank... Frank knows who leaked the Population Protection Act to _The Daily Prophet_. Of course he wouldn't tell, but if they have Veritaserum..."

"But why would he question Frank to begin with?"

"He _must've_ seen Frank with us. He _followed_ him into the corridor!"

"But we don't _know_..." Still, Lily knew it was a losing battle.

While Lily and Alice argued out the causes, James worked out the details, until at last he said: "The problem is how to get under the cloak." He glanced about. "I'll need Sirius."

Sirius sat with Remus, Peter, and Sam halfway on the other side of the fountain. The Marauder was called over, and, so as to avoid the watchful eye of the hit-wizards (or Emmeline Vance, for that matter), the two of them sat surreptitiously down again.

"We need a distraction," said James. Sirius brightened. "Nothing illegal." Sirius faltered. "Preferably one that doesn't require magic."

Sirius arched an eyebrow. "What are you thinking, Prongs?"

"I don't know. Twelve Punches?"

"In _this_ atmosphere? Someone would get hurt. What about White Rabbit?"

"Moony thinks that's unethical."

"Moony thinks everything's unethical," said Sirius, rolling his eyes. "What about a Fool's Chorus?"

James considered it. "That might work."

"I'm not doing it by myself."

"Get Moony and Wormtail. Wormtail looks like he could use a pick-me-up anyway." And, indeed, the Marauder did appear rather nervous, as he sat along the fountain, with very few others between himself and the hit wizards.

"Gideon and Fabian and Sam would probably help, too."

"But don't tell them why."

"I don't _know_ why."

"Right." James leaned over, pretending to fix his shoelaces. Sirius followed him subtly. "We're going to get Frank."

Sirius sat up at once and looked at Alice. "Are you _sure_?"

"James could hardly find him on his own," she pointed out. "And I'm at the top of the A.T. class."

"I'm not doubting your ability, but..."

"It's Frank," Alice interrupted stiffly. "Of course I'm sure."

Nonetheless, Sirius did not look pleased. "You'll use the cloak, Prongs?"

"Of course."

"I'm going too," Lily stated suddenly.

"_No_," chorused James and Sirius. She glared at them.

"I'm better mates with Frank than either of you."

"Irrelevant," said James. "It's dangerous, sneaking about the Ministry building enough with just _two_."

"I flattened a handful of Slytherins before you'd even drawn," Lily reminded him. She appealed to Alice for support, but Alice seemed less than confident, too.

"I don't want you getting hurt or in trouble for _my_ boyfriend, Lily..."

"And I don't trust either of you to behave," she insisted. "Alice, you're worked up, and James is..." She looked at him. "James."

"_Thanks_."

"It's a good thing and a bad thing."

"It's a good thing?"

"Well, I mean..."

"If you two are finished," interrupted Sirius, and James kicked him.

"Fine," said Alice at last. "Lily can come." James looked disbelievingly at her, but Alice set her jaw, and there was a definitive nature in her tone that made it a settled point.

Sirius relented next, though not happily. "I'll talk to Moony and the others," he said, getting up. "I'd better make up some excuse..."

"This is mad," James muttered, once Sirius had gone, but he too seemed to have given in.

"Don't you trust me?" asked Lily, rolling her eyes.

"Trust is not the issue," James replied.

* * *

Lily had no idea what a "Fool's Chorus" was anymore than she knew what "Twelve Punches" or the Remus-condemned "White Rabbit" might mean. Indeed, it was well after six before she found out.

The hit-wizards had not moved.

Sirius returned and handed James something that looked like a pocket knife, which James proceeded to place in his expanded hat. All of this was done while Lily and Alice stood in front of the pair as a shield, talking nonchalantly; it didn't matter much, though. The hit-wizards did not appear to be terribly occupied with keeping too close an eye on their charges, and Lily once again questioned the reason for their presence there at all.

"The hall is usually completely clear by seven-thirty or eight," said Alice. "They want to intimidate us into leaving, I'd bet. Then they can say that hit-wizards evicted us, without actually having to get their hands dirty."

Lily still thought it was strange about the aurors, but kept it to herself, because Alice seemed distressed enough. The Ministry personnel filtering through steadily decreased in count, and as there were fewer people around them, Alice became less comfortable.

"What are we _waiting _for, James?"

"The right time," he replied enigmatically.

The short wizard in cerulean robes whom Lily had spotted earlier, writing on his parchment, continued jotting down _something_, reminding her of the witch who had interviewed James and her earlier. But this wizard was different; he kept glancing up and then down at his parchment, but he showed little emotion towards whatever he wrote. He had also walked the perimeter of the ring formed by the hit-wizards several times now, not watching where he was going in the slightest.

Suddenly, Lily realized why.

"James," she whispered, and he looked at her. "We have to get that notebook."

She nodded at the wizard in blue.

"Why?"

"He's taking names."

"How do you know?"

"Look at the way he watches people. He's trying to identify as many as possible."

James followed her stare. "So? We don't care if the Ministry knows who we are."

"He's not wearing a Ministry badge."

And she was right. Alice got up at once, moving towards Emmeline Vance, presumably to relay the message.

"Em will take care of it," said James. "We have to focus on Frank."

"That's right," agreed Sirius, as Sam, Gideon, Fabian, and the other Marauders moved over to their space along the fountain wall. "Focus on not getting yourselves arrested. Ready?" This last word was spoken to Remus, Sam, and the others. They nodded. "Fantastic. Then, let's sit down." And they did.

Remus and Peter sat beside Sirius, but Gideon, Fabian, and Sam moved to other parts of the now thinner red-robed group. For a while, nothing happened. Elphias Doge tottered forward and made a short speech, and then Dory Meadowes rose and reread the verbiage of the so-called Population Protection Act, followed by a list of the muggleborns that had been killed by death eaters. The blond _Daily Prophet_ witch about whom Emmeline had been so furious (whose name, someone said, was Rita) continued to interview just about anyone, her red-painted lips smiling all the while.

Lily's stomach was in a knot, and she felt very aware of all of her own movements. The number of working witches and wizards in the Atrium continued to slowly dwindle.

Then, at about a quarter past six o'clock, there was a quiet spell. Dorcas sat down, and for a minute, no one took her place.

At last, Alice asked the question in a whisper to herself that she had now disregarded several times when posed by Lily: "_Where are the aurors?_"

Besides a vague murmur and the clicking of heels across the polished wooden floor, the Atrium was eerily still.

Then, suddenly, a loud, clear voice quite near to Lily rang out. For a split second, she thought someone else had gotten up to speak. It was Sirius, however, and he was neither standing nor speaking.

He was...

Bloody hell, he was singing.

_"As I went home on Monday night, as drunk as drunk can be... I saw a broom outside my door, where my old broom should be... Well, I called to my wife and said to her,_ _would you kindly tell to me_... _who owns that broom_ _outside the door, where my old broom should be_? _Aye_..."

A drinking song, no less.

A few people laughed—Dorcas Meadowes among them—and then Remus and Peter and Sam joined in for the rest of the verse.

"_You're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool, still you cannot see... that's a lovely tree that me mother sent to me..."_

Lily looked at James. "Am I dreaming?"

"I don't think so, no."

"A drinking song about adultery? 'Fool's Chorus?'" she asked, but he had already joined in for the second verse, as had Gideon and Fabian on their side of the fountain.

_"And as I went home on Tuesday night as drunk as drunk could be...I saw a cloak behind the door where my old cloak should be..."_

Quite unexpectedly, not only Victor but Emmeline Vance joined in the next few lines, and they were accompanied by half a dozen others, including one ruddy faced and laughing hit wizard.

_"Well, I called to me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me, who owns that cloak behind the door where my old cloak should be?"_

A few more started up the next chorus:

"_Aye, you're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool, still you cannot see, that's a woolen shawl that me mother gave to me_..."

The blond reporter seemed to have forgotten about her interviews; she watched the singers—now including roughly two-thirds of the crowd. It was as though half a dozen little bombs had gone off throughout the group, except the radial fall out was not debris and fire, but additional voices to possibly the most inane song that Lily had ever heard herself sing aloud.

_"As I went home on Wednesday night, as drunk as drunk could be... I saw a golden cup, where my old cup should be... I called to my wife and I said to her: will you kindly tell to me, who owns the cup behind the door where my old cup should be? Aye, you're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool, still you can not see? That's a golden snitch that me mother sent to me... Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more, but firewhiskey in a golden snitch, sure I never saw before..."_

By the fifth drunken night, everyone from Elphias Doge to Sarah McKinnon was on his or her feet, as though chanting a national anthem rather than a pub ballad.

All but one hit-wizard laughed (two had joined in); the hold out was stony-faced and watchful, but one of his cohorts teased him loudly for taking himself too seriously and he blushed. The little wizard in blue stopped his scribbling to watch the scene, disbelief etched on his face.

Louder than the rest, Sirius (and his voice wasn't bad) took off his silver fedora, placed it over his heart in typically dramatic Sirius fashion, and led the last verse. The final choruses were sung even louder, so that the entire hall echoed with the mixed, often off-key voices, and so that no one but Sirius and a few others noted that three of their number had disappeared.

* * *

Luckily, Lily and Alice were both comparatively small: Lily could not help but wonder how more than one Marauder moved with any speed under this cloak. As it was, after Lily, Alice, and James had released themselves from the "Phoenix" net, moving across the hall was tricky.

"Told you," whispered James to Lily, but he didn't seem genuinely annoyed that she had come along anymore. They reached the gates to the lifts, as the last few notes of "Seven Drunken Nights" rang out.

The slower trickle of witches and wizards from within the inner layers of the Ministry made it unexpectedly easy to get into the corridor where they would catch the lifts. They retreated to a corner of the hall, where no one else might overhear them.

"D.M.L.E. is level two," said James in a whisper, and conversation under this cloak had to be the most awkward thing in the world. "You said Svilt was one of Dearborn's cronies, right? So he'll be there?"

"That's what I was thinking," said Alice. "And Falstaff has an office there."

"Who's Falstaff?" the wizard asked.

"He's a friend of Dearborn's and the head of one of the hit-wizard divisions."

"You reckon they would take Frank there?"

"If they didn't properly arrest him, then yes."

Catching an unoccupied lift was no easy task, and even when it was accomplished, there was the constant fear that someone would notice an empty lift riding down.

"Aren't there any stairs?" asked Lily nervously, as they passed the sixth level and moved down to the fifth.

"On the third floor," said Alice. "We'll be able to get down to D.M.L.E. from there."

There was a witch waiting for the lift on the third floor, but she was utterly distracted by a thick stack of parchment that she read through as she stepped inside, that she did not notice the sound of footsteps as the two invisible witches and one invisible wizard slipped past.

"Bloody hell," sighed Alice. "This way."

She led the way past several offices—including _Obliviator Headquarters _and _Accidental Magical Reversal Squad_—until they reached the end of the corridor, where a small door was labeled simply, "Stairs."

With a glance about to make sure that no one was around, Alice opened the door through the cloak, and, once on the landing, Lily closed it again behind them. In the solitude of the stairwell, James pulled off the cloak, and they descended the staircase in haste.

"I know it might be a little late to ask this question," Lily asked as they hurried downward. "But what exactly is the plan if we _do_ find Frank?"

"They can't _legally_ hold him without reason," said Alice, who was further down than either Lily or James. "And with James's cloak, hopefully they won't be able to prove it was us that got him. Right, so what are they going to do? Arrest Frank when he comes in to training for resisting an illegal interrogation? Not likely, because they'll want it all squeaky clean, with Dearborn under all this scrutiny and such."

They reached the door labeled with the number "2."

"This is it," said Alice.

James held up the cloak again, and both witches stepped under it. They entered the corridor as quietly as possible, and Alice was charged with finding Falstaff's office. That was tricky, in and of itself, as D.M.L.E. was the largest department in the Ministry, and its physical location was similarly massive.

"I've passed it a dozen times," Alice grumbled to herself. Lily gripped her wand a little tighter.

They tried a series of different passages that yielded no results, until, finally, one off-shooting corridor caught Alice's eye.

"That's it. It's down here. There was paperwork in the Wizengamot Administration offices, and we had to go through here... this is it. I know it is." And she led the way down the deserted corridor. The corridor split off in two directions at the end, and Alice nodded to the left, indicating this as the hallway of choice.

"This way," she whispered, rounding the corner. As they did, however, a wizard was stepping out of one of the first offices, and he paused suddenly, evidently having heard something of Alice's hushed tone.

The three adolescents froze; Alice's hand covered her mouth. The wizard—a tall, broad shouldered man, with sharp features and long grey hair that he wore in a pony-tail—looked around, frowning. He stepped back through the open door, into the office he had just exited, and spoke to someone inside.

"The others have gone, haven't they, Crawford?"

"'At's right," grunted a voice from within. Lily already knew, but Alice elbowed James and nodded vigorously, mouthing, "_That's him_."

"Alright, then," replied the wizard, Svilt. He closed the office door behind him, and made his way down the corridor. Lily, James, and Alice narrowly missed brushing against him, and they waited until he was some distance away before they started again.

"Falstaff's office is at the end," whispered Alice, and they started in that direction.

They were barely halfway down, however, before the last door on the left side of the corridor opened, admitting several wizards.

Four, to be exact, and they easily encompassed the entire width of the hallway. The three under the Invisibility Cloak would have to move out of their way or be detected. Lily tugged at James's arm, and guided them in the uncomfortably slow process of moving silently backward and into the adjacent hall.

"I hope they don't turn here," muttered James. The three of them leaned closely against the wall.

"Hadn't we better move, in case the do?" Lily asked.

Alice nodded her agreement, adding, "The skinny bloke is Falstaff. We'd better follow him."

The four wizards walked slowly and spoke to each other in hushed tones, and Lily realized that Svilt had been wrong in supposing that everyone else in the corridor had gone home.

Alice made to lead the way, stepping around James, but in doing so, she trod on his foot; he swore under his breath. Lily's eyes grew wide and she glared at the wizard, but they had other problems. The wizards in the adjacent corridor had stopped speaking and walking.

"_Did they hear?"_ Alice mouthed, though of course neither of her companions knew the answer.

"What is it, Falstaff?" asked one of the other wizards.

"I thought I heard something."

Lily realized that they were under the cloak, but they could not travel very much further in the corridor without facing detection, especially if this bloke Falstaff was keeping an ear out. Glancing about for an escape, she noticed the rows of office doors. No light shown from within, and Lily poked James in the arm before pointing to the nearest door.

James nodded briskly, and the three stepped as absolutely quietly as possible towards the nearest door.

"Crawford is still in—his office is right there."

"Yes. All the same..." He took a step forward, his shoes creaking on the wooden floorboards. The wizard did not appear at the corner just yet, but he was obviously approaching.

Lily reached for the doorknob through the cloak, but the door was locked. She looked at James, who appeared thoughtful. Then, he removed his hat from his head and mumbled something that even Lily, in this extreme proximity to him, could not properly hear. James dug about below the rim of the fedora, as he had done earlier, before finally withdrawing the pocketknife that Lily had seen Sirius give him in the Atrium.

He bunched up the cloak so that he could reach the doorknob, and then began to pick the lock. Lily did _not_ think this was a good idea, but there were three of them and one cloak, so she did not really have much of an option.

She was additionally surprised when the door clicked a few seconds later.

James grinned in silent victory, and they slipped into the dark office.

"That was a door—I thought everyone had gone home..." Falstaff could be heard saying to the others. Lily bit her lip and closed her eyes.

Falstaff's footsteps continued, either in the immediate corridor or the one that joined into it, Lily didn't know, but she was drawn away from that by the feeling of the Invisibility Cloak sliding from her head. She opened her eyes to see James folding it over his arm.

"What are you doing?" Alice whispered.

"I have a plan," said James, with just a slight shake in his voice. He looked at both of them, his face barely visible in the dark office. "Do you trust me?"

Alice nodded slowly. Lily opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it again. She thought about it, thought about the wizards outside, and about Alice and Frank, and the hit wizards... then she nodded. "I trust you," she whispered. "So what's the plan?"

"Fantastic," muttered James. He pulled off his fedora again, but he didn't take anything new out. Instead, he pushed the cloak inside, dropping the lock-picking pocket knife and his wand in there as well. He returned his hat to his head. "Excuse me."

He opened the office door and stepped out into the hallway, leaving the door wide open behind him. He raised his hands as though in surrender, and said: "Alright, you've got us."

* * *

**A/N: **Loves to you all. Extensive A/N-ing in the blogspot, as linked in my profile. This didn't get nearly as edited as I'd hoped, but such is life. EDIT: re-edited now. Slightly better.

Reviews are cozy scarves.

Love,

Jules


	29. Old, New, Ballroom, and Blue

**Disclaimer:** Copyright Jo-Ro.

**Before**: England wallows in drought. James has started to date Carlotta, but, despite the other Marauders' urging, he has yet to tell Lily. Lily, Donna, Marlene, the Marauders, James's cousin Sam, Frank, Alice, and a bunch of other people go to the Ministry to protest Egbert Dearborn—the new head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who is Sam's brother—and his new policy of admitting only two muggleborns to Hogwarts every year. Frank sneaks into the Ministry interior, and is pursued by a creepy henchman type, so Alice, James, and Lily follow under James's Invisibility Cloak (which has been stored in his quite handy fedora), but when pursued by a questionable wizard named Falstaff, James reveals their location to him.

Chapter 29- "Old, New, Ballroom, and Blue"

Or

"Fire and Rain"

"I have a plan." James looked at the both of them. "Do you trust me?"

Alice slowly nodded, and he looked to Lily. She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded as well. "I trust you. What's the plan?"

"Fantastic." With that, he threw off the cloak and stuffed it into his hat, along with Sirius's pocketknife and his own wand. "Excuse me..." Then, he opened the door, stepped into the corridor, directly in front of the Ministry wizards, and raised his hands as though in surrender. "Alright—you've got us."

(Approximately Ten Hours Earlier)

"_So this is where Her Majesty summers_..."

_"We've been drinking!"_

_ "It's just... it's been a really... emotional day..."_

_ "I'm sorry... I just... I can't..._"

_ They hadn't kissed._

_ They _hadn't_ kissed_.

_"I'm a girl who will try anything once—I suppose that should apply to an actual relationship_, _too_..."

Voices and images flooded James's head, making the walk up towards Lily Evans's front door seem to last much longer than it actually did. When, at last, he had ascended the front steps, James hesitated before ringing the bell.

It would be fine. Really.

Carlotta was... great. And excellent. And marvelously straight-forward, by comparison.

This wasn't going to be weird. Really—he wouldn't let it be weird. He had a girlfriend now, and he could be over Evans, who obviously had no romantic feelings for him. She was a girl—a lovely, insane, completely fantastic girl, but, all the same, just a human being. And, from an evolutionary standpoint, human kind was built to handle rejection from others of the species (_even_ from lovely, insane, completely fantastic ones). It wasn't going to be weird. He was _completely_ over Lily Evans.

He rang the doorbell.

A short eternity later, Lily opened the door. She wore a blue bathrobe and a giant yellow t-shirt that covered the essentials and not much else. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of James, and she moved to close up the bathrobe.

"Nice shirt," said James almost automatically.

"Nice _hat_," she retorted, without missing a beat.

And that's when he knew it.

Namely, that this was going to be a lot trickier than he'd thought.

_Damn it_.

(Approximately Eight Hours Later)

Egbert Dearborn was more than a little disgruntled. The rectangular plaque (and former occupant of his desk) that bore the name of his predecessor sat in the rubbish bin, laughing at him in the face of his defeat, and Egbert felt powerless to stop it.

Well, it wasn't defeat _yet_. The Wizengamot would rule tomorrow, however, and then only two options existed for Dearborn—retain his seat as the head of D.M.L.E. or admit to the essential end of his political career.

It was the mudbloods who were really at fault: the dull-witted, tainted mudbloods, whose own greed for magic prevented them from seeing (or caring about) the damage they did. And they sat in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, trying to force others to accept it... trying to have _him_ sacked...

Dearborn was an ideologue. It had never been about _power_, per se, with him. He had grown up in a household where elitist pureblood, if not exactly _anti-muggleborn_, sentiments reigned. And now, in his brief tenure as head of D.M.L.E., he was only really trying to uphold that tradition: the grand tradition. Death Eaters and... and their leader... were a reaction—a violent and awful reaction and one to be loathed, to be sure, but a reaction to a social injustice nonetheless. If the Ministry could _slowly_ and _gently_ implement a _better_ plan for purebloods—which would not ignore the _muggleborn problem_, but attempt to regulate it—then Vol... well... the Death Eaters would disintegrate on their own, without a lot of aurors dashing about the country every time someone saw a hooded figure (or, more recently, a green haze in the sky).

A thumping knock on Dearborn's office door told him that the wizard he had asked to see had arrived, and he responded with a somewhat shrill, "_Come in_."

Alastor Moody trudged in.

The two men could not have been more different—Moody, a large, sturdily built wizard, with wild hair and a battle scarred face, and Dearborn, a lean, neatly dressed politician with a manicure as impeccable as his pedigree. Egbert did not particularly _like_ Moody.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" the head auror grunted, and Dearborn wasn't sure if he imagined an ironic hint in his use of the word "_Sir_."

"Yes, I did Alastor," said Dearborn, rising from his desk. "I want to know _where_ all your aurors have gotten to."

"They're on assignment, sir," said Moody. "That is—the ones that haven't been put on your own security detail, sir. But you know all this, sir. I showed you our logs not two hours ago."

"_None_ of them have returned?" Dearborn demanded. "That's preposterous! They've been 'on assignment' all _day! _It's past seven o'clock in the evening, and those... they ought to have reported back!"

"But, Mr. Dearborn, sir—you've been in charge of this department for a few weeks now. Certainly _you_ know it's quite common for my aurors to be out for days."

Dearborn flushed and sat back down. "Well call some back."

"Mr. Dearborn, sir," said Moody, and now he sounded almost dangerous, "there was an attack in Birmingham two hours ago. Fifteen muggles witnesses and three dead... that's a priority case, that is."

"But _all_ of your aurors can't be on priority cases?" snapped Dearborn.

"There are four on your detail," Moody went on, "There's the one that you assigned for a task, and seven out at the house in Bromley."

"The house in Bromley, yes... call them back! If they haven't found anything by _now_…"

"There's a strong suspicion about the house," interrupted the auror. "There's even a possibility of positively identifying two death eaters. Now, Mr. Dearborn, sir, I imagine that if you called them back now, and the evidence was... mishandled... that's not the sort of stain you want on your record... especially now that you're about to be announced permanent head of D.M.L.E." Moody frowned. "I can promise you, Mr. Dearborn, that the aurors at the house in Bromley have their hands full now, and calling them back now would be an... embarrassing and ill-advised mistake."

(The House in Bromley)

_"Damn it,_ Kingsley," swore Edgar Bones, as Kingsley Shacklebolt's knight crushed Bones's queen.

"I told you that I'm the best," said Kingsley, smiling. "Your turn."

The door to the derelict kitchen opened, admitting Lathe, whose face was covered in dirt. He set his wand down on the sink and turned on the tap, splashing water over himself.

"How was it?" asked Kingsley, while Bones surveyed the chess board between them. "No deaths?"

"False alarm," said Lathe. "There weren't any death eaters there—half the roof collapsed, though, so..." He gestured to his current disheveled state and sat down in the vacant chair at the kitchen table. "Halliday's sprained her ankle, too. She's changing upstairs now. Any idea how long we have to work out of here?"

"Not complaining, are you?"

"Merlin, no. It's better then wasting resources on a hundred people sitting by a fountain."

"Three hundred," Edgar corrected, still studying the chess board. "Does Dearborn honestly think we've been searching this house for clues for nearly nine hours?"

"Dearborn is not particularly educated on what an auror _does_," said Kingsley. "Between the three of us, I hope the Wizengamot listens to the two hundred people sitting by the fountain."

"Three hundred," Edgar corrected again.

"Here, here," deadpanned Lathe. "Any word from Birmingham?"

"Nah," said Bones. "Eckles has gone too, though. Oh, not for anything important. They wanted someone to handle the presses; _the Prophet_ gets fussy when they can't speak to actual aurors. No other developments, though."

Lathe nodded. He was watching the chessboard intently and, after a minute or so, spoke again. "Bones, you might as well give up. Kingsley's only toying with you. He'll have you checkmated in three moves."

Edgar looked up at Kingsley, who nodded.

"_Damn it, _Kingsley."

(Falstaff's Office)

An invisible bond had been used to restrain their hands behind their backs, and Lily, James, and Alice were marched hastily down the corridor. Besides Falstaff, there were three other wizards, one of whom wore an auror's badge.

They were brought into Falstaff's office at the end of the corridor. It was a plain room, with beige, picture-less walls and a large oak desk. An owl sat perched in a cage with an open padlock in the corner, and the shades over the window behind the desk were drawn. On top of the desk, a quill was signing one of many scrolls of parchment piled there on its own accord. Lily, James, and Alice were ordered by one of the wizards to line up on the step below the desk, and they stood there—hands bound—as though in front of a firing squad.

"Three more, eh?" muttered Falstaff. "Red, just like the idiots in the Atrium."

"That one there," muttered the auror, nodding towards Alice. "Her name's Griffiths. She's in the A.T. program."

Falstaff rolled his large, pale brown eyes and approached Alice, tapping the badge on her robes. "_Obviously_," he murmured. "The other two?"

The auror merely shook his head, and both the other wizards followed suit. Falstaff walked up to James, looking at him very carefully.

"I've seen you somewhere."

"I'm ubiquitous," said James.

Falstaff began to say something else, but then he stopped himself. He turned to the other three wizards and addressed the ones that did not wear the auror badge.

"Get their wands," he muttered, and the wizards complied. The man charged with grabbing Lily's was a short, balding wizard of about thirty, and he winked at her as he felt about for the object in question.

"Back pocket," she snapped. He reached around, grinning, and located the object, and it took all of Lily's patience not to kick him. The other wizard took James's and Alice's wands and offered them to Falstaff, who shook his head and pointed to the auror. They were given to him instead, and then Falstaff issued another order.

"Find Svilt."

"Svilt's with the other one in his..."

"_Find _him and tell him about _this_."

The two wizards left. Falstaff, meanwhile, raised his wand and directed it first at Lily.

"Sit," he ordered, and beside her, Lily could feel James tense. She sat down on the step, and Falstaff pointed his wand at her feet. He waved it once, and she felt the muscles in her legs seize up, her ankles clicking together as her wrists had done earlier. They were locked together. "Sit," said Falstaff to James, and he complied as well. Falstaff repeated the spell on James. Without command, Alice began to sit as well, but Falstaff shook his head.

"Not likely, Miss A.T.," he said with a small smile. "You..." He looked at the auror, and Lily guessed that it was quite intentional that he refrained from saying his name (which was equal parts encouraging and bewildering, as it apparently meant that there was a chance that the three of them might later be in a position to repeat anything they knew). "The A.T.s are on furlough. She has no business here. You'll escort her off the premises."

The auror nodded, and, grabbing Alice by the arm, led her—not gently—towards the door. Falstaff made to follow, but turned and looked at Lily and James, smiling again.

"Don't go anywhere," he said, knowing it was not likely. "I'll be back in a moment. You don't mind if I lock up, do you?"

"Wait," said Alice quickly and loudly, from where she stood near the door. She wriggled loose from the auror's grip and was at James's side before anyone could react. The witch leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, just as the auror caught up with her and guided her back towards the door. The auror was rougher this time in escorting Alice out of the office.

"Girlfriend, eh?" scoffed Falstaff to James. "Personally, I thought you looked better with the ginger." He followed the auror and Alice out. The door clicked closed behind him, and then there was an additional click, as Falstaff evidently locked it from the outside.

Lily and James were alone in the office. There was a moment of silence, before James spoke.

"Okay, Snaps..." he began to say, but Lily was already struggling to get her arms underneath her, so that they were no longer behind her back. It took her all of ten seconds to do this, and James was impressed. He was about to comment, but was distracted by the fact that Lily was now beating his arm with her the side of her bound fists.

"THIS... WAS... YOUR... PLAN?"

"Ouch! Stop... stop that! Evans!" James tried to scoot away, but his hands were still behind his back and his legs were useless, so it wasn't easy. "I never said it was a _good_ plan!"

Lily stopped hitting him. "Are you _joking_, you _GIT?"_ She began to hit him again.

"OUCH! _Lily! _Please! There isn't much time!"

Lily once again ceased her assault, permitting James to get his hands out from behind his back. She continued to survey him with the utmost suspicion, however.

"_This_ was your plan?" she demanded again.

"Quite probably not my best..." James allowed.

"Was it your _worst_?"

"I don't really think that's relevant."

"That really and truly terrifies me, James."

James was already busy at work, however. He took off his fedora, and said: "_Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_," and it was only then that Lily realized something.

"Your wand—you put it in your hat. So what did they take just now?"

"A fake. I've always said that fake wands were prosaic, but in the right situation..." He carefully placed the hat between his knees and lifted the fold so that he could locate what he had hidden there earlier.

"Why did you have a fake wand on you?" Lily wanted to know, while James rummaged around in the hat.

"I don't know what possessed Sirius to bring them along," admitted the Marauder. "But he, Remus, Pete, and I all took one from his hat when we decided to enter the phoenix bond. There we go..."

James located his wand and pointed it at Lily's legs, murmuring the counter to the leg-lock curse. "I don't know what spell they used on our hands," he added, looking at her hopefully.

"Try _finite incantatum._ It's generally effective for things like this, isn't it?"

James tried, and it, mercifully, worked. He freed his own legs next, and then handed Lily the wand to undo his wrists. Lily hesitated.

"That's not funny, Snaps."

"Fine, but you absolutely deserve it. _Finite Incantatum."_

Freed completely, now, James took his wand back and pointed it at the inside of the fedora again. "I told you it was a nice hat," he added, and Lily rolled her eyes. "_Accio mirror_."

The two-way mirror flew out of the hat, and James caught it.

"Shouldn't we get out of here first?" asked Lily, rubbing her sore wrists.

"This first," muttered James. "We don't know when he'll be back, and there might not be enough time to escape at any rate. And this is more important. _Sirius Black!"_ he said loudly into the mirror. Nothing happened, and the mirror remained dark.

"Why do you need to talk to Sirius?"

"Alice told me what Frank was supposed to tell Moody."

Something clicked in Lily's brain. "When she kissed you. Oh, Merlin, that makes _so _much more sense." She was half expecting a, "_What? Jealous_?" from James, but he said nothing, except to repeat the name in the mirror.

"It should be in his hat. Why isn't he answering?" James muttered. "Sirius! _Sirius Black!_"

They both hovered over the mirror, listening and watching, but no one appeared. There was a muffled sound that might have been a voice, but neither could make out any distinct words.

"Hurry up, hurry up," whispered Lily to no one in particular. "You're sure he has it on him?"

"Yeah, he used it this morning—remember?"

"Right."

"_Sirius!"_

Still, no response.

"What was Frank's message, then?" Lily asked while they waited.

James frowned. "He's supposed to tell Moody to 'send them in.'"

"Send them in?" Lily echoed. "What _exactly_ did Alice say?"

"She said 'Vance tells Moody to 'send them in.'"

"Send them in... send them in..." Lily murmured, leaning against the desk behind her, as James continued his battle with the two-way mirror. "The aurors, do you think she meant?"

"I don't know. Why would Vance want to bring in the aurors?"

Lily frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe... maybe he wants them to all be taken in by the aurors!" she realized. James arched an eyebrow. "Why not? What's the penalty? A fine, maybe? If Vance thinks that the hit-wizards under Dearborn are going to do something illegal, or question people or something, maybe he wants the aurors to come in and deal with them, because this Moody bloke is in charge, and he'll keep it all on the books."

James nodded slowly. "That actually makes sense. _Sirius fucking Black!"_

But beside the vague muffled sound, there continued to be no reply. Lily sighed, looking anxiously at the door.

"Falstaff could be back any minute, James. Say the message...maybe he'll hear it..."

"I don't have much of an choice, I guess. _Padfoot_, this is _James_," he spoke very clearly, as though to a child. "We're on level two... D.M.L.E. In a bloke named Falstaff's office. It's me and Lily—Alice is being escorted off the premises, because they recognized her as an A.T. Vance told Frank to send in the aurors, but you need to tell Vance that his message didn't get delivered, and he _needs_ to find another way to contact the aurors. Repeating that, in case you're an idiot—Vance's message _wasn't _delivered. We _think_ Frank got intercepted..."

"And is with a bloke named Svilt!" Lily added.

They paused and waited, hoping to hear some kind of response. What they heard, instead, were footsteps from the outside corridor.

"Shit," swore James. "I hope he heard it." He was already throwing the mirror and his wand into the hat, however, before promptly closing the flap and replacing it on top of his head. Both he and Lily resumed the positions they had held prior to escaping the bonds, but as the footsteps drew closer, James grabbed Lily's shoulder suddenly, turning her to face him. "If they ask you your name, say it's... say it's Felicity McKinnon."

"Why?"

"Pureblood. They let Alice go because they thought she was too well connected, and if they know you're a muggleborn, they'll be a lot less careful about your well-being. Alright?"

Lily nodded.

"Fantastic."

The lock was charmed open, and James had resumed his position of faux captivity by the time the door opened.

Falstaff entered, alone this time. He closed the door behind him, and walked over to the teenagers, squatting down in front of them so that they were at eye-level. "Now," he began in a smooth voice; "You, boy—what's your name?"

"Who's asking?" retorted James.

Falstaff poked him in the neck with his wand. "Your name," he repeated, pretense of cordiality gone.

"Tom Baker."

It took every ounce of strength in Lily not to look at James just then. What in Merlin's name was he playing at?

"I don't know any 'Bakers.'"

"You wouldn't. My folks are muggles."

Falstaff stared at James for a moment, as though sizing him up, and then turned to Lily. "And _you_?"

_Felicity McKinnon_, James had said. _Felicity McKinnon_.

"Lily," she said. "Lily... Deslauriers."

"And do I know any Deslauriers?" asked Falstaff.

"Do you know any East End florists?"

"Muggleborn."

"What would a pureblood be doing protesting muggleborn rights?"

Falstaff snorted and then straightened up. "You'd be surprised," he muttered. He began to pace, and the moment his back was to the two adolescents, James sent a furious look in Lily's direction, and she kicked him.

"The question, of course," said Falstaff, rounding on them, so that the pair had to resume their sedate positions and expressions, "is what exactly are you doing here?" His eyes slid from Lily to James to Lily again. "Miss Deslauriers?"

To the best of her ability, Lily concealed the fact that she was swallowing hard and suddenly wished she had talked over a cover story with James in their brief moments alone. In the end, she opted for almost the truth. "We were looking for our friend."

"Mr. Longbottom,' said Falstaff knowingly, so perhaps Frank _had_ been taken. "Rather a waste of time, my dear. Your friend is in no danger from _us_. We are the Ministry of Magic. We are here to protect."

"Even off the clock?" Lily asked. Falstaff made no reply. He continued to look at her curiously.

"How did you two get past the gates in the Atrium?"

"Disillusionment Charm," Lily heard herself answer.

"And where were you going?"

"To get our friend; we told you."

"And what was he doing in the offices?"

"How should I know? I only saw him leave and be followed. I didn't ask why."

Falstaff faltered before asking another question. "I do not believe that a few teenagers snuck into the Ministry after their friend with no idea _why."_

"We saw your bloke with the ponytail follow him," James spoke up. "Others in the crowd knew him to be friendly with Dearborn. Two and two."

"And what do you have against Dearborn?"

"What has he got against muggleborns?" Lily said. Falstaff arched his eyebrows.

"Miss Deslauriers," he began, "you were trespassing on Ministry property. I could have you arrested."

"You could and should. Why haven't you?"

"Because I have questions that I want to ask first."

"What questions?"

"How did you really get past the guard at the gate?"

"She already told you," said James. "Leave her alone, why don't you?"

"You would hardly have surrendered the truth that easily."

"I'm very honest."

Falstaff hesitated. The brown in his large eyes was so pale, it was almost beige, and there was something disconcerting about being watched by those eyes. "Who leaked the Population Protection Act to _The Daily Prophet_?"

Lily did not have to fake surprise at this question. "How should I know? I only found out about the whole thing from the newspaper, just like everyone else."

"I don't believe you."

"Well it's the truth!"

"Do you honestly believe that everyone who was in the Atrium today knows the answer to that question?" cut in James. "Or that _anyone_ does? Seriously, do you? Because if you do, you must be thicker than I thought."

"_Tom_," Lily snapped warningly, and she wanted to kick him again, but Falstaff would have seen.

"Mr. Baker," began Falstaff coolly. "I have no idea what you know. But I will find out, and it won't be difficult."

"We're supposed to believe that _you're_ going to torture us?" asked James wryly, and Lily watched the older wizard's reaction very carefully. Unfortunately, he smiled.

"Of course not," said Falstaff. "But my friend Mr. Svilt is much more creative than I in his methods of interrogation. Once again..." He spoke to James, but he pointed his wand at Lily; "Who leaked the Population Protection Act to _The Daily Prophet_?"

This time, James hesitated before replying, and Lily had just enough time to mutter, very rapidly: "_He-won't-do-it. He'll-get-Svilt."_

"_Silence,"_ ordered Falstaff, jabbing the wand forcefully against her forehead. Lily tried not to look utterly terrified. "Mr. Baker?"

"Neither of us know," said James. "Honestly, we were just looking for our friend."

Falstaff considered the wizard before him. Without removing his wand from Lily's forehead, he reached with his other hand and picked up James's fedora. "This is very nice," he mocked, toying with it idly in one hand. "Now, one last time—_who_, Mr. Baker?"

"I don't _know_," said James stiffly.

Though his intent was, no doubt, to annoy James, Falstaff could not have known how it worried both teenagers when he placed the fedora upon his head. His wand was still on Lily, however, and he muttered something under his breath as he flicked it.

A hundred miles away, James's voice said Lily's name, but the world was going dark for her. Before black unconsciousness overcame her entirely, Lily was aware of two thoughts running through her head: first, recognition of the fact that she had been stunned, and second, that she sincerely hoped James would not forget to act as though his hands and legs were bound.

* * *

Lily stirred, and James let out a heavy sigh of relief. "_Thank Merlin_," he muttered, as her eyes fluttered open. "Are you okay? Agrippa's sake—what was he thinking, stunning someone at that range? You could have been seriously..."

"Your hands," Lily muttered hoarsely, for James was—gently as possible—helping her into a sitting position. He leaned her against the desk.

"What? Oh, Falstaff's still gone," James explained, reflexively glancing towards the office door.

"How long has it been?" Lily rubbed her forehead gingerly.

"About ten minutes. I think he went to get Svilt. You were right about that, incidentally: Falstaff's too big of a coward to do anything _himself_. He's just... what's wrong?"

For Lily was now looking at him with a rather intimidating light in her eyes.

"You're angry because I didn't tell him the truth when he had the wand pointed at you?" guessed James worriedly. "Listen, I'm..."

"You were trying to get rid of me," Lily interrupted.

"Oh." James frowned. "Okay, that, obviously, didn't exactly work, and... are you going to hit me again, or are you going to let me explain?"

"_Explain_? Explain _what, TOM SODDING BAKER?"_

"Okay, I understand why you're angry..."

"Angry?" roared Lily, getting to her feet. "Angry was twenty minutes ago! I am _furious_. I am unfathomably murderous!"

"You need to calm down and listen to me," said James. "There's..."

"Don't tell me to calm down. Don't talk to me like a child, especially not after that stunt. If we get out of this any time soon, I am never speaking to you again. Do you know why?"

"Er..."

"Because you'll be dead, and I don't _speak to dead people!"_

"On principle, or just out of habit?" asked James, also hopping to his feet.

"Don't try to funny you're way out of this. I am _definitely _going to murder you."

"Is that a fact, _Miss __Deslauriers? __Speaking of which—__Lily Deslauriers?__ And your folks are East End __florists__? I'm surprised he didn't see through it right away! You couldn't say 'Smith' or 'Jones' like any normal human being would?"_

_"Well, I'm sorry for having an imagination!"_

"Well, I'm sorry for trying to get you out of this without an arrest on your record!"

"Well I forgive you!"

"Well fine!"

And then they were both quiet.

"I can't believe he took my hat."

"Will they be able to get inside it?"

"I doubt they'll look," muttered James. "Falstaff only took it to irritate me. But even if they do have a look at it, there's a password you need to open it up."

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," realized Lily, remembering what he had said earlier. James nodded. Lily sighed, folding her arms. "We need to find a way out of here. Any idea how much longer we have?"

"No," said James, clearly still glum about the loss of his hat. "I thought he'd be back by now."

"Where exactly did he go?"

"To get this Svilt bloke, I _think_," said James. He began to pace and didn't try for the door, so Lily assumed he must have done so while she was still unconscious.

"Svilt's with Frank," Lily muttered to herself. "Maybe he needs to find a sitter for him while he uses Svilt on us."

"Maybe. But why wouldn't they let Frank go, like they did with Alice? He's wearing his A.T. robes, too."

Lily had no adequate response for that, however. They were both silent for a time. James searched through the desk drawers, possibly for an extra wand or something they could employ towards escape. Unfortunately, the entire office seemed to be utterly lacking in anything useful.

"Listen, Snaps," James began presently, sitting down on the step again. Lily looked at him, eyebrows raised. "When Falstaff comes back... can you... can you please just say your name is Felicity McKinnon?"

"It's a little late for that," retorted Lily, annoyed.

"Well—well then we can make it look like I'm ratting you out or something."

"Potter..."

"No, listen—if he has two of us, he can use one of us as leverage against the other, and..."

"James, relax—ten galleons says the worst they do to us is give us a sip of Veritaserum. It's safer and more effective, anyway."

The wizard had not thought of that. "All the same," he muttered, "I'll feel exceptionally guilty if you have brain damage from that close-range stunning spell, and it'd be all my fault, because..."

"It's not your fault," Lily interrupted. "Alright? I made you take me along, and I understood the risks. So, once again, stop treating me like a child, and let's do something a little more proactive."

"Such as?"

"Coming up with a new plan, for starts."

"Well, getting rid of you was sort of my Plan B."

"Thanks for that," said Lily, rolling her eyes. "And, what exactly, was your plan A? Getting us locked up in an office?"

"Well, I rather hoped they'd throw us in with Frank, which would at least accomplish our goal of finding him, yeah?"

"Well, they didn't."

"I've already admitted that this wasn't my best plan, Snaps."

"Fair enough."

Time passed; Lily wasn't sure how much of it, but enough for the sense that Falstaff's return must be imminent to diminish significantly. They had been in the office for about an hour total before Lily asked the question that bothered her most of all.

"You don't think something's happened, do you?"

"To Falstaff?"

"No, Frank."

"Why do you reckon something's happened to Frank?"

"I _don't_. But..."

"Well then, let's not talk about it."

"Fine."

Lily sat in the chair, her legs propped up on the desk surface, and James leaned against the front of the desk, his back to her; he could feel her eyes on him and rather wished she had not brought up the possibility of anything happening to Frank. It made him feel even more useless, sitting there like this.

It was about half past seven o'clock now. Alice had said that this was the time that the Atrium would be sufficiently empty for the hit-wizards to act (if that was, indeed, their plan). Of course, it was a busy day... maybe there would be more time. Or maybe Sirius had heard their message, and the aurors would come...

"So—how was the West Country?" Lily asked suddenly.

James looked at her disbelievingly. "Are you serious, Evans?"

"Well, what else have we got to do? Our wands and your hat are gone, the door is bewitched, and I thought we established that you were all out of plans."

James sighed heavily. "Fine. It was fine."

"That's _it_? _Fine_?"

"Fine, lovely, fantastic—what do you want from me?"

He got up and folded his arms, pacing back and forth again. Lily watched him, frowning.

"Are you _angry_ with _me_?" she asked at length, more curious than anything else.

"No."

"Well, _that's _a lie."

"I'm not angry with you."

"You are _clearly_ annoyed."

"Can we _not_ do this now?"

"Do what? I don't know what we're doing! You're just being moody and angst-y, just like you've been _all day _around me, and I don't have the faintest clue why, because last time I checked, _you_ were the one who jumped out in the hallway in front of the people who were supposed to be chasing us and said, and I quote, 'Alright, you've got us.'"

James opened his mouth to retort, but then stopped himself. He paused and sighed. She had a point, damn her. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just was..." he trailed off, wondering _what_ exactly he _was_ doing. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "Holiday was—very nice. Fantastic, really. And you? How have you been since..." (an awkward moment they both acknowledged) "...your sister's wedding?"

"Alright, I suppose," muttered Lily, thinking briefly of a now twice repeated dream featuring a very shirtless James. "Nothing too exciting. Oh..." she remembered, "I got Head Girl."

James looked up, but he did not appear surprised. "Yeah, Remus told me. That's... good..."

"I don't know if it is, though."

"Why's that?"

Lily shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just anxious about the Head Boy."

Confused, James raised his eyebrows. Had she already heard? "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's not Remus. I was hoping it would be Remus. But it's not, and it's not the Ravenclaw prefect—I wrote him to ask—and I just asked Benjy Fenwick today, and he says _he _didn't get the badge, so I don't know who else it could be, except the Slytherin prefect. And that's Snape."

"Oh. Er... Evans..."

"I know," she interrupted. "It doesn't seem _likely_, but the Head Boy is always a prefect, and he's the only one left! And I don't want to work with Snape. I don't want to... to think about him or look at him or... have to deal with the fact that for years, he was my best friend, and now he's..." She stopped abruptly. "I just can't believe that I thought I could reconcile with him, or save him or whatever it was. I thought I..." but once again, she stopped. "Anyway, it's over with, and I don't want to have to face him anymore. Which is—I mean, it's incredibly selfish. If he deserves Head Boy, he deserves it, and I shouldn't wish him bad luck, just because I can't stand to stand next to him anymore. You know?"

"Shockingly, yes," James muttered, gulping.

"Anyway, I suppose he _does_ deserve it," Lily went on dismally. "For all his faults, he's quite clever. I certainly can't think of anyone else who deserves it _more..."_

"Snaps..."

"And if he's picked, he's picked, and there's nothing I can very well do about it, is there?"

"But, Evans..."

"I just—I think I'm afraid that working with him, I'll start to feel like I can... I dunno... redeem him, somehow, which I _know_ is wrong, but..."

"I'm Head Boy," James blurted out, when he didn't think he could hear another word of Lily's tirade. She looked at him, confused.

"What?"

"I'm Head Boy."

She sighed. "James, must you _always_ make fun?

"No. I'm seriously Head Boy."

Lily raised her eyebrows.

"No. Really," he repeated earnestly. "_I am Head Boy_. I don't... I don't have a clue how or why, but I got the badge with my Hogwarts letter. I'm... I'm the Head Boy."

For a few seconds, Lily didn't believe him. Then she did. She clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh-my-God-I'm-so-sorry!"

And for whatever reason, James found this exceptionally funny. He began to laugh, and so did Lily, although she was covering her face with her hands in humiliation as she did so.

"I am... _so_ bloody sorry," she gasped. "I just—I never thought..."

"That someone on the verge of expulsion would get Head Boy?" asked James. "Yeah, me neither. It doesn't make sense..."

"No, it's... it makes sense..."

"Oh stop trying to salvage it," scoffed James, amused. "Of bloody _course_ it makes no sense! I'm not Head Boy material! I'm a Quidditch obsessed deviant who has broken just about every rule there is. It makes absolutely, positively _no_ sense whatsoever, and you know it."

"Stop romanticizing your misdemeanors," Lily reprimanded. "You saved Snape last year; that's probably why you got it."

James shrugged. "Or Dumbledore's having a laugh at my expense, the git," he said, rolling his eyes. He tried once again at the locked door, knowing it was futile, and then leaned his back against it, hands in his pockets, legs crossed at the ankle. There, James was directly across from Lily, who had removed her legs from the desk and now sat more normally in the chair. "I wish I had my bloody _hat_," he muttered, for no real reason, except that it occurred to him.

Lily nodded, her glumness returning. She slouched over the desk, chin in the palm of her hand. "Let's just hope Sirius got the message."

"I dunno, though," James went on, half to himself. "Maybe I could knock the door down... especially if Falstaff isn't coming back any time soon."

"With a sealing charm?" asked Lily wryly. "Not likely."

"I don't know if he used a sealing charm," said James, turning to examine the door. "He might have just locked it. I only heard the click."

Lily got up from the desk. "He didn't use a... why wouldn't he use a sealing charm?"

"He thought we were immobile," James reminded her. Lily took him by surprise in appearing quite suddenly at his side. "Maybe we could use the desk to ram it... or, hey, didn't you say your first bit of accidental magic was to make a door fly off its hinges? I don't suppose you can do that on demand?" He looked at her, grinning, but Lily's expression was thoughtful. "What? You _can_?"

"I might be able to," said Lily. "But not in the way _you're _thinking."

She turned and hurried back to the desk.

"I already looked through there," James reminded her. "There's nothing but quills and ink and parchment and books."

Lily opened every single drawer, pushing aside the contents in search of _something_, but James did not know what. At length, not finding whatever it was that she sought, Lily straightened up, pushing her hair away from her face in frustration.

"I need something like a... a screwdriver..."

"A what?"

"A screwdriver."

James sent her a blank stare.

"Y'know... muggle tool. Plastic or wood handle, long metal stick, with a head... you use it to pry or unscrew things... no? Didn't you take muggle studies?"

"We didn't cover _every single _muggle knick-knack, Snaps."

"Fine, well... if I had something with a flat, narrow head, I could..." She trailed off, as her eyes fell on something that James could not see from his angle. He joined her behind the desk, following her stare.

"What?"

Lily pointed at the drawer handle. It consisted of a brass strip, about half an inch wide at the ends, but wider in the middle of the handle, between the two mounts. Lily, however, seemed more concerned with the edges; she knelt down, examining them carefully, and then looked up at James.

"You're stronger than I am, aren't you?"

James rolled his eyes. "Have you _seen_ yourself, Twig?"

"None of that, now," Lily retorted. "I dislocated Nick Mulciber's jaw once, if you remember."

"Don't be cute," replied James coolly. "What do you need?"

"Do you think you could get one of these handles off?"

"Reckon so, yeah—why? That's not a screw-what's-it, is it?"

"It might work."

James sighed and knelt down beside her. He jostled all the identical drawer handles, finding that the top one felt slightly looser than the others. They emptied the drawer and removed it from the desk.

It took James a few minutes to work the handle off, too, and though he pulled the hem of his shirt up to mediate between his flesh and the metal, when, at last, the handle was wriggled free, the palm of his hands was red and blistered.

"Sorry," muttered Lily, who had kept a close eye on the door. If Falstaff returned now, James did not know how they would avoid revealing that the leg-locks and wrist-binds were long since vanquished.

"No problem—though you might do to tell me what exactly what you're planning on _doing _with this..."

Lily rolled her eyes. "What? Don't you trust me?"

"Very funny."

James handed over the brass handle, and Lily hurried to the office door again.

"Wait a minute," she said, once there. "I need something to hit it with. Like a hammer. You do know what a hammer is, don't you?"

"Something to do with electricity, isn't it?" retorted James sarcastically. "Yes, I know what a _hammer _is. Here..." He jogged over to the owl cage in the back corner of the office and pulled the unfastened padlock from the door. It was large and heavy, and he gave it to Lily, who eyed it appraisingly for a moment.

"This might do," she muttered. The owl in the cage gave a loud hoot, and Lily positioned the narrow end of the drawer handle against the top door hinge. James stepped closer to see exactly what she was doing, and she had slipped the handle between the hinge pin and the top rung of the hinge. "You may want to step back," she told him, and as she secured the handle in her left hand, she raised the padlock in her right. She brought the lock down on the handle with all her strength, and the hinge pin moved infinitesimally upward.

"Where did you learn to do that?" James wanted to know.

"My dad remodeled our kitchen summer after second year," Lily replied. "The hinges on the old door didn't match the décor, so he had to put new ones on. I watched."

"God bless him," muttered James, and Lily snorted. She continued to hit the door handle with the padlock like a nail with a hammer, until the hinge pin became quite loose. It was a noisy process, however, and she stopped every few seconds to listen, but—besides the fluttering of the owl in the cage—all was silent.

When the first bolt was loose enough, James reached up and slid it out of the hinge. The door remained secure, but Lily moved to the second one. In a few minutes, the second pin was removed too; the door wobbled.

"Hold it, will you?" asked Lily. "I ought to have done the bottom one first. Dad told me that, damn it."

"Don't beat yourself up over it," said James. "You're about to get us out of here."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," replied the other, sitting down on the floor to begin on the last hinge. "If Falstaff comes back..."

"We'll throw the door at him," joked James, and Lily smiled as she beat the lock against the handle once again.

Finally, the last bolt was removed. James would have been impressed, if he hadn't been so busy being relieved. He did not remove the door right away, however. "Before we leave, we might want to figure out where we're going."

"We need our wands."

"I need my hat."

"Right. Where in Merlin's name do you think they are? We're _in_ Falstaff's office, and he didn't leave them here."

"Maybe that Svilt bloke's office?" suggested James. "I bet that's where Frank is, if they didn't let him go once they had two 'muggleborns' to interrogate."

"But where's that? How would we begin to find it?"

They thought about it for a minute; Lily was massaging her palms and wrists, which had been severely chaffed by the drawer handle. "I hope Mum hasn't telephoned the house," she muttered inconsequentially. "She'll be worried that I'm not home yet..."

And that gave James an idea. "Hold the door, will you?"

Lily nodded. She hopped to her feet and steadied the door, while James stepped away, towards the back of the office again. He grabbed a slip of parchment from Falstaff's desk and folded it into a square. He took the quill that had long since stopped writing on its own accord and found some ink in one of the still-handled drawers. On the front of the parchment, he scribbled a single word. Then, he opened the owl's cage, and the bird within let out another noisy hoot. Lily arched her eyebrows.

"We'll send him a memo," said James. He held up the parchment, which had the name "Svilt" written on it.

"And follow the bird," Lily finished, catching on. "That's... kind of brilliant."

"I do have _some_ good ideas."

"Hurry up."

"Right. Move the door, will you?"

* * *

The owl, Lily thought, really was a good sport. Once the door was removed, the bird was easily convinced to deliver his "message" to the appropriate office, and Lily and James set out after him. Unfortunately, the process of following the bird through the corridors turned out to be among the most nerve-wracking experience of Lily's seventeen years.

The corridor immediately outside of Falstaff's office was mercifully (and inexplicably) empty, but at every turn, Lily expected someone to jump out at them. Without the invisibility cloak, of course, they could move quickly and were able to keep up with Falstaff's owl, but, at the same time, speed meant both visibility and volume.

The bird flew, and Lily and James sprinted after it through the corridors, and, to an outside observer, it might have looked funny, but the pursuers themselves had no occasion to be amused. Svilt's office was not on level two, which Lily had guessed might be so, as Alice had not mentioned his having one at all, and the owl flew up to the lift doors, flying in small circles as it waited for one to arrive.

Lily started to round the corner into the corridor with the lift at the end, but James grabbed her hand.

"If someone gets out of the lift," he explained, holding her back, and Lily nodded. She moved back around the corner, looking over James's shoulder at the owl; he hadn't let go of her hand yet.

The lift arrived empty (it must have been bewitched to turn up, even for owls), and as the gates opened, Falstaff's bird swooped inside, and Lily and James sprinted to step aboard before the doors closed. Inside, James noticed he had been holding Lily's hand the entire time, and he let go quickly.

"What? No awkward comment?" teased Lily, as the lift doors closed and they began to move upward.

"Your fingernails are purple," James remarked.

"It's nail varnish."

"And you said my fedora was ridiculous."

"Git."

"Prig."

The owl disembarked when the lift stopped on level four, _Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_, or, as it was more commonly known: D.C.M.C. The hall was empty, and a clock on the wall told them that it was about twelve minutes to eight o'clock.

"Alice said the hall would be cleared by seven-thirty or eight, didn't she?" Lily asked, as she jogged after James and the owl.

"That's right."

"I _hope_ Sirius got that message."

They stopped at a corner, peering around it to make sure the coast was clear before following the owl again.

"Who knows, though?" muttered James. "Maybe the others have already gone..."

"You heard Dory—she's not going anywhere. And after that rousing rendition of 'Seven Drunken Nights, I'm sure spirits are pretty high...'"

James smirked, and they stepped into the intersecting hallway. The bird was already halfway down, but he soon turned around, flapping frantically, and swooped towards one of the doors. The parchment in his beak dropped into a square memo box connected to the door, and as the bird delivered his letter, his beak knocked against the wooden box, which had evidently been designed specifically for that purpose.

Mission completed, Falstaff's owl made to return to his cage. Lily, meanwhile, pulled James back around the corner, and they both waited to see if anyone opened the door. No one did, however.

"What now?" Lily wondered aloud. They both leaned against the wall behind them, James tapping his head against it thoughtfully. At length, he turned to look at Lily over his shoulder.

"Snaps..."

"Hmm?"

"Do you trust me?"

Lily slapped his arm. "No I don't bloody well trust you! Are you _mad?"_

"Snaps, none of this is going to work if we don't trust each other a little..."

"Is _that_ why you tried to trick me into getting myself out of here?"

"I already apologized for that!"

"Yes, but... but... Damn it." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Merlin help us: do what you've got to do."

That was, evidently, good enough. He turned and walked towards Svilt's silent office. A name plate beside the door had four names on it, including Antoine Svilt, and bore the label: "Pest Advisory Board."

James frowned. "Bloody hell," he whispered; "He's a _PAB?"_

"What's a Pab?" asked Lily, matching his hushed tone.

James pointed to the sign. "Pest Advisory Board. PABs are basically nothing."

"Well maybe they consider teenagers pests," suggested Lily, and James snorted. He reached out and tentatively knocked on the door. For several seconds, they listened, but the office remained quiet.

"Where did everyone _go_?" Lily wanted to know. James shrugged. He grabbed the door knob and turned.

"I should have known _you_ would be involved in all of this," sighed a voice behind them.

Lily and James froze.

(Approximately Thirty-Five Minutes Earlier)

The trick for Alice had been finding a floo network that was directly connected to the aurors' office. She had no idea where the Shacklebolts lived, nor any of the other aurors with whom she was acquainted, and only aurors were allowed to have fireplaces directly connected to the aurors' floo.

Since Falstaff's auror and his friend had dropped her into the Leaky Cauldron, returning her wand and smirking maliciously at her, Alice had been trying to work out how she could get back into the Ministry of Magic.

"_What about the other A.T.?"_ the auror had asked of Falstaff, as they marched her towards Dearborn's office (not that she'd had any idea of her destination at the time). "_Now we've got the other two, we don't need to keep him_."

"_Keep him while we wait on Svilt's potion_," Falstaff had replied. "_The others are practically children. They might not know anything."_

And so Alice had waited in the Leaky Cauldron (Tom was working by himself) for Frank to arrive, just in case. But he did _not_ arrive. Twenty-five minutes passed, and the fireplace remained cold. Tom brought her butterbeer, which she could not taste at all. And that was when Alice concluded that she _needed _to get back into the Ministry of Magic.

As a mere Auror Trainee, Alice did not have a floo connection to the auror department, and she quickly decided that the auror department would be the safest place to floo into the Ministry. She had been brought to the Leaky Cauldron via the floo in Dearborn's office, but that would be no good, and she couldn't go back through the Atrium, as Dearborn had almost certainly ordered that the guard stop certain personnel from re-entering the lower levels. But Alastor Moody might be in the Auror department (Vance had certainly thought him to be there earlier), and she could accomplish two goals: one, communicating the message to the head auror, and two, gaining entry into the building where Frank was held.

The problem of how to get into that floo terminal plagued her for some time, before she came to the realization that Caradoc Dearborn might have a connection. He was not a field auror, but he trained the A.T.s and did work with the department regularly, so it was certainly possible; best of all, Alice had his address. Or, at least, her mum did.

Thus, Alice came to be sitting in Caradoc Dearborn's kitchen, spilling the tea he had given her all over the saucer, while she thoroughly butchered her own attempts to explain the situation.

Doc Dearborn was quite different from his younger brother Sam. He was almost a decade older, for one thing, with dark hair, spectacles, and a practical face. He had a quieter, calmer demeanor, but shared a friendly temperament with his younger brother, as well as a distinct distrust of his elder brother, Egbert's, politics. Alice was about to find out how deep this distrust went, when he answered her request to use his floo.

"You realize I could be in quite a bit of trouble if I were to allow you to use it," said Caradoc slowly.

"You could say I broke in," Alice told him earnestly. "I'll break a window, if you like."

Doc smiled. "That won't be necessary. The fireplace is this way."

Alice was just grateful for an excuse to set down the tea, and she followed. Dearborn picked up a clay jar of floo powder and emptied some into Alice's palm.

"The call is 'Aurors' Office,'" Dearborn told her, as she stepped into the fireplace.

"Thank-you ever so much."

Caradoc shrugged. "Give my regards to Sam."

"Bloody hell, I'll send him your birthday cards if you want after this." Grinning, she dropped the floo powder and gave the call.

Alice had been inside the auror department several times, but she had never seen it empty. Indeed, she had been rather under the impression that it was _never_ empty, because, these days, a considerable number of the aurors were called upon to work graveyard shifts. But now, though the offices were lighted and ready for occupancy, not a single person could be seen in the room.

It was troubling. She cautiously stepped into the hallway of level two, and thought briefly of going to Falstaff's office. But she had no idea if Lily and James were still there, and, honestly, the fact that there were two of them spoke well for their chances. Frank, wherever he might be, was apparently alone, and she had to find him first.

Alice knew that Svilt worked on level four, and she _thought_ she had heard him referred to as a PAB, but she had no idea if he had an office there or anywhere at all. Still, it was the best plan that she could come up with, and so, holding tight to her wand, she found the nearest lift and traveled upward to level four.

She encountered a pair of secretaries as she dismounted the lift, but they only acknowledged her with a nod, before returning to their own conversation. She walked with her head held high, exuding false confidence in every step, should she come across someone else who would be similarly ignorant of her trespassing.

Alice had explored half the floor in this manner before she finally located a plaque on the wall that pointed her towards the PAB chambers. It consisted of a single narrow corridor, with three doors on one side of the wall and darkened, bewitched windows on the other. There were name plaques beside each of the doors, but Alice did not have to read them. She knew at once which office held her answers, as there were voices emanating from the only door that seemed to be lit.

She slowed her steps, listening carefully to the sounds from within.

"What about the other two?" one male voice barked, and though familiar, Alice could not distinguish the speaker. "Still in your office?"

"Yes of course."

"You just _left_ them there, Falstaff?"

"Leg locked and bound in a locked office," snapped the second speaker, also male. "What are they going to do? Blow it up? You shouldn't lecture _me_. This is _your_ fault..."

"We have to find him. Merlin only knows what he might be up to..."

"Taft and the others are on it..."

"We'd better get back to the kids, then..."

"What good will that do? You haven't got the potion anymore..."

"We could use the Imperius. Dearborn said whatever we needed..."

"If that gets out, Svilt... You're willing to risk it all for _Dearborn_..."

"Hush—if someone heard..."

They were both silent for a moment; Alice did not move a muscle. Then, Falstaff and Svilt resumed their dialogue, but Alice could scarcely make out every other word, as they spoke in much lower tones now. At length, the words stopped altogether, and she knew what was coming. She pointed her wand at the nearest dark office and whispered: "_Alohamora."_

The locked clicked, and she practically fell into the pitch black room. She did not release the door knob, so there was no closing _click_. It was fortunate, too, because a second later, she heard a pair of footsteps in the corridor. They did not pass the office in which Alice had hidden, but seemed to be heading in the opposite direction, until they slowly faded. She waited a few seconds more and then opened the office door just wide enough to stick her head out.

The corridor was empty.

Alice left the office, re-locking it conscientiously, and then moved towards the middle door, from which Falstaff and Svilt had evidently emerged. The light was still on, but the room was utterly silent. Alice raised her wand and reached for the door knob.

She pushed open the door with energy, and it swung back, hitting the wall behind it. The room was empty, too. Glancing about, Alice stepped inside.

It was a large, well-lit office space, accommodating four desks, two on each side, with an aisle down the middle. An owl sat perched against the back well, and there was also a chair positioned underneath the cage. Remnants of rope were draped over the back of the chair, and Alice swallowed fearfully. The desk in the right back had the nameplate "A. Svilt" and it was covered in papers. There was also a wand, which Alice thought might be Lily's. She picked it up and placed it in the pocket of her robes, before moving towards the chair with the ropes.

They had not been cut, it seemed, but were arranged in an awful mess: untied, in all likelihood. Alice frowned at the scene, unsure of what to make of all of it.

_"We have to find him," _Svilt had said. Did they mean Frank? But who else _could_ they mean? Had he escaped? But how on earth could he have done so without a wand?

Alice pushed her hair back, her other hand on her hip as she surveyed the office and tried to figure out what to do next. She stood there for a few seconds, before her eyes fell upon something glistening on one of the other desks. She walked over and picked up the small object.

It was a badge, with the letters "A.T." etched upon it.

Frank's.

She was suddenly sure of that.

Alice put that in her pocket too and started for the door, when she heard a knock upon it. The witch froze, her heart pounding as she tried to determine what to do next. A few seconds passed, and the knock was not repeated, and Alice moved hastily behind one of the desks. She knelt there silently praying, but the room and the corridor remained still.

A minute or two slipped by in silence, and Alice grew impatient. She stood up again, still listening intently, but received no gratification. Then, as she started for the door again, there was a second knock, and she made out voices in the outside corridor. She had no time to hide this time; the brass door knob quaked as someone gripped it, and Alice readied her wand.

The door, however, did not open. The handle was released, and Alice listened confusedly as someone again spoke outside. It was a male voice, but her head was all a blur, and for a moment, she could not make out words.

She stepped closer to the door.

* * *

"I should have known _you_ would be involved in all of this," sighed a male voice behind them, and James let go of the door knob. The both of them were frozen in the spot for nearly a second, until Lily registered to whom that voice belonged. "Honestly, Evans, you must go _looking_ for trouble."

She exhaled heavily and turned to face the wizard there, folding her arms as she did.

"It's about time you showed up," she retorted, and Lathe—for that is who it was—rolled his eyes, smirking nonetheless.

"I thought you were in Falstaff's office," he said, as James, too, turned. "Or are you the ones who took the door off its hinges?"

"That was her," said James. "Lathe, isn't it?"

"Potter, isn't it?" replied Lathe, and they both nodded.

"How did you sneak up on us?" James wanted to know. "You were... seriously silent just now."

"Stealth and Tracking," replied Lathe, as though it were obvious. "It's one of the first thing's you're tested on in A.T. Also, I was quite scrawny in school..." He gestured vaguely, "I got a lot of practice hiding from bigger kids." He grinned. "So—shall we?"

"Shall we what?" asked Lily.

"Leave," said the auror, as though it were obvious. "That is what you wanted to do, isn't it?"

"Wait," said James quickly. "We were after Frank. And Vance had a message for Moody..."

"Send in the aurors; yes, I know."

"You mean Frank delivered the message?" asked Lily. "He's alright?"

"Frank Longbottom?" asked Lathe. "Oh, he's just fine. I mean, he's missing at the moment, but Svilt and Falstaff don't know where he is, so he should be fine."

The office door behind Lily and James opened, and they all turned at once. Lathe even raised his wand, but the figure standing in the office was that of Alice Griffiths.

"What do you mean 'he's missing?'" she asked, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind her. "Hullo, Lily, James."

"Alice!" sighed Lily, relieved. "Did you give them the slip, too?"

"No, but I got back in. Sorry, but, Lathe—what do you mean, Frank is missing?"

"Taft was a little vague," admitted Lathe. "Mostly because he's embarrassed, I reckon. But a few of them were 'keeping an eye' on Longbottom in Svilt's office there and... somehow he managed to get free, knock one of them out, and get a wand... which he proceeded to use to steal an entire set of Veritaserum they intended to use on him... and most likely you two as well."

"So Frank didn't give you the message from Vance?" asked Lily. "I am _so_ confused."

"Why would Frank give me the message?"

"That was the whole reason we were up here," said James. "Vance sent Frank to get Moody to tell him to 'send them in.'"

"Which _we_ thought meant the aurors," Lily added.

"It did," confirmed Alice.

"But Frank didn't come back," said James; "so we followed him up here, but we got caught..."

Alice and Lily cleared their throats meaningfully. James rolled his eyes.

"_We got caught_," he repeated, "and then they turned Alice loose, and..."

"Wait a minute," Lily interrupted. "The aurors. There are hit-wizards in the Atrium, and Victor Vance said..."

"No, no, I know all about that," said Lathe briskly. "That was the message. There are half a dozen aurors downstairs with your lot now, and Bones is in charge, so you have nothing to worry about. _You_ three, on the other hand, have been acknowledged by Dearborn, and _I_ am supposed to deal with you. Well, no, _Taft_ is supposed to deal with you, but if I catch you first—which I just did—then I'm supposed to deal with you."

"Deal with us how?" asked James suspiciously.

"Well," said Lathe, "Taft is under orders to take you to Dearborn—find out what you were 'really' doing here and all that. But I was never officially given that order, so if _I_ were to run across three miscreants after hours, I would only feel obliged to... escort them from the premises?"

"Couldn't you just escort us back down to the Atrium?" asked James.

"'Afraid not."

"But what about Frank?" Alice pressed. "He could be in trouble."

"He bested three wizards, tied to a chair, without a wand," said Lathe. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"But if he didn't give the aurors Vance's message," Lily began thoughtfully, "he probably doesn't know it's been received. He might have gone downstairs to try to find Moody."

"Moody's not downstairs," said Alice.

"Yes he is," Lathe contradicted her.

"He wasn't there fifteen minutes ago..."

"You must have just missed him, then," said Lathe. "He's certainly down there now."

"Well, can't we go see if Frank is there now?" asked Alice earnestly. "It'll only take a few minutes..."

"Halliday and Eckles are down there with Moody now," Lathe told her, and the names might have meant something to Alice, but they meant nothing to Lily and James. "He'll be alright."

"But can't we check?" pleaded the witch again. "If he's not there, you can just floo us out of the auror floo terminal anyway..."

"Or I could floo you through any _other_ terminal, which is _not_ located on the same floor as Egbert Dearborn, and, therefore, a much more logical solution."

"_Please_," Alice pressed. "I'd only sneak back in—I've done it before now."

"So would I," agreed James.

"I would probably go home and take a shower," said Lily. James looked at her. "I was just being honest."

Lathe sighed. He rubbed his forehead. "Alright," he said at last. "But if we run into anyone, we say that I'm arresting the three of you. Clear?"

"Clear," they chorused.

"Oh!" Alice remembered, drawing a wand from her pocket. She held it out. "Does this belong to anyone."

"That's mine!" said Lily, grabbing it. "Thank Merlin!"

"You haven't seen my hat, have you?" asked James, but Alice told him that she hadn't.

"Come along," said Lathe. "We haven't got all—er—night. Walk in front of me, yeah?"

They encountered no one on the fourth floor, but, when they reached the lift, a witch with short, fair hair stepped off. She was familiar to James, but it was a moment before he placed her as the witch that had come to Hogwarts at the beginning of the last year, before Lathe.

He searched his memory for her name, but before he found it, Lathe uttered it as a greeting with evident dislike: "Ms. Drake."

"Mr. Lathe," Drake replied coolly. She eyed the three of them suspiciously. "What are they doing here?"

"These are the ones Taft is looking for," said Lathe, calm as anything. The witch, Drake, frowned.

"They can't be."

"But they are."

"There must be some mistake. Mr. Falstaff said that only one of them..." Her eyes flickered towards James, and he suddenly realized her dilemma. She recognized him from her questioning concerning Carlotta's mishap in the Common Room in September. She knew who he was, and she knew that he was no 'Tom Baker.' "It can't be them," she reiterated stiffly.

"_They_," corrected Lathe."

"What?"

"It cannot be 'they.' To be proper, you ought to use 'they.'" Drake understood him at last and, fuming, began to say something, but Lathe cut her off. "I'm sorry, but did you have business on this floor? Because I need to catch the next lift... duty and all that." He smiled charmingly at her, and she huffed.

"Mr. Dearborn would like to speak to them," she said. "In his office."

"Did he say that? I mean, did he give that order?"

"Well, he..."

"Because Mr. Moody ordered me to take them to the auror department, so unless I have a specific order to the contrary..."

"Mr. Lathe, you remember that I am your superior now..."

"I remember that Dearborn promoted you two days ago, yes. But I am auror, Ms. Drake, and I answer to head of the aurors, except under special circumstances. We are in entirely different chains of command."

She could not argue with that. "I'll accompany you, then."

"Not at all," said Lathe. "I'm sure I can handle a few teenagers, and, after all, as junior vice-head of D.M.L.E., you must have very important business to be wandering level four at eight o'clock in the evening."

Drake scowled, but nodded curtly. "I will report your find to Mr. Dearborn as soon as I finish here."

"That would be most courteous and helpful of you, Ms. Drake."

With a final look at the group, Drake walked curtly passed, and Lathe ushered the three of them into the lift. When the gates were closed and they had begun to move down to level two again, he sighed.

"Well, this is lovely. Now I'm not sure _what_ we're going to do."

"What do you mean?" asked Alice.

"Hopefully we'll get you out before _she_ gets to Dearborn," said Lathe.

"But we don't want to leave," argued James.

"Well that might your go way then," replied the auror casually. "Although, I have to ask—what's your opinion of cells?"

"As in—bars and keys and locks?" asked Lily.

"That's right."

"Generally negative," said James.

"That's what I figured."

They arrived on level two, which was now more alive than it had been ten minutes earlier, when Lily and James had last crept through the corridors there. There was no one visibly about when they stepped off the lift, but voices and motion could be heard from a nearby corridor, and the hallway was thoroughly lit.

"When did you all arrive?" Lily asked of Lathe, voicing James's mental inquiry.

"A few minutes ago," he answered. "We flooed into the Atrium. Eckles and Halliday came down to man the desks, though." He led the way towards the auror offices. "Step lively, then."

The auror office was now bright with magic light, and Lathe gestured them all inside, glancing hastily about as he did. In the office, a witch and a wizard sat at two of the many desks. The witch was in her thirties, with shoulder length, sleek black hair, and the wizard was older, probably forty, with a hook nose and a shaved head.

"Well, I've got them," said Lathe, sitting down on top of a desk, while the three adolescents stood awkwardly by. The witch with black hair stood.

"You've got them?" she asked, surprised. "How on earth did you find them? Falstaff's been tearing the place apart."

"He's looking for the other one," said Lathe.

"Oh no, _we've_ got him," said the witch.

"You've got Frank?" asked Alice loudly. "Where?"

"In the back," said the still-seated wizard. "I'm Eckles, by the way," he introduced himself to Lily and James. "That's Halliday."

"In the back?" Alice demanded, before James or Lily could reply. "Why is he in the back?"

"What's in the back?" Lily muttered to James, but James only shrugged.

"Dearborn came through and saw that we had him," said Eckles. "Apparently, he didn't think it was professional to let a captive sit on the sofa, so we put him in a cell. No worries—Moody's back there with him."

James noted the article of furniture in the corner. "Why do you have a sofa in here?"

"_That's_ the question you choose to ask?" Lily murmured, raising her eyebrows.

"It's quite comfortable," said Lathe casually. "I'd let you sit on it, but apparently that's not professional. What shall we do with you lot, then? Drake spotted us," he added to Halliday and Eckles; "she'll be maliciously giggling her news to Dearborn as we speak."

"It'll be a few minutes 'fore that can happen," said Eckles. "Dearborn just went upstairs. He's gone to speak with the aurors. Should be a laugh."

"We could put them in the cell," Halliday, the witch, suggested, referring to Lily, James, and Alice again. "I hear it's quite the professional thing to do."

"Can I see Frank, please?" requested Alice.

"In a moment," said Lathe; "we've got to decide what to do with you first."

"Are you going to arrest us?" asked James curiously.

"I don't particularly _want_ to," Lathe replied. "Awful lot of paperwork, that. But you ought to go sit in the lock-up."

"I'd really rather not," said James. "I mean, if you could help it."

"It won't be so bad," said Halliday. "And Dearborn can't get at you, then."

James briefly imagined Egbert Dearborn thrashing at him through a wall of iron bars. It was an amusing image, but all the same...

"Perhaps you shouldn't be talking like that with the door wide open?" suggested a new voice, as a tall, black wizard entered the office.

"Kingsley," greeted Lathe, and Kingsley Shacklebolt closed and locked the door behind him. He set down a wand and a satchel bag on a nearby desk.

"Lathe, Eckles, Halliday," replied Kingsley nodding at each of them. He observed Alice, Lily, and James. "Of course, it would be Potter. Hello, Miss Evans; Griffiths."

"Hello, Kingsley," said Lily and Alice, and James nodded.

"How was Kent?" asked Lathe.

"Nothing there," said Kingsley. "Another false alarm—a few kids thought a muggle firework was the mark..." He broke off, as though realizing that he should not be discussing such things now. "I got your note."

"Evidently. Have you been upstairs, then?"

"In the Atrium? Yes. Dearborn was finishing his raving."

"Oh?"

Kingsley nodded. "It was _not_ particularly dignified."

"No wonder he's about to lose his job," said Halliday.

"Knock on wood," muttered Lathe. He turned to Lily, Alice, and James again. "Alright, you three—it's up to you. Either I floo you out of here, tell Dearborn we gave you a fine for trespassing, you promise not to come back, and all of this is over... or you go and sit in a cell, while we pretend to interrogate you, so it looks like you're arrested and Dearborn won't sack us all."

"What happens after the cell?" Alice wanted to know.

"No idea. Moody will have to come up with the second half of the plan," said Lathe. "It's not a very good idea to begin with. I mean, it's much easier on _us_, because it means we don't have to bother with Drake's sniveling, but, on the whole, for _you_, I recommend the first plan. Cells aren't very comfortable." He did not sound terribly troubled by any of it. "So, what's it going to be?"

"I'm staying," said Alice.

Lily looked at James, and James at Lily, and he had already decided, but he didn't know if she had. After a second or two, Lily sighed.

"Marlene's upstairs," she said, more to herself than anyone else.

* * *

The back room to the auror office was smaller than the front, and about two thirds of it was occupied by two giant iron cells—oversized cages, really—outside of which sat a broad-shouldered wizard in mud-brown robes. She had seen pictures in _The Prophet_, but Lily had never imagined that Alastor Moody would be more frightening in real life.

His hair was long and slightly grizzled, his face aged and battered, and the glint in his eyes fierce.

When Alice, Lily, James, and Lathe entered the back room, he was talking with Frank, who stood in the open doorway of one of the cells, listening to whatever Moody had to say with eager attentiveness. Frank wore a black fedora. Upon the entrance of the other four, Moody's wand-bearing hand twitched, but he remained sedate, seated on the bench against the wall furthest from the cells, and he did not address them at once.

"...You'll have that to deal with," the auror finished presently. "Anyway, it's something to think over." Moody turned to the new arrivals, getting to his feet in the process. "Mr. Lathe. Mr. Potter. Miss Griffiths." His eyes turned to Lily, and she felt quite small. "Who are you?" he half barked.

"Lily Evans," said Lathe. "She's from the group upstairs. Evans—this is Alastor Moody."

"You're _certain_ it's Lily Evans?" asked Moody.

"Fairly."

"Not an imposter?"

"Of course it's Lily," said James. "I've been with her all day."

"But how am I to know that _you're_ the real Potter?" growled Moody.

"You've known me since I was four," James replied, shrugging. "Ask me anything you like."

Lily thought that this was rather a rhetorical proposition, but the auror took James up on his offer. "First time I met you, Potter, I gave you something. What was it?"

"Chocolate," said James. "Literally, the most disgusting chocolate I've ever eaten."

"'Teach you not to accept treats from just anyone."

"I was _four_, and it made me sick."

"His Mum wasn't pleased," mused Moody, and, for a moment, Lily thought he was actually making a joke. Then, his eyes narrowed upon her, and he spoke to James again: "Test Miss Evans, Potter. I don't know her; you'll have to do it."

"Oh."

Lily folded her arms, while James ran an awkward hand through his hair. "I suppose I can..." (Frank and Alice exchanged meaningful looks that Lily had no interest in interpreting), "Last Halloween," said James, recollecting something. "What happened?"

The witch thought back; several things had happened. She had been partnered with James in Defense class, she had confronted Frank about telling Alice the truth, she was pretty sure it was raining that day—but, all of that aside, Lily knew which incident James referenced.

"We became friends," she said, smiling. "Potentially."

For an instant, James matched her smile, and then he turned to Moody nodding. "Not that there was any chance to the contrary, as we've been together since we took off from the Atrium, but yes—it's the real Evans."

Frank tested Alice on her favorite song lyric, and then Moody was satisfied.

"Well this has been fun," said Lathe. "But Dearborn will be along any moment, so: business."

"If you're going to take a cell," began Frank; "I suggest this one. It's much more comfortable."

James looked at the former Head Boy, eyebrows raised. "Is that my hat?" he asked, following Frank and Alice into the cage.

"Oh, yeah. I recognized it in Svilt's office, so I took it. There are three bottles of Veritaserum in there; hope you don't mind..."

Lily hesitated. "My self-preservation instinct is telling me that I shouldn't just walk into a lock-up," she told the aurors.

"It's for your own good, Evans," said Moody gruffly.

Lathe leaned against the bars, arms crossed. "Don't worry about it. I'll interrogate you in German; it'll be grand."

Lily rolled her eyes, but she entered the cell. Moody closed the gate behind her; he didn't lock it, and Lily guessed that it must lock itself.

"Alright," said Lathe, and he now seemed businesslike; "Dearborn is going to want to know what you're doing here. Best not to let on that you know anything much at all, and, let's face it, you're a handful of teenagers; he won't have to stretch his imagination to believe it."

The door to the front offices opened, and Halliday popped her head in. "Dearborn's on his way down," she said, before promptly disappearing once more.

"Alright, lad," said Moody to Lathe; "Now we'll see if you're really up for this job."

"Three years hasn't proved me capable?"

"We'll talk when it's thirty years."

"But I'll be _old_."

"Watch it, lad."

They left, and the moment the door had closed behind them, Alice threw her arms around Frank's neck and kissed him.

Lily and James suddenly felt quite uncomfortable. Nearly a minute of snogging commenced, before James cleared his throat loudly. Alice pulled away, but only slightly; her forearms still rested on Frank's shoulders, hands folded behind his head.

"I _told_ you not to come down here..."

"You shouldn't have followed me..."

"...If something happens to you..."

"...Much too dangerous..."

"...Just lucky Moody found you..."

"...Sneaking around down here like that..."

"...Completely out of your mind..."

"...Merlin only knows what might have happened..."

"...Bloody insane..."

"...What were you thinking...?"

"...Is that a _bruise_, Francis Longbottom?"

James cleared his throat again, and this time, Frank looked up at him and Alice peered over her shoulder.

"What, Longbottom?" the Marauder asked dryly. "No kiss for me?"

Alice rolled her eyes, but she moved to stand beside her boyfriend, arm around his waist now, with his around her shoulders.

"Well?" said Lily. "It seems like there's some exchange of stories that needs to take place."

Frank, at least, acknowledged this to be true. "I overheard Svilt and one of the others saying they'd taken another A.T. and turned her loose in Diagon Alley; they mentioned there were others with Falstaff, but I didn't know it was you two..." He looked to James and Lily. "How'd you get free?"

"Evans took a door off the hinges," said James, with a hint of pride. "We went to find you, then, but we found Alice in Svilt's office..."

"I snuck back in with another floo network," said Alice. "But the auror office was empty then."

"Did _you_ contact Moody, then?" Lily asked of Frank. He shook his head. "Then who _did_? Unless it was Sirius..."

"Why would it be Sirius?" Alice wanted to know.

"We may or may not have contacted him," said James. "Long story; we're not sure if he got the message."

"Wait... how did _you_ know the message?" asked Frank.

James looked uncomfortable.

"_I_ told him," said Alice, rolling her eyes. "Don't be a prat, James. It's not a big deal."

"What's not a big deal?"

"They had an affair," said Lily.

"Thank-you, Snaps."

"I'm _really_ confused..."

"Falstaff thinks they're dating."

"Would you like to leave now, Evans?"

Alice rolled her eyes again. She looked at Frank and said quite simply: "I kissed James so that I'd have time to tell him the message that he should give to Moody, as I was about to get escorted away. Lily's just being cheeky."

Lily grinned at the remark, and Frank seemed unperturbed. "Bottom line—do I have to hit anyone?"

"No, I don't think so."

"You see?" said James to Lily, "_You_ laugh, but _I'm_ the one who gets punched."

"Oh, honestly, James..."

The door opened, and they all fell quiet. Frank and Alice had separated before the new arrival was entirely visible.

It was a wizard, and he entered, flanked by Moody and Halliday; he wore fitted, dark grey robes with a mandarin collar that buttoned at his throat. He had iron colored hair and eyes, and a long, thin face that agreed with his lean build. The wizard—Egbert Dearborn—looked at each of the four witches and wizards in the cell, and he frowned when his eyes fell upon one of their number.

"James," he murmured with dread, sounding as though he were going to be ill; his voice did not match his appearance at all. Everyone else looked at James, too. "Dear boy, there has clearly been some mistake."

"No mistake, Cousin," replied James, almost sweetly.

"Of course," said Dearborn, now in a more moderate tone—he almost cooed: "I'll have you taken home at once. Gracie must be worried sick."

"Lovely!" said James cheerfully. "The other _of-age_ witches and wizard here will be taken home to their mums too, will they?"

Dearborn hesitated. "James, you understand that there are certain protocols..."

"The same protocols apply to the lot of us, yeah?"

"It's different, my boy. I can vouch for _you_."

"I'm sure there's someone around here who can vouch for the others."

"Of course," said Dearborn warmly. "Frank and Alice have every right to be here..." Lily guessed by the surprised looks exchanged by the pair that they'd had no notion of Dearborn knowing their names.

"And Lily?" asked James.

"My dear cousin... I don't know anything about your friend Miss Evans."

James leaned close and whispered to her, "You begin to see my point, _Deslauriers?_"

"Shut it, _Baker_."

"I'm not leaving without her," said James, in what he must have meant to be a reasonable tone.

"James, it's not a question of what you _want_... Miss Holiday, please..."

Halliday grimaced at the mispronunciation but started towards the lock up.

"I'll only sneak back in of you take me home," said James quickly. "And then you'll have to lock me up again."

"Mr. Dearborn," Moody spoke up, "I recommend keeping the kids for the night. 'Teach 'em a lesson."

"But they _want_ to be kept," hissed Dearborn.

"They haven't tried sleeping comfortably on that bench, yet," Halliday pointed out.

Dearborn deliberated for a long moment. When he finally reached a conclusion, he folded his hands behind his back and lifted his chin, speaking to Halliday again: "Miss Holiday, bring Miss Evans to my office. I wish to speak with her." James opened his mouth to protest, "...That is, if _you_ do not object, Miss Evans."

Lily did not know what to say. As far as options went, there did not seem to be very many, and so she shook her head. "I don't object."

Holliday opened the gate to the lock-up.

"Evans..."

"I'll be fine, James," she told him. "If I'm not, I'm blaming you."

"Blaming _me_?"

"Mmm, for bringing me here in the first place." She winked and walked with Halliday and Dearborn out into the auror offices.

"_Mr. Moody_," said Alice sharply, before he had gone as well.

"I know, I know," he replied. "I'll keep an eye on her."

Then the door closed, and the three were alone again. Frank and Alice drew close to one another once more.

"Dearborn won't hurt her or anything," said Frank confidently. Alice looked at him.

"What makes you so sure?"

"He hasn't the nerve."

Alice seemed skeptical, but James, whose back was too them as he leaned against the front of the cage, nodded and said, "He's right. Dearborn wouldn't. Especially if he thinks she's got connections."

"Why would he think that?" asked Alice.

"Because she's in here with the three of us."

(The Ideologue)

Dearborn's office was a far cry from Falstaff's. The room was larger, the desk was grander, the chair more comfortable, the lay out far neater, and the walls lined with a great many books. An elegant candelabra sat near the window with its faux night, and there was a boxy sort of wooden framed lounge in one corner that looked about as comfortable as the floor in the lock-up.

Lily was not bound on her way there, but walked beside Halliday with Dearborn behind them. When they entered, Halliday was told to return to her "duties," and Dearborn closed the door behind her. He drew his wand and flicked it twice, and a chair from one corner of the room sprang forward to sit in front of his desk. Dearborn offered this to Lily, and then sat down himself behind the desk. They did not speak at once, but it was the wizard who broke the silence.

"Your name is Lily Evans," he said. "You're muggleborn."

Lily nodded, because there was hardly any point in denying it now. She did not know how he had learned it, but it was hardly surprising that he had.

"You're a Hogwarts student, with James."

Lily nodded again.

"What do you want?"

This _did _surprise her. She wasn't quite sure what he meant, and so she told him uncertainly: "James, Alice, and I came after Frank..."

Dearborn ignored this. "What do you want from _me_?" he asked, and it was the oddest thing—he was almost pleading with her. Perhaps it was the late hour, but he appeared suddenly exhausted. The lines around his eyes became more pronounced, and his frown looked more desperate.

"Are you taking requests?" asked Lily bewilderedly.

Dearborn again ignored her reply. He rose from his desk and began to pace. "Your kind is—is _graciously _admitted into magic... welcomed, given a wand... the ingratitude... the disrespect for _us_—for purebloods..."

His voice trembled; Lily began to understand what he truly meant by bringing her to his office...

"...The audacity and the... the arrogance is—in-incomprehensible. That you should dare to enter into this establishment... I have never done _anything_ except what was in the best interest of magic-kind, and that you, dressed like a common _muggle_, should dare to criticize..."

She had almost been willing to feel sorry for him when she'd entered the office, too...

"...And after all else; this war, the death eaters—the wizards who have been killed because of _you_..."

He was rambling, not really speaking to Lily at all. And how could he? Dearborn did not know her at all...

"I would like to go back to the lock-up, Mr. Dearborn," Lily interrupted softly. He started at the sound of her voice.

"_I_ would like an answer," Dearborn responded coldly after a moment.

Lily hesitated. She met the wizard's eye for several long seconds before responding. "You did not _admit_ me to magic, Mr. Dearborn. My common muggle mother and father did that seventeen years before you'd ever heard of me. And you did not _give_ me a wand: I bought it in Mr. Ollivander's shop, like all of the other witches and wizards of my age. I haven't taken anything from you, sir, and I don't want anything."

(Carlotta in the Cell)

Lily had not been gone ten minutes before Moody re-entered the backroom and asked for a word with Frank. He opened the barred door to the lock-up, and Frank followed him into the auror office; Alice and James were left alone. The latter sat down on the lone bench in the cell—a short iron thing, but it allowed him to sit in moderate comfort with his back against the wall.

"So how are you then?" asked Alice presently, joining James on the bench.

"Oh, alright I suppose, given our current location." He removed his fedora and flipped it idly in one hand. "How are _you_?"

Alice shrugged.

"How's auror training, then?"

This time, the witch smiled. "It's actually brilliant. I didn't expect it to be anything like it is, but—it's... it's fantastic." She looked at him. "You should consider it."

James shook his head, eyes fixed on his hat. "No thanks."

"Why not?"

"I dunno. Just nothing I'm interested in."

"What do you _want_ to do?" Alice asked. "Play Quidditch?"

"Yep."

"Oh."

"You meant to be funny, didn't you?"

"No..."

"I'm good enough, y'know."

"I _do_ know."

"I bet I could play, if I wanted to."

"Almost certainly."

James cocked his head to one side. "Then what?"

"_Nothing_..."

"You don't think I should play Quidditch," the wizard insisted. "I can tell."

"No, that's not it," replied Alice. "You—you should do what you think will make you happiest."

"Which is Quidditch," said James firmly. Alice nodded.

"Alright, then."

And they were both silent for nearly a minute, while James mulled over what she had just said. _What he thought would make him happiest..._

"I'm seeing Carlotta," he told her suddenly.

Alice's eyes grew wide; she turned to look at him. "You—you're... _seeing_ her? You mean—you're shagging her?"

"I mean I'm... dating her." He gauged Alice's reaction carefully. She seemed to be taking it all in. Several emotions passed over her face before she spoke, and when she did, she was smiling.

"You know how I know I've completely moved on from the Frank-and-Carlotta debacle of '75?" she asked softly. "Because that was the first time anyone has said Carlotta's name in front of me since it happened that I haven't instinctively thought '_that whore_!'" James grinned and shook his head, and Alice turned a little more reflective. "How did this happen, now?"

"Oh—we... um... we sort of... got together... just a few weeks ago..."

Alice looked knowingly at him. "Last summer, Frank stayed at your family's house in the West Country..."

"Right."

"It was...?"

"Yes."

"Classy."

"Alice..."

Alice waved him off. "I told you, it doesn't bother me. I'm just thinking... wait a minute—does _she_ know?" There could be little question about whom she spoke. All the same...

"Carlotta? Yes, I reckon she's figured it out."

"You know who I mean, James. Does _Lily_ know?" James did not reply, but he hung his head a bit, and Alice got the message. "How does she not know?"

"I hadn't seen her before yesterday, and it hasn't come up..."

"You should tell her..."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Because you _should_."

"But _why?"_

"Because she'll be hurt if you don't."

James looked at her again. "What do you mean?"

"I can't explain it better than that," said Alice, shrugging. "But she'll be hurt if you don't tell her yourself."

"But _why_?" James repeated.

"Well, why not?"

She had a point there. "Because... because Lily doesn't like Carlotta. It'll be awkward."

Alice raised her eyebrows skeptically. "With a teaspoon of effort, Lily likes everyone. And are you _sure_ that's the reason?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that I'm not certain that you _want_ Lily to like Carlotta."

"That's rather mean."

Alice shrugged. "You're up against six years of evidence, Potter, and you've done some crazy things to get that witch to notice you..."

James actually looked offended. "You think I'm seeing Carlotta to make Lily _jealous_?"

"Well, it seems rather nasty when you put it that way..."

"I'm _not_."

"Then why _are_ you dating her?"

James crossed his arm petulantly. "You can't imagine a reason in the world that anyone would want to date Carlotta Meloni except to make another girl jealous?"

"Of course I can. But not _you_."

"Why not me?"

"Because you've been in love with Lily Evans since you were eleven years old," said Alice. "Oh, yes, I said that out loud; I'm not afraid of you. Don't look so shocked."

James leaned back against the wall, huffing impatiently. "I'm not in love with her anymore."

Alice snorted.

"Careful, Griffiths."

"Then tell her about Carlotta."

"I _will_, I just..."

"James."

"Fine."

"Today."

"I will."

"Good. Because I'm not going to do it for you."

James raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, don't think you were being sneaky, Potter," chuckled Alice. "I know perfectly well that's why you told me just now... hoping I'll subtly drop it to Lily. Girls aren't universally gossipy, you know."

"And blokes aren't universally cowardly," retorted James. "That wasn't my plan. I just—I don't know... I thought you'd be interested in knowing. Because of Frank."

"Oh, I don't care about that," said Alice.

"Not at all?"

She shrugged. "Frank doesn't care about Carlotta any more than he cares about anyone else."

It was certainly a very rude thing to ask, and yet James, somehow, could not help himself, because the confidence with which she declared this interested him somewhat: "You're sure?"

"Mhm."

He thought back to the conversation he'd had with a very drunk Frank on the Astronomy Tower some months ago. It amused him to think that the Carlotta they referenced in that conversation was the same person he now called his girlfriend. "I think you're right about that."

Alice smirked. "What makes you say so?"

"I once wasted a perfectly good buzz listening to him opine about it."

"_Really_? That must be an interesting story."

"Very interesting. You were flirting with my best mate at the time."

The witch actually began to laugh at that. "It's been a very strange year, hasn't it?"

James was inclined to agree.

"You will tell Lily about Carlotta, won't you, Potter?"

"Y-yes."

"Good."

"Though I still don't see what difference it makes."

"You'll just have to trust me," said Alice.

Lathe was, apparently, called upon to collect Lily from Dearborn's office, as it was he who escorted her back into the lock-up, and he was followed by Frank. Lily's face seemed paler, more somber, when she returned, and James and Alice rose from the bench when Lathe readmitted her into the cell.

"What did he want?" Alice asked. "Are you okay?"

Lily nodded briskly. "Oh, I'm just fine. Dearborn could use some sleep, though. He seems a little... exhausted."

"What did he _say_?" James questioned suspiciously.

The witch shrugged, masking some emotion with the innocent gesture. "Not much. He just wanted to know what I wanted."

"_What you wanted_?" echoed James and Alice, but they did not get to interrogate her any further, because Lathe interrupted.

"Alright, listen up," the auror began wearily, "Dearborn wants us to take _you_ home," (This to James) "He wants to have _you_ two in 'for tea...'" he indicated to Frank and Alice, "and _you're_ to stay in the cell." The last was, of course, Lily.

"I don't think so," said James coldly.

"Moody's seeing what he can do," agreed Lathe. "I wouldn't be too troubled about yourselves... it's your friends you ought to be worried about."

"What do you mean?" asked Alice quickly.

"When Dearborn went up to the Atrium, he ordered the hit-wizards to arrest everyone," Frank said, sighing.

"They couldn't move them, though," said Lathe. "Bewitched net, I suppose, and Dearborn was furious."

"What do you reckon he'll do?" Lily wanted to know.

"Nothing good," replied the auror.

"You should talk to Vance," said James. "Or Tilda Figg."

"They wouldn't leave, Dorcas or Sam or Em..." said Frank knowingly. "Even if they _were_ in danger. I told Moody I wouldn't be able to convince them any better than anyone else could."

They all pondered that miserable fact for a little while. Suddenly, Lathe chuckled quietly to himself.

"I don't see what's funny," Alice grumbled.

"Nothing really," admitted the wizard; he leaned against the exterior side of the bars. "Only, I can imagine what Dearborn must have looked like down in the Atrium. Freeman... she works for the department—she was there. She said Dearborn was practically hysterical, waving his arms and all that..."

"I bet that reporter had a field day," said Lily, remembering the blond witch who had snuck into the Phoenix bond with the others. "If she gets to publish, that is..."

"What reporter?" asked Lathe.

"There's a witch from _The Daily Prophet_ upstairs," Lily explained. "She's bonded in the Atrium like the others."

There was a moment of silence, and then Lathe frowned thoughtfully. "I actually might have an idea," he said. "Wait here one moment."

"Where would we _go_?" James responded, rolling his eyes, as Lathe exited the backroom once again.

He did not return.

Minutes passed. Frank and Alice sat down on the bench, Alice dropping her head onto her boyfriend's shoulder; they held hands and said nothing. James, meanwhile, sat down on the floor near the door, where Lily joined him.

"So what happened with Dearborn?" James asked.

Lily gestured vaguely; "Not much, really."

James frowned, baffled. "I don't—what does that mean?"

"No great number of interesting events transpired during my time in aforementioned wizard's office," said Lily dryly.

"Funny."

"I try."

"Well, what did he say to you? And don't you dare shrug..."

Lily made a face. "He just—he just talked ideology with me. It wasn't terribly interesting."

"Was he—was he _unkind_?"

"That's a funny thing to ask."

"You know what I mean." Lily's silence on the matter, however, left room for broad interpretation: "Did he—did he call you a... y'know...?"

"James..." Lily sighed.

"He _did_, didn't he! That _git_..."

"He's your cousin..."

"Barely," said James, waving off this with an unconcerned hand. "He's head of D.M.L.E.—he's not allowed to use language like that, especially to random seventeen-year-old witches!"

The color began to return to Lily's face, and, even though she was mostly amused by James's anger, he was glad to see _that_ at least. Nonetheless, his rant continued on for a good five minutes, before Lily begged that he change the subject. For a while, they speculated—rather anxiously—about what was going on elsewhere in the Ministry, and Lily once again attempted to crack the mystery of how Lathe and the aurors had been summoned.

"Remind me to ask next time they're in here, yeah?" she asked, annoyed with herself for having forgotten again.

Minutes passed; the dialogue lagged. Frank and Alice, on the other side of the holding cell, had begun to speak to one another in whispers, and James knew that the opportunity had arrived.

"Snaps," he began, when they had both been quiet for a few minutes.

"Hmm?"

"There was—there was actually something I wanted to talk to you about..."

Lily looked at him. "You're not miffed about that Head Boy business are you?" she asked wryly. "I've already apologized, and..."

"No, it's not that," James cut her off, and there was something nervous in his laugh that piqued Lily's interest. "No, it's..."

Halliday entered the office at that moment, however, drawing everyone's attention towards herself.

"Longbottom, Griffiths," she began, unlocking the cell gate. "Dearborn wants to speak with you."

Frank and Alice exchanged nervous looks, but nodded and rose, following Halliday out into the offices. James and Lily were now alone.

"What do you reckon he wants to say to them?" asked Lily. "They won't be dropped from auror training, will they?"

"No idea," admitted James glumly.

Lily sighed heavily. "I reckon they'll be taking you soon, too."

"Not if _I_ have anything to say about it."

"James, if they _do _have to take you... don't do anything stupid."

"Stupid? _Me_?" He sounded a bit offended. "When have I ever done anything stupid?"

"Can't think of anything, can you, _Tom Baker_? Interesting choice of name, by the by..."

"First thing that popped into my head."

"The point stands, Potter. Please don't do anything stupid... especially on my account. Go home and get some sleep. I'll be fine."

"You can't possibly know that."

"Well, I can't possibly be any worse off than I am having _you_ coming up with plans."

"You're making a joke out of something that is very serious," James reprimanded, but Lily only smiled.

"Look who's talking." They were quiet for a bit, and then Lily remembered their conversation before Halliday's interruption. "I'm sorry; you were saying something..."

"Saying what?"

"You said there was something you wanted to discuss? Before Frank and Alice left..."

"Oh. Right." Flustered, James nodded. "Something, yes. I wanted to talk to you about... something..."

Fate had other plans, however.

The door to the office once more swung open, hitting the wall behind it with a _bang_ and admitting—not another auror—but Sirius Black.

"Padfoot?"

"Sirius?"

The two in the cell rose, while Sirius strode inside, quite casual, grinning at the sight of them. "Oh, fantastic, you're both okay. I nearly didn't believe them, you know."

"What are you doing here?" Lily asked, but Sirius did not reply, as he was now followed by the auror Eckles, who was, in turn, followed by more witches and wizards. Remus, Peter, Sam Dearborn, Dorcas Meadowes, Emmeline and Victor Vance, Marlene—in they marched, and more besides that Lily did not know, but recognized from the Atrium.

They totaled almost thirty by the time the procession ended, the last two new arrivals being Moody and Lathe. Everyone chattered loudly, and the space outside the cells was cramped with moving bodies. Sirius and the Marauders—as the first to enter—were pressed against the bars.

"What's going on, Padfoot?" asked James loudly.

"Oi, mate—it's kind of brilliant... hang on a minute, though..."

Lathe pushed his way through the dense gathering of people, grabbing keys from his pocket in the process and unlocking the second, so far unemployed cell.

"Half of you in there!" called Moody loudly, and those in front—including the other three Marauders shuffled cooperatively inside.

"Oi, Padfoot!" complained James, rolling his eyes; "wrong one! Here..."

As Moody unlocked the gate to the first cell, James managed to squeeze out and then squeeze into the next one, before Lathe had locked it again. Lily felt rather left out, until Marlene and Sam were among the half of the group that entered into her cell.

"Okay, _what_ is going on?" she asked of them, as everyone else seemed to be talking rather cheerfully for a lot of people who had just been ushered into a lock-up.

"Oh my Merlin, you should have _seen_ Dearborn!" Marlene told her, beaming. "_I _was embarrassed _for_ him!"

"What happened?" Lily pressed, forcefully squashing her own impatience.

"Egbert came up to the Atrium to get the aurors to arrest us," began Sam; "That was... what... half an hour? Twenty minutes ago? But the aurors said they needed authorization from Alastor Moody..."

"So he—that is, Dearborn—started yelling at them, and then he started yelling at _us_," Marlene went on, "And I was _right_ next to that reporter witch—Rita What's-It, who was asking all the questions—oh, no, you missed that, too. Long story. Point is, I've never _seen _anyone so excited. She was like a five-year-old on Christmas... or Donna when she gets full marks on a piece of homework..."

"So, moving forward a quarter of an hour or so," Sam continued, "Eg's gone, but Moody and Lathe come upstairs and ask to have a word with the Vances..."

"And we were standing right there, or we wouldn't have heard at all..."

"Black was nearly having a panic attack, mind you, so he was sure to keep a keen ear in case he heard anything about you and James..."

"So, that Moody bloke tells Victor and Emmeline that they, essentially, have two options; sit in the Atrium all night, or let some of us get thrown in here for the night. Victor says he doesn't mind sitting in the Atrium, of course..."

"But Moody points out that if some of us stayed in the Atrium, all of us stayed. _Including_ the _Prophet_ reporter who would probably much prefer to make her deadline for the morning edition."

Lily began to understand. "Oh _no_..."

"Yep," said Sam proudly. "Gid and Fabian were finally convinced to take down the net, Lathe took volunteers for who would stay up here... made it look like we didn't want to go, of course, and then we were brought up, and the rest were 'escorted' from the premises, _including_ that _Daily Prophet _witch."

"Your brother's going to look like an idiot when she writes that story," Lily pointed out. Sam shrugged.

"So what? He _is_ an idiot, and it's not as though he _needs_ the job—that he'll be destitute without it, or anything like that."

"Well, there's that."

Marlene raised her eyebrows, surprised. "Don't you _want_ him to be sacked, Lily? If Dearborn had _his _way, we'd never have been accepted to Hogwarts to begin with."

"If he had his way, purebloods wouldn't be allowed to consort with you at all," Sam agreed.

"That's just it, I suppose," mused Lily. "He really and honestly believes it. It's almost—heartbreaking. Of course I don't want him to be made permanent head of D.M.L.E. or for his Population Protection Act to pass, but I—I can still feel sorry for him, can't I?"

"You're mad," said Sam lightly. "Eg's fine. Now—do you reckon they'll let us out to use the loo? I haven't gone since this afternoon, you know..."

* * *

"I'm not going," James told Lathe obstinately, for now that he was surrounded by Sirius, Remus, and Peter, he absolutely _refused_ to be taken home.

"Why on _earth _would you want to stay?" Lathe wanted to know. "It won't be fun. It'll be bloody rotten."

"So tell Dearborn you took me home," said James. "He won't know the difference."

"But what if he comes in to check?"

"He'll have a lot more on his mind, I reckon," said Sirius. "What with thirty detainees guilty of disturbing the peace in his lock up."

"Disturbing the peace?" James echoed, confused.

Marlene, who now stood immediately beside them, but on the other side of the bars that separated the two cells, smirked. "After _Seven Drunken Nights_, we may have gotten a little carried away with the pub songs."

"I would have paid serious money to see that," remarked Lily at Marlene's side.

"I have my orders," said Lathe helplessly.

James leaned against the bars. "Afraid of getting in trouble from Mum, are you?" he taunted. Lathe scowled.

"You think that's going to work? Insulting my nerve? I'm an _auror_, Potter. I have all sorts of training to withstand many, many different kinds of persuasion. _That's_ not going to work."

"Well," sighed James resignedly. "I wouldn't want to get the big, scary auror in trouble with the boss..."

"It's not going to work."

The Marauders all looked at him skeptically. Lathe stared defiantly back.

"It _will not work_."

But it absolutely did.

"Bloody hell—if he comes in here, you're to stand in the back, d'you hear me, Potter?"

* * *

Lily wasn't exactly sure _when_ she had volunteered to spend the night in the lock-up, but the fact that everyone of the other thirty had done literally just that made her reluctant to point this out.

The hour grew late, and she began to feel it more and more, so that, as her legs grew sore from excessive standing, she found a spot of free floor in the back corner, where bars from the adjacent cell met the back wall, and she sat down there. She leaned her head against the wall, arms propped up on her knees, while she contemplated falling asleep.

"Tired, Red?"

Sam sat down beside her.

"Exhausted," she admitted. "It's been rather a crazy day."

"You'll have to explain how the second half of it went," replied the wizard. "You've got bruises on your wrists."

He was right; Lily had scarcely noticed.

"I took a door off its hinges," she said.

"How?"

"With a drawer handle."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "_That_ must have been an interesting life experience."

"I'm journaling about it the moment I get home," said Lily dryly.

"A diary sort of bird, are you?"

"It's my fatal flaw, I'm afraid."

"Of _course_ it is. You ought to sleep—you look bloody knackered."

"If everyone else is staying awake, I might as well."

Sam shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said. "But I bet you fall asleep."

He was, himself, asleep on Lily's shoulder half an hour later.

"Fancy meeting you here," said Sirius Black's voice, and Lily looked up, just as Sirius, in the adjacent cell, sat down on the floor beside her. They were separated by bars, but that did not deter conversation, nor, as it turned out, sharing. Sirius pulled off his silver fedora and lifted the flap, muttering as he did so: "Up to no good." From within the hat, he produced a bag of potato crisps—a muggle brand—which, upon opening, he offered to Lily.

"Will you marry me?" Lily asked seriously, taking a crisp (and then several more) hungrily.

"I'm not the marrying kind," Sirius replied idly. "I see you and Sam are getting on well." He nodded towards the slumbering wizard on Lily's.

"He's a funny bloke, isn't he?" she said, quietly so as not to wake him. "He's not at all like his brother."

"Prongs mentioned you met Dearborn the Elder..."

"Briefly, yes." Lily took another crisp. "He's not what I expected either—for a born and bred pureblood, I mean. The way people talk about them..."

Sirius snorted. "Are any of us?"

"Maybe not."

Sirius smiled, somewhat bitterly, popping another crisp into his mouth. "I speak French, you know."

"I didn't know, no," Lily replied, surprised.

"Yeah. And Prongs might still know a bit of Greek... that was the language _his _mum wanted him to learn. Blacks always learn French, though. Ballroom dancing, also—for some reason, we all learn ballroom dancing. And Quidditch, and Goblins' Gallop, which is a card game you've never heard of, and the family tree... we memorize our family trees..." Sirius trailed off. For a moment, Lily thought he might have forgotten she was there at all, but then he recollected himself. "There are a lot of traditions that the old families uphold... the _very_ old ones, that is. Potters, Blacks, Malfoys, Sellwyns... and they're part of us. Whether it's ballroom dancing or thinking muggleborns are mudbloods—it's all the same... it's why all of this is happening to your lot..."

"Sirius..."

"It doesn't go away, either," he interrupted. "I can still dance quite well, you know."

"None of this is your fault, Sirius," said Lily softly. He looked at her.

"No, I know—only, I wish I were lucky like you."

"Lucky?"

"Sure... maybe your lot's in danger, but at least you've got nothing to feel guilty over."

Lily rolled her eyes, but she could not help but think of what Dearborn had said earlier. She wondered if it would be weird if she took Sirius's hand, but settled, instead, for taking another crisp from the bag.

"You're different from them, Sirius. _You_ know that. And whatever there is left in you of the pureblood—the Blacks..." She searched for the words to describe it, "well... there's nothing wrong with ballroom dancing." She took yet another crisp.

Sirius smirked at her. "Hungry, are you?" he asked.

"Bloody famished." She remembered something. "Oi—did you get our message? From the mirror?"

"Nah—Prongs mentioned that, too, but I haven't heard a thing from up there all day."

"That's weird," muttered Lily. "Then who called in the aurors?"

"No idea."

Lily remembered something else. "Oh! The wizard... from the Atrium. In the blue robes, with the parchment and quill; did you...?"

"Oh, I dealt with that," said Sirius, grinning.

"What did you do?"

"Confunded him."

"_What_?"

"Well, the hit wizards were so distracted by all the singing..."

"_Merlin and Agrippa_..."

"...So I just sort of... confunded him. It's rather my specialty, you know. Then I summoned the parchment and scorched it."

"What was it? What was he writing?"

"Names," said Sirius. "He didn't have yours, but a lot of the others were on there. Myself included..."

"You don't know what it was for?"

Sirius shook his head. "He left a little while later. I don't have any idea what it was about."

"I don't like that," muttered Lily. "It's worrisome..."

Sam, however, took that moment to stir slightly, mumbling something in his sleep. Sirius grinned.

"Cozy, that."

Lily smirked. "Oh, terribly."

(Breakfast)

Frank and Alice had discovered this particular Westbourne Grove café in July, when they had spent their first week working directly with the auror department. They mostly did tedious tasks, like paperwork, when working with the aurors but the hours had been long, and the fact that they had been paid for that time was small comfort. At any rate, hearing of this corner caff from another Ministry employee had been a far greater reward—it remained open at all hours and was a magical establishment, so there need be no worrying about having muggle money on hand.

Nonetheless, for all the sleepless nights and early mornings spent there, neither Frank nor Alice had ever had one quite so dismal as this. It was a few minutes past five in the morning; since their abrupt ejection from the Ministry hours before, they hadn't had very much sleep, and so apparated to their favorite haunt in pursuit of comfort.

"Do you reckon we'll be kicked out of the A.T.s?" asked Alice, sipping her tea.

Frank shrugged. "I suppose we'll have to wait and see, won't we?"

"I'm not very good at that," admitted the witch. She smiled across the laminate table, but it was a mere impression of her genuine smile. "I suppose it'll be alright. The things Dumbledore was discussing..."

"That wasn't meant to be an alternative to the auror program," Frank pointed out. "In fact, I don't know how much good we'll be to him if we're not A.T.s."

Alice scoffed. "Speak for yourself."

Frank chewed dully on a slice of bacon. "You know what I mean, Ally. As A.T.s, we're in a different position then most..."

"He doesn't just want aurors, Frank," replied Alice seriously. "He wants _us_."

An old-fashioned, jazzy tune played on the wireless in the empty café, and except for the occasional _clink_ of china cups setting themselves down after washing in rows on the shelf behind the counter, the music seemed the only noise when Frank and Alice, the only patrons, were quiet. The sun had not yet risen, and the occasionally flickering greenish-yellow bewitched light of their greasy spoon shelter, combined with the streetlamps outside, provided all the light they had to enjoy.

Alice poked at her fried eggs. "Do you suppose the others are okay? I wish we'd been allowed to stay, too. _Told_ you I should have hexed someone."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Well, then we'd be out of the program for cert."

"Hmm, but how satisfying would it have been?"

Alice set down her fork without taking a bite.

"Ally," began Frank softly, and she looked at him with the same imitation smile as before.

"Hmm?"

"I think I fancy you."

Alice laughed appreciatively. "Don't tell anyone, but I might fancy you, too. I suppose we'll have to sort out the rest as it arrives."

"It'll be alright."

"I know."

The bell over the door to the street jingled as a young wizard entered, carrying a stack of newspapers, which he dropped upon the counter. The proprietor—an elderly witch in gauzy grey robes—emerged from the kitchen and paid the boy, who smiled and departed.

"I'll get a paper, shall I?" said Frank. "I reckon it'll be interesting to see what they've got to say about last night."

He went to fetch one of the newspapers, and when he returned, his eyes were wide as he read the front page.

"What is it?" asked Alice, worried.

Frank raised his eyebrows. "Have you ever heard of Rita Skeeter?"

"Er... no, I don't think so."

"Well, I reckon you will."

(Another Breakfast)

"Are crisps all you brought to eat?" complained Peter, as Sirius produced yet another (his third) bag of them and subsequently passed the snack around the group of those still awake (no one over twenty-five).

"I don't see _you_ providing a chicken dinner," Sirius retorted.

"Who's turn is it?" Marlene wanted to know, looking around at the hodge-podge circle of witches and wizards that had formed in the two cells, with the bars cutting through the diameter. The Marauders and the Prewetts sat on one side, with Lily, Sam, and Marlene on the other. Everyone held cards, but no one except James and Sirius understood the rules of the game. "This is ridiculous—can't we play Exploding Snap again instead?"

"It's not _that_ complicated," protested James. "Honestly, Sirius can figure it out; I don't see why the rest of you are having so much trouble."

"Anyway, Emmeline said Exploding Snap was too noisy," said Lily. "I have a pair—that means something, right?"

"No, you need three."

"But Gideon had a pair before, and that meant something..."

"Right, but Gideon was the borrower at the time..."

"What the _hell_ is a borrower?"

"The person who has the most pairs of three..."

"You can't have pairs of three," Marlene pointed out. "A pair is always two."

"I don't think that's true," said Peter. "I think you can have a pair of three, but you have to specify."

"No, a pair is always two," agreed Lily. "It's like 'couple.' Always two."

"Unless she's into it," said Sirius. "Oh, don't look so sour; that was _funny_..."

"Quiet down over there!" groaned Dorcas Meadowes from across Lily's cell. Everyone had taken a seat on the floor, now, except the lucky few who had snagged the benches, and just about everyone was asleep or trying to fall asleep. Those engaged in the inter-cell card game were the only ones who had embraced their inevitable consciousness.

It was past five o'clock now. The sun would be up soon, and Lily had hit her second wind, no longer exhausted. Sam had slept for a few hours, as had the Prewett brothers, but the Marauders, Lily, and Marlene had kept alert. Halliday sat in a chair in the corner of the room with a book, occasionally relieved by either Eckles or Lathe for short stints, but mostly stationary. She paid little attention to her charges.

"You're so _old_, Dory," retorted Sam. "Sleeping at a time like this!"

"You were asleep before midnight," Lily pointed out, but Sam ignored her.

"You're practically all of you teenagers—I thought you were supposed to be able to sleep anywhere!" grumbled Dorcas.

"Only during the day," replied James blithely.

Dory grunted, and then curled up into a tighter ball, closing her eyes once more.

"How long do you reckon we'll be in here, then?" Peter asked in a loud whisper, as the game moved along. "I'd kill for something better to eat."

"These are _delicious_ crisps," Sirius defended his snack petulantly.

"Yes, but a _hot meal_..."

"A hot shower," sighed Marlene longingly.

"A nice bed," said Fabian.

Lily preferred not to think of those things and instead focused on the card game at hand. "It's your turn, Remus," she said.

For all their talk, however, by six o'clock, nearly everyone was, at the very least, dosing. Lily wasn't comfortable enough to sleep, however, and neither, apparently, were James and Remus. The three of them alone remained awake when, at a few minutes past six, Lathe entered the room carrying a newspaper. He gestured at the three teenagers to come towards the door, and they rose at once.

It was hard work getting to the front of the lock-up without stepping on anyone, and Lily had to tiptoe through the sleeping bodies of her companions with great care to avoid crushing hands or heads. Lathe unlocked the doors of both cells, and Lily, James, and Remus stepped out into the offices.

"Well," whispered the auror, "have a look then."

There it was—

_D.M.L.E.'s Dearborn: Dedicated and Delusional_

_by Rita Skeeter_

Lily skimmed the story. "Well, Remus—you were there. Accurate?"

"More or less, yeah," he allowed, nodding.

"He _sounds_ delusional, how she describes him," said James. He looked up at Lathe. "When does the Wizengamot vote?"

"They go into chambers at ten."

"How do you think it'll end up?" Lily wanted to know.

"Dumbledore won't support Dearborn," said James. "That's one, at least."

"He doesn't stand a chance," Lathe declared. "Who in the Wizengamot is going to vote for the bloke that shouts 'Mudblood' in the Atrium? He sounds mad."

"Who will they get instead?" asked James. "I heard someone saying Clovis Bagman..."

Lathe merely shrugged, however. "I guess we'll find out today, won't we?" He smiled cordially. "Well, the others will wake up soon. Eckles is making tea for everyone, because he's a softy at heart, but if you lot want to tidy up and use the loo, I recommend you do so before everyone else wakes, or you'll have to quarrel with thirty people for a place in the queue."

Lily and Remus went first, and then were returned to the cells, while James departed to clean up. Lily was tempted to enter the Marauders' cell instead this time, but she didn't want to desert Marlene, so she went back to her original one instead. Remus pushed Sirius's sleeping mass to the side, so that he could sit in the corner immediately beside Lily.

"Some day, huh?" he asked. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said. "How about you?"

"Dandy."

Lily smiled weakly.

"What's wrong?" asked Remus, detecting her worry. Lily only shook her head.

"I don't know," she replied. "I'm just wondering how this is all going to end, you know?"

"End? Well, hopefully it will end with us all going home and sleeping."

Lily nodded and did not explain herself any further, because she knew that Remus had understood what she really meant by "end," but that he, wisely, would rather not think about it.

As everyone else woke up, there was more noise and more speculation on the upcoming decision of the Wizengamot. Joints were stiff and no one was particularly well rested, but a buzz circulated through the lock up as the hour of the Wizengamot's convening approached.

"Dearborn's back in the building," an older wizard whom Lily did not know informed some of the group, as he returned from the washroom. "I heard some aurors talkin'—he's in a right state, apparently."

"After a cover story like Rita Skeeter's?" muttered Marlene. "I'd be in a right state, too."

"Will he come here?" Lily wanted to know. The wizard shrugged.

"Don't know—never met the bloke myself. I work here, you know... Accidents and Catastrophes, but I never did much work with Dearborn."

"Won't you be in loads of trouble for missing work?" asked Marlene.

"My wife'll owl I'm sick, I reckon," he replied cheerfully. "Anyhow, it's worth it for something interesting to do. A bloke might think Accidents and Catastrophes would be a fascinating department, but it can be dull. Though—last week, mind you, we had a spot of fun... we were charged with trying to make it rain."

"Clearly you weren't successful," noted Lily. "It's been dry for months."

"Just the problem, isn't it?" replied the wizard. "The sky simply don't _feel like_ opening up. Never seen such a dry summer..."

Ultimately, Dearborn did not come to the auror department, and, once ten o'clock arrived, Lily knew not to expect him. He would be waiting for the Wizengamot ruling.

It was decided—and Lily knew not by whom—that they would all be released at noon, when the Atrium was full of Ministry workers taking their luncheons. How to get rid of thirty people without causing too much upset in the Ministry was another problem; some, it was decided, would be escorted through the auror floo, some taken out through the main floo terminals in the Atrium, and some through the visitor's exit.

As the morning progressed, the auror offices grew louder and busier. At eleven, there was a great flurry of excitement, and several aurors left through the floo in a hurry. Everyone in the lock-up seemed to guess the cause, but they didn't speak about it much.

The morning stretched on. "I hope they make the announcement soon," said Lily to Sam, as the time of their release neared. "It'll be rubbish if we don't find out until five o'clock tonight."

But they did not, in fact, have to wait until five o'clock.

The announcement was made at eleven-twenty a.m., after only an hour and a half of deliberations. Eckles, who had now replaced Halliday as the custody auror, had brought in the wireless and was listening to the updates.

There was a lot of cheering.

"Who the hell is Barty Crouch?" Marlene wanted to know.

"Wait a minute—wasn't he at Hogwarts a couple of years ago?" asked Peter, confused.

"No, that was his son..." said James.

"Well who is he?" Marlene pressed.

"He's not Egbert Dearborn," said Gideon Prewett. "That's certain. He's notoriously anti-death eater."

"Well that's good," said Lily.

Everyone else in the cells was still clapping over Dearborn's defeat.

"Calm down!" whined Eckles. "I'm trying to hear the wireless!"

(The Real World Again)

Lily was too excited to properly feel the fact that she was hungry and tired beyond anything she was used to. She practically skipped through the Atrium with the Marauders, Sam, Marlene, the Vances, and the Prewetts, holding onto Remus's arm as she did so. "I think it might be because I haven't slept or eaten anything except salty potato crisps in about twenty four hours," she said confidentially, "But I feel kind of high."

Remus laughed.

"Alright, this way," called Lathe, leading the way. They passed through the busy Atrium, and Emmeline, Victor, and the Prewetts, with a final farewell to their younger compatriots, stepped into one of the fireplaces. The others made their way for the visitor's entrance. Sam and Marlene stepped into the lift first and disappeared a moment later.

Lily was about to climb inside with Remus, when she remembered something. She turned to Lathe again.

"Wait a minute," the witch began quickly. "There's still one thing I'm confused about—who called in the aurors? It wasn't Frank, it wasn't Sirius... who else could possibly have known? I mean—you even knew we were in Falstaff's office, and that Frank was with Svilt... I don't understand..."

Sirius and Remus departed, but Lily and James waited with keen interest for an answer.

Lathe smiled, scratching the back of his neck. "I received an owl last night," he replied slowly and deliberately, "from... a mutual friend, relaying a very strange and garbled message that I had to translate, Merlin knows how, but, which ultimately made it quite clear that if anything were to happen to either you or Potter, I would no longer be welcome in the Leaky Cauldron."

It was a second before Lily realized—"Donna?"

Lathe bowed his head.

"But how did she...?"

"The mirror!" James said loudly. "Of course, the mirror! We didn't talk to Sirius on the mirror yesterday morning! We talked to _Donna_! The git forget to get it back from her, and then forgot that he forgot to get it back from her!"

"She overheard the message and owled Lathe!" Lily finished. "Is that right?"

Lathe shrugged. "I dunno. I didn't ask many questions."

"Thank-you," said Lily. "For helping us."

"We'll call it even," replied the auror. He nodded towards the lift. "Your friends are waiting."

* * *

They all stood there on the street, which went about its business with no special deference to them or the night they'd had.

"What now?" asked Remus of no one in particular.

"I need to eat," said Lily.

"And shower," said Marlene with longing in her voice.

"Actually, I feel alright," Sirius said cheerfully. "I say we go to Prongs' house."

"Why do you want to go to my house?" asked James.

"Because I miss your mum."

"Don't be weird."

"'Can't help it—she has that effect on me."

"Well," said Remus, "_my_ mum doesn't work until three, and it'll be much easier if I'm already cleaned up when I try to explain this to her, so I'll go to the Potters'."

Somehow, it was then settled that everyone was going to the Potters'. Marlene promised to meet them there, but she wanted to pop home, take a shower, and fetch Mary first. Then, Lily had a thought.

"Wait a moment," she said, before anyone had apparated. "There's something I should do first."

* * *

Sam ended up escorting Lily to the Leaky Cauldron, because, while Marlene had no qualms with attempting blind apparition to the Potters' address, Lily felt less sure of her abilities.

They stepped into the pub, and Lily smiled at the sight of Donna behind the countertop, as always.

It was a moment before Donna spotted _them_, but when she did, a number of emotions flickered across her face, before she forced her expression to be resolutely calm.

"I see you got out all right," she said stiffly.

Lily sat down at the bar. "You owled Lathe, did you?"

"I nearly _died_ of shock when I heard my trousers talking to me in James Potter's voice," said Donna sullenly. "It took me a good minute to figure out what had happened... I completely forgot I had the mirror."

"Sirius completely forgot you had it, too," replied Lily.

"So what are you two doing here?" Donna asked, nodding at Sam. "You're not on a _date_, are you?"

Lily and Sam both chuckled at that.

"She's a sweet kid," allowed the latter, collapsing onto the barstool beside Lily's, "but not _that_ sweet."

"We're here to get _you_, actually," said Lily. "How much longer is your shift?"

"I'm only working half an hour more,' said Donna glumly. "I'm scheduled until six, but my replacement is replacing me."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"The witch that Tom hired to replace me when I go back to school," Donna elaborated. "She's taller than me, and Tom said I could go home early, because she'd be here at one, and she's already gotten the hang of things."

"Lovely! You can come to the Potters' with us!" said Lily, excited. Donna scowled.

"It's not _lovely!_ I'm being _replaced!"_

"Yes, but it's not as though you wanted to be a barkeep for your whole life anyway," Lily pointed out. "You're just angry because she's taller than you. How is that possible, incidentally?"

"You're a bloody giantess," Sam agreed.

"It's insane," muttered Donna. "You should see her. I think she _might_ have giant blood in her, because that cannot be normal..."

Lily and Sam drank butterbeer while they awaited the end of Donna's shift, and then she told them that she wanted to pop home to make sure that all was well with Mrs. Fowler, the housekeeper, who was to take her siblings to the muggle zoo that afternoon. She would meet them at the Potters'.

Lily and Sam stepped out onto the road again, the merciless sun and oppressive dryness of the day setting in already.

"I ought to call my mum, too," said Lily thoughtfully. "In case she's phoned the house and is worried because I didn't answer."

"Don't you live with your mum?" asked Sam curiously.

"Yeah, but she's visiting my sister at the moment."

"What are you going to tell her you've been up to?"

Lily shook her head. "Honestly, I have no idea. Why don't you wait in the pub—I'll apparate home, ring up my mum, and meet you in ten minutes?"

"Alright—but don't you try to sneak a shower... if the rest of us have to walk about feeling like rubbish, you bloody well will too!"

* * *

Mrs. Potter was not happy. On a scale of one to livid, she was furious.

"What _exactly_ were you thinking, James Alexander Potter?" she demanded of her son, the moment he walked through her front door, bringing with him Remus, Sirius, and Peter.

James sighed. "You lot better head up to the Blue Room," he said wearily to the others; "I was hoping she'd be _happy_ to see me, but it looks as though this is going to be an unhappy reunion after all."

Sirius cheerfully led the way upstairs, and James was left alone with his mother.

"You were supposed to be home for supper last night," she informed him. "And then, do you know, that I received an owl from Alastor Moody at nine o'clock last night, after I'd worried myself to death, saying that you were safe, but it looked as though you'd be spending the night? Can you _imagine? _Can you possibly _fathom_ what it felt like to hear _that_?"

"I'm sorry, Mum!"

"And, of course," Mrs. Potter continued, ignoring her son's apology, "your father was _no _help! 'If Alastor says he's safe, I'm not going to question it.' What _rubbish!_ I didn't sleep a wink last night!"

"Well neither did I!" argued James.

Mrs. Potter faltered. "Where exactly did you spend the night, James?"

"Mum, that's one of those things you'll be happier not knowing. Just take comfort in the fact that I was surrounded by friends, and no one ended up dead or pregnant. All in all, not a bad record for the night..."

"James Alexander Potter..."

"Yes, mum?"

Mrs. Potter sighed heavily. "Come along. We'll discuss this upstairs."

"Why upstairs?"

"Because it will be easier to dispose of the body."

"It's frightening how quickly your mind jumps to murder."

"With _you_ for a son, it's shocking I haven't actually done it yet."

(A Question)

The kettle of water on the fire in Frank's kitchen had all but boiled out, but Frank and Alice did not notice. The cup of tea scheme had been abandoned in favor of a more pleasant pastime. At length, they broke apart long enough for Frank to brush a loose strand of hair from her face.

"I don't know what I'd have done if anything had happened to you," he murmured, before leaning forward and kissing her softly again.

"Back at you," she whispered against his lips. He stepped closer, pinning her against the kitchen counter. "So what are we going to do about that?"

"Problematic," Frank admitted. "Considering our chosen profession."

Alice rested her forehead against her boyfriend's, wrapping her arms around his neck. The smile she wore was sad, though, and Frank gently touched her cheek.

"I love you, Alice Geraldine Griffiths."

And Alice met his eye. The sad smile had changed; there was warmth in her expression again, and she looked at him with such affection that, for a moment, a response to his declaration seemed unnecessary.

"What?" asked Frank, chuckling. "Why are you smiling at me like that?"

She paused. Then—

"Marry me."

Frank's eyes grew wide. Nonetheless, almost immediately, he replied: "Yes." Then he shook himself. "I mean, no. I mean—yes, but... you weren't supposed to ask me. I'm supposed to ask _you_! Look, look, I've..." He pulled away, disappearing into the adjacent bedroom for nearly a minute. When he returned to the kitchen (a bewildered Alice had removed the now empty kettle from the fire), Frank carried a small black velvet box, wrought with potential.

Alice grinned. "That's not earrings, is it?"

"_No,"_ mumbled Frank. "I was waiting for September first, because that's the eight year anniversary of when we met, and…"

Alice cut him off with a rough kiss, which she did not break, even as she guided him, pulling the collar of his robes, towards the bedroom. She kicked the door closed, falling back upon it and bringing Frank with her. He smiled as he kissed her neck, and she tugged at his clothing.

"Bed," he murmured, his breath warming her skin, and she only nodded hastily.

It was not until rather later that Alice got to see the ring itself. They lay in his bed, when it occurred to her.

"Oi—where's my ring?"

Frank laughed. "I don't know. I think I dropped it."

"Distracted, were you?"

"Rather, yes."

He kissed her on the lips again, before emerging from the blankets long enough to locate the velvet box amongst a heap of discarded clothing. He climbed back into the bed, toying with the box thoughtfully. Alice raised her eyebrows.

"Second thoughts?"

"Not hardly."

"Well, then, it's your turn, Francis. I proposed last time."

He grinned and opened the case. For a moment, Alice did not say anything. The ring that sat there had a gold band and a round, un-mounted diamond that winked at Alice in the orange lamplight. She smiled and held out her hand expectantly.

"Alice Griffiths..."

"Yes, dear?"

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes, dear."

Frank slipped the ring onto her finger, and she did not take a moment to see how it looked there, before she pulled him into another deep kiss—deep and sad and overjoyed all at once. She fell back upon the pillows, and in the brief seconds that their lips were separated between kisses, she managed to whisper, "I love you, you know."

"I love you too."

Alice had not completed even half the kissing she wanted before Frank pulled back again, biting his lip and staring thoughtfully at the square of bed sheets somewhere above Alice's left shoulder. She raised one eyebrow.

"Frank?"

And then he smiled.

"Frank?" she asked again, slightly relieved by his change of expression. "What are you thinking?"

He met her curious stare once more. "I have an idea."

(The Potters)

The house took her breath away.

"This—this is his _house_?"

"One of them, yes," said Sam, amused by the awe on his companion's face.

"No wonder he had no trouble adjusting to living in a castle in first year."

Sam grinned. "Amaryllis," he said to the great double doors, and they slowly opened. "Gracie's favorite flower," Sam explained, but Lily was barely listening. The inside was, if anything, grander. The doors opened into an enormous entrance hall. The floor was a marble tile, and exquisite landscape paintings lined the walls to Lily's (far) left and right. Directly in front of the pair was a wide, grand staircase, with a banister of ivory, intricately carved to resemble climbing vines.

The walls behind the paintings were pearly white, which gleamed in the light from the crystal chandelier that hung (no, levitated, Lily realized) up above. The domed ceiling—very high up—did not seem to exist at all. It was not bewitched to imitate the real sky, like the ceiling in the Great Hall; rather, it seemed to be made of nothing but clouds: soft, celestial white clouds.

Sam smirked—probably at her naïveté.

"It's beautiful," Lily admitted, relieved that she didn't sound completely awestruck when she spoke. "I wonder that he never told me he lived in Buckingham Palace. He gloats about enough." She tore her eyes away from the foyer and looked at Sam; "And what do you mean 'one of them?' There are _others_?"

"Sure. Wanna see?"

Lily arched an eyebrow. "Now?"

"Pictures." Sam nodded towards one of the walls, and Lily followed him there. "That's the house in London... that's the place in the West Country—Harthouse, where he's been for the last few weeks, and that's the one on the French Riviera." Lily looked from the painting of the French Villa to Sam.

"He has a house in the south of France?" she demanded. Sam nodded. "Oh, he's just showing off now..."

Sam laughed. "Before you get any ideas about marrying him for his money..." (Lily scoffed), "You should know, he won't get all of these. Aunt Gracie's auctioning off the house on the Riviera right now. Charity or something. The townhouse goes the same way when Alex dies. Jamie only gets this old coffin and the house at Godric's Hollow."

Lily remembered the letter she'd had from James at the beginning of the summer. He had been at this place Godric's Hollow at the time of its authorship...

"That's it, there," said Sam, leading the way to a picture hanging further away. It was what Lily imagined they might have called a cottage two hundred years ago, with its beige stone walls and picturesque gables. Still, it was a lovely house: the yard was green, especially against the grey sky (the little black outline of birds could be seen, soaring across the back of the canvas), and there was a certain air of romance to the whole thing. "I like it," she decided.

"Why? The town's dead boring."

"It has soul."

"_Merlin_, you sound like Gracie."

Lily began to wander away from the paintings. "Where are the others, do you think?"

"No idea—we can ask an elf. Ten to one, they know."

"An elf? A _house elf_? James has _house elves_?"

"Sure," replied Sam, leading the way to a door off the hall; "all the oldest families do. Of course, Gracie doesn't like to do anything that the old families do, so she freed them all first thing after marrying Alex. But of course, loads of times, if someone finds a free elf, they'll only enslave it again and claim it's been in the family for years, because it makes their line look more pure. So Grace said that any of them who didn't get legitimate jobs could come back here for pay, and a few wanted to stay anyway, because they think it's their duty to serve the family of their ancestors. I don't know—we've only ever had one, and she's _ancient_..."

They pushed through into the kitchen, a large, clean hall that seemed to be carved entirely out of white stone. Lily marveled, walking along one edge of the rectangular room, unconsciously gliding her fingers across a countertop. Several crystal orbs provided the light (in addition to a series of high, narrow windows), levitating near the ceiling; they did not remain stationary, like muggle lights, but drifted around, like a dozen, slow-moving fireflies.

There were two house elves in the room, and one was occupied at a giant sink; he was closest to the door, and it was to this elf that Sam addressed himself. The other sat nearer to the back, at a small wooden table in the corner at the opposite end of the hall. The table could not have been designed for house elves, in that—though relatively petite—the item seemed human-sized, and yet Lily had a hard time fathoming that the sort of meals that must be prepared in a kitchen like this could ever be consumed at such a comparatively inelegant piece of furniture.

"Hello," Lily greeted the house elf there. The elf sat at the table, her legs dangling off the chair, while sipping a tall glass of something brown and atrocious smelling.

The creature looked up at her with large, eerie green eyes. "Good afternoon, Miss Evans!" she squeaked.

Lily raised her eyebrows. "Did you just... how did you...?"

"Lily!" interrupted Sam's voice, from across the kitchen. "Twitchet says they're in the Blue Room."

Lily, with a last skeptical look at the house elf (who had now returned to her drink) was not sure if she imagined a guilty blush on the elf's face, but she turned and followed Sam out of the kitchens again and back into the foyer.

"How did that elf know my name?" she asked of Sam, who only shrugged.

From there, they ascended the grand staircase—with every step, Lily felt as though she were shrinking. The round second floor landing was separated from a rather distant fall to the first by a banister of the same make as the staircase, and Sam pointed at one of the deviating corridors as containing James's room. Lily was curious, but she followed her host to a staircase that started about twenty degrees away from the mouth of the grand staircase; this second stairwell clung to the wall, spiraling upward along the perimeter, and therefore made for a much longer walk to the third floor. The view was exceptional, however.

On the third floor, Sam led the way down a narrow corridor, lined with painted portraits of unfamiliar witches and wizards—some who looked quite friendly, and some whom Lily was glad she would never meet.

This corridor differed greatly from the foyer in theme; dark wooden beams ran up between roughly half of the portraits, while doors of similar materials stood in between the others, almost all of them closed. Occasionally, Lily would glance a bit of a sitting room or an unoccupied bedroom, but Sam continued to walk.

They rounded a corner, and Sam, who had been intermittently chatting about the house, grew quiet; Lily realized why quite soon. Voices emanated from a cracked door to one side of the hallway. One of them was female—a very displeased female tone, nonetheless.

"Well, that's not them," remarked Sam quietly, glancing over as they passed. "That's just Gracie hollering at James."

For a brief second, through the ajar door, Lily glimpsed a tall, older woman with short auburn hair streaked with grey. She loomed over James, despite his height advantage, speaking angrily to (or perhaps at) him, as he attempted to get a word in edgewise. His demeanor was a mixture of apologetic and defensive, but he didn't seem too terribly worried. Lily caught a few words of the exchanged before they had passed by completely.

"...Out _all_ night, without so much as an owl..."

"Mum, I _said_ I was sorry..."

"...And now, I find out you did it on purpose..."

"...But I had to get..."

"...In a _jail cell _no less!"

Neither mother nor son observed Lily and Sam as they walked by.

"He won't be in too much trouble, will he?" asked Lily in an undertone, once Mrs. Potter's and James's voices had all but faded.

"Nah, I don't reckon so," replied Sam casually. "James gets away with everything. Gracie's more like a gran or a loveable aunt than a mum. Always wished _my _old lady might take that lesson, but no such luck. Anyway, even if she were to punish him—and I've yet to witness that—he'll be back at school next week, and I reckon she's right pleased about his getting Head Boy."

Lily smiled at the mental image if Mrs. Potter's reaction to that bit of news (she supposed it must have been a mixture of shock and glee) and Sam noticed, grinning.

"You did hear about that, didn't you?"

"What? Oh—the Head Boy bit. Yeah. James told me in Falstaff's office."

"Did he? Had a heart to heart, did you?"

"Not quite," scoffed Lily. "I thought the Slytherin prefect got it, and I was ranting about that before he told me _he _was the one."

"Don't like Slytherins, is that it? No one seems to."

"Well, it's complicated," Lily attempted to explain. "It's more the particular Slytherin... we... we don't get on." (That was the simplest description of affairs, after all). "I wasn't looking forward to working with him."

Sam indicated to a door at the end as the entrance to the so-called Blue Room.

"Working with, you say?" he added as they advanced. "Are you a prefect then?"

Lily nodded. "And Head Girl now."

Sam looked at her. "Are you? I didn't know. Not very rule-abiding for a member of the management, are you?"

"Compared to James, I'm Professor McGonagall," Lily pointed out, before realizing that Sam might not have any idea what that meant. "She's head of Gryffindor. Very strict."

"Right, I remember," replied Sam.

They reached the Blue Room, and as Sam pushed open the door, Lily was relieved to see the others lounging within.

It was a large, square drawing room, painted a deep royal blue. The two sofas and chaise lounge were of a matching floral print—cream colored with blue roses and sprigs of baby's breath—while the woodwork was of the same dark oak that prevailed out in the corridor and in much of the house. A piano stood in the corner, and though no one occupied its bench, the instrument produced a quiet, vaguely impressionistic sounding tune. The afternoon light filtered in through the lace curtains (heavier, silk cream colored ones were drawn back) and moving, magic photographs lined the mantelpiece over the fireplace to Lily's right; she would have liked to examine them, except that the reunion with her friends afforded her no opportunity. Everyone looked up at the newcomers.

Sirius was stretched out upon the chaise, a half eaten apple in hand, while Remus and Peter sat in flanking chairs. Marlene and Mary had arrived too (Marlene's blond hair still wet from her much anticipated shower), and they sat on one of the sofas, while Donna occupied the other.

"She arrives," said Sirius, grinning. "And hullo to you, too, Sam."

"Thanks," replied Sam sarcastically.

"What took you so long?" Donna wanted to know. "I had to go home, and I still was quicker."

"She had to ring her mum, and I gave her a quick tour," Sam explained, as he sat down at the piano bench, and Lily fell onto the couch next to Marlene. "Oh, and I showed her the house, too."

"Very funny," said Lily. Marlene raised her eyebrows inquisitively. "Just ogling Pemberley," Lily explained lightly; the blonde—as the only one there to catch the reference—looked more interested still.

"Is that right, Lizzie dear?"

"Who said anything about Lizzie? I'm Aunt Gardiner."

"Stop saying things that no one else understands," complained Sirius, eying the apple, as though contemplating another bite. "And where the sodding hell is James?"

"Gracie's giving him a talking to," said Sam.

"Still?" asked Peter. "It's been almost an hour! And I'm _famished_..."

"Me too," chorused Lily, Donna, and both Prewetts.

"Well, let's eat," said Sirius. "We can call for a house elf. Twitch! _Twitchet!_"

With a loud _crack_, the small, wrinkled creature with large eyes and larger ears from the kitchens appeared at Sirius's elbow.

"Twitch, we're hungry," said Sirius. "Wouldn't you be a dear and get us something? We were all quite heroic today, you know."

The house elf bowed, as though embarrassed. "Master James has said that if Master Sirius is wanting to eat, he must go to the kitchens. Twitchet would be most pleased to bring Master Sirius and his friends something to eat, but Master James has said."

Remus laughed, and Sirius scowled. "Slick git. He did that on purpose, you know. He was always jealous that the house elves liked me better when I lived here, so he'd say I was lazy. Alright, you can go, Twitch. We'll be down in a bit."

Twitchet bowed again, and with a wide, creepy smile, he noisily disappeared once more.

"I wonder if James made any provision about liquor," mused Sirius. Remus rolled his eyes.

"You're _so_ lazy."

"I am _not_. I'm conserving my valuable energy, and anyway, I barely slept all night."

Remus and he continued to bicker for several minutes until Mary, who had only heard part of the story of the last thirty-some-odd hours, requested a more complete version. Sam, after introducing himself to her with a dramatic tip of his maroon fedora, began to talk, and there were actually many details which Lily was hearing for the first time as well.

Sam, it seemed, had been breakfasting with Dorcas Meadowes, when Dory received word from her sister that several concerned individuals were planning on marching the Atrium in protest of Egbert Dearborn and the Magical Population Protection Act. Sam, always the first to jump at an opportunity to publicly object to injustice (and his older brother) tagged along, but not before fetching Sarah McKinnon and James, who had only returned from the West Country the evening before. James, in turn, apparated over to collect Sirius and Remus (this part of the story was retold by Sirius himself), but—as Peter was still in bed—a message was left with his mother.

Sam added that Sarah McKinnon and himself contacted the Prewetts and they—along with Emmeline, Victor, and Dorcas—had collected the rest of the original group (save for, of course, Lily, Marlene, and Donna, who had been fetched by Marauders).

From there, Lily knew most of the story and contributed to its reiteration to Mary. Peter and Remus explained about the arrival of the aurors, while Lily told about her capture (purposely avoiding mention of the Marauders' Invisibility Cloak) and briefly touching upon the stay in Falstaff's office and then the auror department. Everyone was sufficiently impressed by the removal of the door from its hinges.

Marlene explained about the Rita Skeeter article, and the story was all but done by the time James finally arrived in the Blue Room. Twitchet the house elf had circumvented his master's command by brining two trays of butterbeer, when James—fedora in hand—strolled in, followed by his mother.

"You're still alive, I see," remarked Sirius.

"Budge over, you lazy arse," said James, but he summoned over a chair from the desk for his mother before he actually sat down on the chaise himself.

"_You _aren't off the hook either, Sirius Black," scolded Mrs. Potter, folding her arms. "Nor you, Samuel,"

Sam jumped up from the piano bench, crossing the room and taking his cousin's hand. "Gracie, you aren't _really _upset with me, are you?"

"Hmmm, we'll see," was the witch's enigmatic reply, but her lips twitched humorously.

Besides the brief glimpse almost an hour earlier in the corridor, Lily had seen Mrs. Potter on a number of previous occasions. She was always present to see James off from Kings' Cross Station, and it was difficult to miss the extraordinarily well-dressed mother of one of Hogwarts' most popular students. However, Lily was now granted a much more thorough examination of the witch in question, and, perhaps due to her since altered opinion of the son, the mother also seemed improved—certainly more than an average wealthy matron.

Grace was of a willowy build, smartly dressed as ever in champagne colored robes. She did not wear much jewelry, but what she _did_ wear—a diamond ring, a plain gold wedding band, and large sapphire earrings—was largely designed to be noticed. They caught the light from the window. Mrs. Potter's hair was brown with suggestions of auburn and grey, and the shape and shading of her eyes were quite like James's.

"I suppose you ought to meet everyone," James suddenly seemed to remember, hopping up from the chaise again and leaving the hat to save his place from Sirius. "Of course, you know most of us. I'm James, your sole progeny."

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Sole progeny of which I am aware, at any rate. That's Sirius—he's a git—and that's Remus, the son you _wish_ you had..." He got around to the real introductions eventually. "This is Donna, but I guess you've met, too..."

"Miss Shacklebolt," said Grace warmly. "It's been far too long."

"It's nice to see you again," replied Donna, and Lily was stunned by the un-Donna-like politeness she maintained.

"This is Mary MacDonald and Marlene Price—they're in my house and year," James went on, "And... oh, well, I suppose..." he faltered almost imperceptibly, "...this is Lily Evans, same story. Everyone: my mother."

And there was the typical nodding and shaking of hands and smiling. "I hope my son hasn't landed you all in too much trouble..."

"Now, Mum," said James. "I know Sirius used to live here, but he's not _actually_ your son..."

"Sod off, git," said Sirius, kicking his friend.

"Play nice," commanded Mrs. Potter.

"Don't worry yourself, Mum. I already told you—the aurors all took as down as persons unknown. We weren't even properly _arrested_..."

"James didn't get anyone into too much trouble, Mrs. Potter," Sirius assured her. "Although, he's a git for trying to starve me to death..."

James sat relatively far from Lily, but she could not help but notice that, throughout his mother's stay, he seemed unusually tense, and she wondered if that concerned his earlier "conversation" with Mrs. Potter. Eventually, excusing herself, the older woman said she would see to refreshments, and she departed.

"Does anyone know who won the pre-season match last night?" Marlene asked presently. "I completely forgot to check the scores..."

"Harpies slaughtered the Tornadoes," Sirius told her. "No surprise there. The new captain is supposed to be brilliant..."

"She _is_," said Donna, enthusiastic now that the conversation had turned to Quidditch. "Twenty-two goals against the Canons in the last month..."

"Well, that's the Canons," said Sirius.

"Oh, I like them," argued Marlene. "There's something endearing about them."

"What would that be?" replied James. "Their inability to win a match?"

"I bet they're cursed," said Peter.

"Nah, it's the management..."

"But they've had three owners in a decade..."

And it was exceptionally odd, sitting there in James Potter's drawing room, talking about Quidditch after the day and night and morning and afternoon that they'd all just had. It was bizarre and somewhat surreal, and this was heightened by the fact that Lily had not eaten in about hours. The only thing that conquered her hunger just then was her exhaustion, which made her reluctant even to rise a little from the couch to reach for a second butterbeer.

She dropped her head onto Marlene's shoulder, contributing a little to the discourse, but mostly listening and watching.

Sirius—draped over the chaise lounge like a castaway cloak—laughed a lot.

Marlene fidgeted absent-mindedly with her new haircut.

Sam could not keep still and would jump up from his seat every time he had a point to make.

Remus appeared tired, but innocently so: he seemed neither weary nor careworn, but only sleep-deprived.

Peter had to fight to get his words in.

Donna argued with everyone.

Mary spoke more knowledgably about the Harpies than she possibly could have about any other team.

James scarcely stopped talking.

Time slipped by at an unusual pace. Moments stretched unnaturally long, but very soon, more than an hour had passed, and it seemed to take only a few minutes.

Eventually, another house elf appeared with food—cheese and tea and biscuits and cake—and Lily's stomach growled longingly as she reached to take a slice of the lattermost. She was cut short, however, by the calling of her name.

"Lily, dear?"

She looked up; Mrs. Potter stood at the door again.

_Fucking-hell-if-she-didn't-get-something-to-eat-soon-she-was-going-to..._

"Yes?" replied the younger witch, bewildered. The others chattered noisily on; no one except James noticing the interruption.

"There's someone here to see you," Mrs. Potter told her.

"To see _me_?" asked Lily stupidly.

Mrs. Potter nodded.

"Alright."

Momentarily forgetting the cake, Lily rose and followed James's mother out into the corridor.

"Who wants to see _me_?" she wondered, as they walked.

"Alice Griffiths, actually."

"Alice? Is Frank Longbottom with her?"

"No, just Alice. Sweet girl, too. She... well, never mind, you'll see." Mrs. Potter smiled James-ish-ly. "Are you two close?"

"Pretty close, yeah," said Lily, and she was inexplicably nervous. "Alice was the first mate I had in my house at school."

"Invaluable," remarked Mrs. Potter. "Oh, this way, dear. It's much quicker. Are you a Gryffindor, then?"

"Yes."

"James's father was a Gryffindor, also..."

"Yeah, James mentioned."

Mrs. Potter looked at her; "James talks about his father?"

"No... well... sometimes. It was actually one of the first things he ever said to me... on the train going to Hogwarts in first year, he said he wanted to be Gryffindor, like his dad..." She recollected the incident vividly; "He mimed brandishing a sword..."

Mrs. Potter burst out laughing. "_That child_..."

They arrived on the bottom landing, and Mrs. Potter pointed to a little drawing room off of the left. "Alice is in the study—it's this way," she said, guiding the way. "She wanted to speak with you alone first."

"Is everything alright?"

"I suppose you'll have to ask her yourself," said the older witch, but she was beaming, as though she were purposely keeping some grand secret. They reached the study, and Alice stood within, pacing back and forth and wringing her hands nervously. She started at Mrs. Potter's greeting.

"Oh! Oh, hello."

"I'll give you the room then," said Grace.

"Thank-you ever so much," said Alice, and Mrs. Potter nodded, before disappearing into the corridor.

"Alice, are you alright?" asked Lily, hurrying up to her friend. "How did you find me here?"

"We heard on the wireless that you were all out, so I went to your house, but no one was home—then I—I went to Marlene's..." (She was quite distracted), "But Marlene's mum said she'd gone to the Potters' with a group of her friends, and I assumed that if she was here, you would be, too..."

"Is something wrong? Lathe said the aurors were escorting you away... I thought... Has something happened to Frank?"

"What? No. No, of course not. Well... that is—something's happened to the both of us."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "I'm confused."

"The thing is," Alice began, cracking her knuckles, "I've—I was wondering if you might be able to—that is, if you're willing to... to... to lend me something."

"Lend you something?" Lily echoed. "Lend you _what_?"

"It doesn't much matter," Alice told her; "Earrings... not a necklace, though. I've already got a necklace—a blue one. But earrings, maybe, or anything, really. Stockings. Stockings would do, too."

"Earrings and stockings? Al, what are you talking about?"

"Well," Alice started again, "I need to borrow something..."

"Yes, but _why?_"

"Because... because, you see, I've already got a dress... an old one, and new shoes, and the necklace is blue, like I said, so I've... I'm afraid I've got to have something borrowed."

Lily stared.

"Alice—are you...?"

Alice beamed. She held up her left hand, upon a significant finger of which sat a diamond engagement ring.

"I'm getting married in two hours, Lily."

Dumbstruck for several seconds, Lily wasn't even sure what she thought or felt, much less what she ought to articulate. Then, everything—including the realization that Alice was quite serious—struck her all at once, and Lily heard herself saying: "I might have some stockings."

Then she was hugging Alice, and then Alice was explaining about the how she and Frank had gotten engaged, and how Frank knew a bloke in the licensing department, and that Mrs. Longbottom was positively furious over the whole thing, and they were to be at an office in Diagon Alley at six o'clock, and Frank's brother was to stand up for him, and, of course, everyone upstairs was welcome to come along, because it was only Alice's and Frank's families that knew so far, and it was awfully depressing to have a wedding with no friends there.

"...But I wanted to chat with you alone first," Alice said, slowing down her rapid speech suddenly. "Because—well, Hestia's lounging on a beach in Monaco at the moment, and I've only got brothers, and—like I said, Frank's brother is witnessing for him, so I was rather hoping that you would... I mean, if you don't mind—would you like to—be my bridesmaid?"

Lily was visibly stunned.

"Well, gosh, Alice," she began slowly, "I mean, it's awfully short notice—of bloody _course_ I'll be your bridesmaid! Agrippa's sake, you're mad the both of you, but of course I'll do it!"

Then there was more hugging, and there might have been crying, if there had been enough time for it. As it was, a great deal of vital information—how had the proposal come about? What did her mother say? What was Alice to wear?—had to be communicated very quickly.

"Oh, and do you think any of the Marauders have a decent necktie? I love Frank more than anything, but the bloke's necktie situation is atrocious..."

"We'll find something," said Lily absently. "Did you say you were wearing pink? Dear, no—white is a necessity."

"But I haven't any white dresses..."

"We're witches, aren't we? Mary will back me up: you _must_ wear white." She stopped suddenly. Alice looked confused.

"What's wrong? You haven't remembered another wedding you're supposed to witness this evening, have you?"

Lily shook her head. "Alice," she began seriously, "I adore you and Frank; you know that. You're the fairytale I tell Donna when she's cranky..." Alice smirked appreciatively, "...But are you entirely _sure_? Are you and Frank both completely and positively certain? I'm sure it feels right, but does it... does it all make sense... in your head, too?"

Alice smiled.

"Absolutely."

And Lily believed her. "You're barking." She sighed, smiled, and shook her head. "Let's go see about a necktie, shall we?"

* * *

It may come as a surprise to very few that planning a wedding in two hours is rather tricky. Lily never did get to have a slice of the cake in the Blue Room, as, suddenly, there were a million things that needed to be done, not the least of which was retelling the tale to everyone upstairs (leaving out some of the sordid details which Alice had mischievously told Lily in the first retelling of the proposal).

Then, quite unexpectedly, the whole thing was a group project. Frank was already in Diagon Alley at the moment, filling out his portion of the paperwork, and he was soon joined by the Marauders and Sam, who brought with them clothing (and, of course, neckties), much to Frank's surprise—and, secretly perhaps, his relief. He had been close with the Prewett brothers in school as well, and they, too, were issued hasty, verbal invitations.

Mary, who had _not _spent all night in a lock-up, had but to pop home, grab one of her many dresses (she selected a tiny magenta one) and pop across London again, which she did. She also joined Frank and the males, because she said Sirius and James were the only ones she trusted to pick out a suitable tie-sock combination (James's tie collection had been embarrassingly broad), and she did _not_ trust them not to pick a ridiculous combination as a joke.

The other girls, meanwhile, went to their own homes, picked up the "bare necessities," and reconvened at the Griffiths house.

Marlene filled out Alice's paperwork, occasionally handing the quill and parchment to the bride for a signature, but completing the majority by dictation alone. Lily ended up charming the dress white, all the while keenly aware of the irony, for the original white of her own t-shirt had long since begun to bleed through the magically contrived red. However, she put considerably more effort into Alice's dress, a simple but elegant sundress.

Marlene left to slip into a dress of her own, and she brought an argumentative Donna with her. Lily, aided by the fidgeting Mrs. Griffiths, set Alice's hair at wand point. She left it curly at Alice's request, and then began on her make-up.

"I can do it myself, Lily, honestly..." the bride pointed out. "You're still not dressed..."

"I'll change there, like you," Lily replied, biting her lip as she focused on the white eye liner pencil in hand and applying it just right.

"But you have to fetch your dress."

"No, Marlene's going to my house to grab something for me."

"But..."

"No arguments, and sit still, or I'll stab your eye."

Donna returned first, in a royal purple dress reluctantly borrowed from Marlene, because the blonde was closest to her size, and she had refused to go home to get her own. In fact, throughout, Donna had been rather recalcitrant about the whole business, the only one who didn't seem even slightly enthused.

"You look _lovely_ Donna," Alice said, while Lily groomed her eyebrows.

Donna nodded curtly and sat down again.

"Don, what's wrong?" asked the distracted Lily.

"I've already said it," replied the other. "This is a bad idea."

"My getting married, you mean?" called Alice, whose position necessitated her back being towards Donna.

"Yes, of course."

"Well, if it goes south, you're welcome to say 'I told you so.'"

Donna rolled her eyes. "Why would you want to get married anyway, Alice? You're practically a child."

"I'm _practically _an auror, actually."

"That's not a reason to get married."

"You don't believe in the institution," Lily pointed out, glancing briefly up from her work. "Would you approve of this any more if they were thirty-seven and two-years-engaged?"

"Not _much_ more," Donna admitted. "But this is just that much more _obviously_ a mistake. I know you lot like the idea of getting dressed up, and Lily's romantic side must have temporarily knocked out her rational one..." (Lily rolled her eyes), "But honestly, Alice, I can't see how you think this is a good idea."

Lily and Alice looked at each other, and then the former straightened up, stepping away so that the latter could turn to face Donna.

"I'm going to be an auror, Donna," she began slowly. "And so is Frank. And we have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow. It sounds cliché, but I—truthfully... that is... what if he were to die next week, and...?"

"But what if he _doesn't _die next week?" Donna interrupted earnestly. "I'm sure it's easy to do this looking at things _that_ way—like you could be dead at any minute... but what if neither of you dies? What if you get married and you both _live_, and then you're just stuck with each other?"

Alice smiled, raising her eyebrows in amusement. "Donna, that's the _plan_. Dying tomorrow isn't what we _want_; it's a possibility—honestly, it's the possibility we don't think about often enough. But the point of getting married is to _live_ together, not just to _die_ together."

Donna's expression was not immediately interpretable. After a second or two, she sighed and rolled her eyes—standard Donna reactions—before folding her arms and leaning back in her chair.

"I suppose you'll do exactly as you please regardless," she said simply. Alice did not seem satisfied, but she was less experienced than Lily in detecting when Donna had surrendered a point.

* * *

One day, in the not too distant future, Sirius Black would serve as the best man in his best mate's wedding. In the mean time, he received ample practice with Frank Longbottom.

"Firewhiskey?" he asked, holding up a flask that had been produced from his silver fedora.

Frank, who was busy going through some final papers, shook his head, and Sirius shrugged. He handed the flask to an unusually introspective James, who took a swig, before handing it to Remus. The Marauders, the Prewetts, Sam Dearborn, Frank, and Frank's brother, Geoffrey, occupied one little room allocated for their use in the brick Diagon Alley office that was to be the location for the wedding. The families—Alice's brothers and parents of both bride and groom—waited in the office of the officiating wizard, while the bride and those witches accompanying her were in the room across the hallway.

Peter stood near the window, looking down into the street.

"Strange weather we're having," he observed. "Hazy."

"Maybe it'll rain," speculated Sirius hopefully, walking over towards Peter to see for himself. Geoffrey Longbottom scoffed.

"Not likely. The Ministry hasn't been able to do anything about the drought in all these months, and it's not expected to lift on its own until September."

"Shame," remarked Remus absently, joining Peter and Sirius by the window.

James had been seated in a corner with _The Weekly Quaffle_—a magazine he'd lifted from the reception room—but he now looked up at his three fellow Marauders all standing near the window. With the idea of pursuing the flask, now in Peter's possession, he too rose to join them.

Peter handed over the firewhiskey, and they watched passersby in the street below with no real interest.

A funny thought occurred to James—that less than three months ago, he had confessed to Lily in the Gryffindor Common Room that he didn't see much point in coming back to Hogwarts for seventh year. _Everything here is—Sirius_...

Lily had scolded him for being an idiot, of course, and she'd been right, because here the four of them stood (at a wedding for the love of Merlin), preparing to go back for their last year. James suddenly felt very old.

"You know," he muttered, just loud enough that only the Marauders' attentions were stirred; "you're not rubbish as mates go."

The others looked at him, bemused, but James was saved elaboration as Frank finished his paperwork and requested the flask.

* * *

James volunteered to locate Lily at the request of Mary and Donna, who had joined the bride across the hall. Apparently, they—with Marlene—were occupied still with Alice and needed someone to tell their missing maid-of-honor that the ceremony was about to begin.

The officiating wizard—a petite, elderly wizard who seemed perpetually hassled—informed James while passing him in the corridor that he had directed the "redheaded witch" towards a room that she might employ to tidy up in. James followed the same directions, and came to a half-open door at the end of one corridor.

It was a small chamber with two little round tables, a full-length looking glass, and Lily. On the table in the corner sat a bouquet of daisies, while the other one—closer to Lily and the glass—held a velvet bag, out of which spilled cosmetics, what looked like Lily's wand, and several combs and hairbrushes, the necessity of which James could not fathom. A pair of jeans, trainers, and a fading red-t-shirt were in a heap on the floor underneath the table.

Lily was looking at her reflection in the mirror—staring, really, as though searching for something amidst the familiar lines of her face. Eventually, she shook herself and picked up the mascara brush, applying the make up to her eyelashes and then surveying her image in the glass again.

James forgot to knock.

"You look nice," he told her truthfully, and Lily started. She regained herself quickly, turning to face him.

"Thank-you. So do you. Fedora aside..."

"I could use a shower... and I thought we learned not to mock the fedora."

"We could all use a shower, and it's still a ridiculous hat."

"You're better at faking it, and the hat is _classy_."

"Well you're welcome to borrow some perfume."

"That would just spawn a whole new set of problems," said James, wondering what Carlotta would think should she detect another girl's perfume on his dress robes. Not that Carlotta would be back from Italy for a few days still...

Lily didn't catch the reference, however, instead inquiring as to his presence there.

"I was sent to look for _you_, actually," he explained. "They'll be ready in a minute."

"I see. And you drew the short straw, did you?"

"Volunteered actually." Lily looked at him curiously. That dress must have been crafted by Satan himself. "I just—I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

And he wanted to tell her. He really did. He wanted to explain about Carlotta, and explain how this would be a good thing, because it meant that they didn't have to be uncomfortable around each other, and he was usually so good at saying what was on his mind, but... this was different.

Because to bring it up would be to imply that she was curious, and that was only another uncomfortable conversation that he didn't want to have. Then, there were the other two options: first, that she wouldn't care at all, and second, that she would be relieved. He _wanted _her to be relieved by the news (or, he wanted to want it, at any rate), but he didn't think he could tolerate _seeing_ her relief.

And so...

"I guess to say thank-you."

"Thank-you for what?"

James's hands found his pockets. He thought of the expression on her face in Falstaff's office, when he had tried to trick her into getting out of it all. "Trusting me, I guess. And the thing with the door, too."

He smiled a little at the recollection of Lily Evans—hammering away at the hinge pins—and met her eyes. But only for a moment, because—quite suddenly—she was hugging him.

And, for the first time since he had gone to the coast, James questioned his assumption.

_They hadn't kissed_.

She had said that she _couldn't_.

She didn't _want _him.

He had _known _this. He'd been so convinced. But was there any chance that he was wrong? And, if he _had_ been wrong, would it make a difference?

Because Carlotta was in a lot of ways, quite fantastic. He _did_ enjoy being with her. And as much of a gamble she might be, Carlotta Meloni did not pose half the risk that waiting for Lily Evans did.

Lily really did look beautiful, though, so he pulled back.

"You weren't kidding about the perfume," he said, hoping she wouldn't notice how his voice didn't sound right at all.

"And you weren't kidding about the shower," she replied lightly. James's doubts vanished. This was too easy for her. Friends. Just friends. Like she'd told _The Daily Prophet_ reporter. "Thank-you for checking in on me, but I'll be alright." He wanted to argue, but she added: "_Really_, I'll be just fine."

"And what if you're not?" he asked. Because the last thirty-six hours had been a small battle compared to what seemed to inevitably lie ahead.

Lily might have sensed his meaning from the change in his tone, but she had no opportunity to reply. Marlene's voice broke their solitude.

"They're ready." The blonde entered the room. "Are you?"

Lily looked at James, as though repeating the question to him, asking him whether there was anything else that needed to be said between the two of them. "'Course _I'm_ ready," replied James. "I don't have a job to do, though, do I? Are _you_ ready, Snaps?"

Lily picked up her bridesmaid's bouquet. "I'm ready."

She followed James and Marlene out of the room, and somewhere in the corridor, she leaned over with a mischievous smile on her lips. "How does your house elf know my name?"

James pretended not to hear her.

* * *

There was no procession, very little ceremony, really, with all of them crowded into the office, Lily and Alice with the daisies transfigured by the maid-of-honor.

Frank glowed, and the wizard in black said his piece, but James doubted that either bride or groom heard what he had to say. They weren't looking at each other; their eyes remained fixed in front of them, but they held hands, and he knew—he could just _tell—_that every bit of concentration each possessed was fixed upon the other.

If there was a right way to be married, James thought, this must be it—not because Frank and Alice had not had to worry about guest lists and flower arrangements... it was because they were Frank and Alice, and everyone there was convinced that this was right—even, he supposed, the eternally skeptical Donna. The ceremony could have been planned for months, with an orchestra and a million magical family traditions put carefully in place, and that would have been nice, too. But in this moment, it was perfect.

And this coming from someone who wasn't entirely sure he believed in the institution.

He stole a glance at Lily again, who met his hazel eyes with her own teary green ones, and he grinned at the sight of her. She made a face—probably thinking he was mocking her for her sentimentality—because, of course, she had no idea how she looked there... what the tears did for the color of her eyes and in her cheeks... how he wanted so desperately not to care... not to want her at all...

He would try (because requited fancy might be nicer than unrequited love).

He wouldn't think himself doomed to failure (even if he was).

He'd do his best (it was only fair).

But in the crowded little brick office—with his three best friends and several classmates and Sam and all the Longbottoms and the Griffiths and the wizard in black and Frank and Alice and the daisies and _Lily_—nothing and no one had ever made him feel like this. And when Lily did not look away at once, James knew there was some kind of understanding there.

* * *

Alice was hyper conscious of everything Frank did; his breathing, his blinking, the way he looked as though he were about to be ill.

It was kind of beautiful.

She was getting married.

She was getting married _to Frank_.

Perfect.

* * *

Frank could see her looking at him, even if it was only out of the corner of her eye. Her hand did not shake as it remained tightly clasped in his; _he_ thought he might be ill.

In a good way.

He was marrying _Alice._

Of course he was.

It was the _only_ way that the day could have ended.

* * *

Lily was smiling through tears, and, at one point, she noticed James smirking at her. He was mocking her, but she didn't care, and she made a face at him.

She was tired and hungry and, fuck it all, she would be sentimental, too.

For a moment, just a second really, Lily did not look away from James, however, and in that instant, it was almost as though they were sharing something—communicating some thought... a quiet reflection about everything that had happened (between them) that day... a certain understanding that they both possessed about this event—that _only_ they possessed maybe.

Perfect.

* * *

"Husband and wife," said the little wizard, and everyone clapped, and James joined in when Frank and Alice kissed. Lily laughed tearfully with the others, grabbing and squeezing the nearby Marlene's hand.

James tore his eyes away and found Sirius watching him.

"What?"

"Nothing," said Sirius, shrugging (and looking obnoxiously knowledgeable). "Nothing at all."

* * *

They stepped out onto the cobbled road of Diagon Alley, stumbling and laughing, half delirious with exhaustion. Frank grabbed Alice's hand, twirling her right there in the street and causing Sirius to roll his eyes. The Marauder, in turn, took Lily's hand and imitated the gesture, so that Alice stuck out her tongue and continued to dance with her new husband.

They were supposed to head over to the Leaky Cauldron (much to Mrs. Longbottom's despair), while the adults (which now included Sam and the Prewetts) dawdled inside chatting, and yet the ten teenagers lingered in the road.

"I can't believe you're _married_, Longbottom!" James told him.

"I can't believe Sam Dearborn was at my _wedding_," said Alice.

"It's bizarre!" Peter marveled. "You're so... old!"

"Thanks, Pete," said Frank, rolling his eyes.

"And to think," mused Sirius, "a few short months ago, I was on a date in Hogsmeade with the bride."

Lily punched Sirius's arm, and Remus groaned loudly. "Shut up, you idiot!"

"It's alright," said Frank cheerfully; "Black has every right to be a sore loser."

The others laughed at that, and Alice stood on her toes to kiss Frank for what must have been the hundredth time in the last two minutes.

"Disgusting," said Donna, pretending to shudder.

"Sod off," muttered Frank, beaming against Alice's lips. "Or we'll un-invite you to this lavish wedding."

"And modifying the guest list at this stage would be _such_ a bother," laughed his wife.

"Alright, then," said Sirius; "Drinks at the pub, yeah?"

"Nothing but the best," joked Frank.

They started vaguely towards the Leaky Cauldron but had only traveled a few zigzagged steps before Lily's voice stopped them.

"Wait a minute!"

They turned to look at the redhead, whose eyes were, in turn, cast upwards.

"What is it?" asked Mary.

Slowly, Lily began to smile.

"Snaps?" asked James.

"Did you feel that?" she asked, holding out her hand, palm up.

"Feel what?" Donna began to ask, but then her eyes grew wide. "Bloody Merlin!"

"What? I don't..." Remus stopped. "Was that a raindrop?"

It was.

And all the adolescents turned their eyes towards the heavens, as—after months of drought—they opened, and it began to rain.

Drops fell, harder and harder, and Sirius started to laugh.

"You'll ruin your dress!" Mary anxiously pointed out to Alice, but the bride did not seem to care. With her left hand still clasped to Frank's, she raised the other to greet the rain. Wonderful, cold showers cut through the heat, and the ten witches and wizards reveled in it like nine-year-olds. Sirius took Mary's hand, guiding her in some strange kind of waltz.

Mary half screamed, half laughed, as the rain undid her perfectly arranged chestnut hair, and the others were laughing, too, mostly at Sirius's ridiculous show.

Marlene dropped her head back and breathed. The water slid down her short blond locks, and _this was exactly what she needed_. Everything—she could not help but think—would be okay.

Frank brushed one soaking curl out of Alice's eyes. _Perfect_.

Donna searched about for her wand, because _she_, at least, did not want to get drenched. But, in the second before she cast an _Impervius_ charm on herself, she hesitated, just to _really_ feel a few raindrops, and she thought she just might be able see the appeal...

Alice kissed Frank again, softly on the lips this time, closing her eyes; she wasn't sure if there were any of her legitimate tears mingled in with the raindrops.

Remus blinked water out of his eyes, laughing and shaking his head at Sirius, who was now tipping his fedora to Mary.

Peter looked at the other three Marauders, and he was mostly just glad.

James was shielding his spectacles from the rain, and he didn't notice much at all until Lily sidled up to him.

"Thank-you," she said loudly, over the din of the rain and the voices of the others. Additionally, other Diagon Alley residents, shopkeepers, and shoppers stepped out to marvel at the first rain in months.

"For what?" he asked, confused.

"For coming to get me yesterday."

"You're not angry with me for getting you kind of arrested?"

Lily shrugged. "I dunno. It'll make a good story, I reckon."

James shook his head. "You enjoy this too, don't you?"

"What?"

"Battling beaurocratic injustice."

Lily smiled. "Well, I guess it was inevitable."

"What was?"

"That eventually we'd end up picking the same battle, you and I."

She was right, too.

"I suppose so," James agreed, grinning. "It's about time, isn't it?"

"It certainly is."

And it certainly was.

"Now, bloody hell, James, can we _please_ get something to eat?"

* * *

**A/N: **Finished that. Phew. Okay. Review thank-yous and a lot of other nonsense on my blogspot, as linked in my profile. More generally, thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing and being oh-so patient with me!

Reviews are 88 _freaking_ pages of chapter.

Love,

Jules


	30. The Worst Day Ever

**A/N: **This is easily the most ambitious chapter I've ever attempted with regards to structure. There are five parts retelling the same day from five different points of view. Why did I decide to do it this way? I'll tell you at the end.

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo Ro.

**Recap:** James and Lily almost kiss, but Lily rejects him and he starts dating Carlotta Meloni. Carlotta Meloni, however, is best friends with plain and awkward Shelley Mumps, who has had a crush on James since forever. Last year, Donna hooked up with a guy named Charlie Plex, who is sketchy overall, and he had a girlfriend at the time named Cassidy Gamp. Mary is dating a Ravenclaw named Stebbins, and the two are in love. Marlene's best friend Adam confessed his love to her and was rejected, so Adam started dating a girl named Prudence Bloody Daly, prompting Marlene to realize that she _does_ have feelings for Adam.

Chapter 30- "The Worst Day Ever"

Or

"It's My Party"

(**Preamble**)

At last, it was time to let go, and Lily pulled away from her mother's embrace, allowing Mrs. Evans to take in a final look at her young daughter.

"I'm going to miss you, Lily Marie," she said warmly.

"I'm going to miss you, too."

"Write often?"

"I always do."

"I love you."

"I always do _that_, too."

Mrs. Evans smiled. "I think it's going to be a good year for you, Lily."

The redhead nodded. "Yeah. I hope so."

"Bye."

"Goodbye."

Lily kissed her mother's cheek one more time, and then stepped back. With a firm grip on the handle of her trunk (which was tied to both Ira the cat's cage and Lily's owl's cage), she closed her eyes and apparated.

**Part I: Carlotta**

**"It Began With a Kiss"**

Carlotta Meloni knew no fear.

On September the first, she apparated to Kings Cross Station for the first time by herself, and without hesitation—without silly doubts—she stepped confidently through the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. The platform was already crowded when she arrived on the other side, but as she pulled the trolley along, her eyes scanned the swarms of classmates and their family members in search of one individual.

_Her boyfriend_.

It sounded so odd. She'd had many boyfriends throughout the years, but she had never had a... well... a proper one. She had been careful to make sure that every boy knew that they were one among many... that she was not attached. But now—with James—she was going to try something knew.

Monogamy.

_Her boyfriend_.

Carlotta spotted him near the Hogwarts Express, chatting with his best mate about something or other.

_Merlin_, he was handsome.

She started towards him, almost tripping over a younger witch—probably second or third year—who was skipping across the platform, changing in an obnoxious voice, "_Welcome, welcome to another year at Hogwarts!"_ With that potential disaster averted, Carlotta walked up to her boyfriend, acknowledged Sirius's dry greeting with a nod, and then stood on her toes to kiss James on the lips.

When they broke apart, James grinned. "Hello to you, too."

"Are we a public-display type of couple?" Carlotta wanted to know. James scoffed.

"We're seventeen. Of course we're a public display type of couple."

Carlotta frowned. "Are all seventeen-year-old couples public-display types?"

"Sure. Aren't they?"

"I don't know. I asked you."

James grinned, Carlotta rolled her eyes, smiling anyway, and she turned to her boyfriend's best friend. "How are you, Sirius?"

"Good. I'm good. Great actually. And—um—I'm gonna... go find Remus or... something. Carlotta, Prongs." He hopped on board the train, and Carlotta looked confusedly to James.

"What's with him?"

"Ignore him; he's probably stoned."

"Really?"

"I don't know."

Carlotta shook her head, sighing, and leaning into James. She ran her hands over the front of his t-shirt thoughtfully. "There's so much I have yet to learn about you Marauders," she said. "I have a feeling it is going to be very interesting."

"Not really," said James. "Most of our mystique, I hear, is just smoke and mirrors."

"Smoke and mirrors?"

"Illusory."

Carlotta smiled with satisfaction. "Good. It wouldn't be any fun if it were _actually _mysterious." She reached up to kiss him again, and, though she would never have admitted it, went a little weak at the knees when he reciprocated.

(10:20 a.m.)

"_Or_, I could go with you."

"Or you could wait here."

"Or I could go with you."

"Or...or... _or_ you could stay here."

Carlotta rolled her eyes and grabbed James's hand, dragging him from the compartment they had just nominated as their own into the corridor.

"I don't see why you want to go to the Prefect Compartment," James muttered, complying nonetheless. "It's a lot of stuffy old prefects, most of whom you don't even like, and I'm sure you won't have the slightest interest in the meeting..."

"Don't be an idiot—I don't want to _stay for the meeting_, Merlin help me," replied the brunette. "I just want to announce to the world that I am a spoken for woman."

"Spoken for? By whom?"

"You, prat."

"Really? I signed up for that, did I?"

"Oh, yes, and you're quite lucky to have done it, too."

"Oh?"

"Yes." She had been walking just slightly ahead of him, as that was what the narrowness of the corridor permitted, but Carlotta now stepped to impede his path altogether; she draped her arms over his shoulders, as she had done on the platform. "There aren't many girls like me, you know."

"No?"

"Not one that I've met."

"Well, that I'll believe."

"So there are some things you should know."

James arched an eyebrow.

"I get up early to meditate."

He looked a little relieved. "I like to run in the morning."

"I don't want you to get me flowers."

"I never intended to."

"I don't eat meat."

"I remember."

"But I won't glare at you if you _do _eat it."

"And I do."

"I don't like lies."

"Duly noted."

"I don't intend on telling any, and you'd better not either."

"But what if you don't catch me?"

"Is that a joke?"

"Yes."

"Warn me next time."

"But where's the fun in that?"

Carlotta smirked. "There's just one other rule."

"I never was very good with rules..."

"You'll like this one."

"Mmm?"

"At _least _once a day, we have to..."

The compartment door immediately next to them slid open. "Hello, _children_," cut in Sirius, who now leaned against the door frame, arms folded across his chest. Remus stood just behind him, and Peter leaned against the opposite side of the threshold. "Not getting into trouble, are we?" Sirius went on, smirking.

"You've been in there that whole time?" asked Carlotta, raising her eyebrows.

"Of _course_, we stop in front of the compartment where my idiot friends are lurking," muttered James, rolling his eyes. Carlotta disengaged herself.

"Hello Remus, Peter... hello again, Sirius."

"Hi, Carlotta," said Remus politely.

"Hullo," said Peter.

"So," said Sirius. "This is _cozy. _What are we all doing?"

"Go away," ordered James.

"You can't tell me what to do."

"Padfoot..."

"You're not my mother. Or father. That I know of. Wait... are you?"

"Padfoot, _go_."

"Actually," interrupted Remus, "we do have a valid reason for being here. I have to go to the prefects' meeting."

"And Peter and I must escort him. Isn't that right, Peter?"

"That's right, Sirius."

They all grinned at James.

"Your mates don't have your best interests at heart, James," teased Carlotta.

"They're not my mates. They just follow me around."

The other three Marauders did, indeed, follow James and Carlotta to the Prefects' compartment, at which point James kissed Carlotta on the cheek and promised to find her later.

"Oh, I'm going in."

"You don't have to do that."

"But I'm going to."

James looked at Sirius and Peter.

"Oh, we're going in, too," said Sirius.

"Undoubtedly," agreed Peter.

"Fantastic," said Remus. "Shall we?" He slid open the door.

The prefects' compartment was magnified so that they could all fit inside for the meeting, and, since only the Head Girl, three Ravenclaws, and two Hufflepuffs had so far shown up, the additional Marauders and Carlotta had little trouble fitting inside the compartment.

Lily was seated in the corner, reading what looked like a letter, several pages long, when they entered. She looked up and smiled.

"Hello again, Lily," greeted Remus affectionately. "Congratulations, by the way—I don't know if I've said that yet..."

"You have. Twice, actually," replied Lily, getting to her feet. "Peter... James... Carlotta..." she added, with no hint of surprise in her voice or expression. "Sirius—Dumbledore hasn't gone _completely_ mad and made you a prefect too, has he?"

"Fortunately not," said Sirius. "I'm just visiting. Hello, ladies..." He added to the two female Ravenclaws present, and one of them—the fifth year—blushed.

Lily made some teasing censure of him, but Carlotta paid little heed to this. She was, unconsciously at first, evaluating the Head Girl. James had told her that Lily had the position previously, of course, but he hadn't thought it would be a problem, and so Carlotta was determined to be thoroughly easy-going. She would _not_ be a jealous girlfriend—she would _not _be a cliché.

Okay, maybe just a little.

She took James's hand and leaned against his shoulder, while Lily continued her bantering with Sirius, Remus, and Peter. The redhead didn't notice until Sirius pointed out that Lily was not wearing her Head Girl badge, and she glanced about for the item in question. Then, as Lily located her bag, her eyes flickered towards James and Carlotta and, for the shortest of seconds, Carlotta thought she noticed Lily's eyebrows lift infinitesimally.

Everyone else noticed, too.

"We're dating," James blurted out suddenly, and Carlotta—who was not the blushing type—felt the heat rise in her face.

There was about half a second of awkwardness, and then Lily smiled brightly.

"Cool." With that, the Head Girl started to rummage about in her bag for her badge. Everyone, including the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, stared at her.

"_Cool_?" echoed Carlotta automatically.

"Cool," agreed Lily, not removing her eyes from the task at hand.

James and Carlotta exchanged looks, and then returned their stares to Lily. She did not notice at first, but when she located her badge and glanced up again, it was appallingly obvious that everyone was waiting for a somewhat more interest reaction.

"You want a blue ribbon or something?" she asked cheerfully.

Carlotta was not quite reassured. "I guess we were expecting a little more..." She searched for the word: "...surprise?"

"Surprise?" Lily lightly repeated—she was now pinning her badge to the front of her blouse. "That you two crazy kids found each other? Not at all." At length, she finished with the badge, but the others—Carlotta included—still accosted her with blank stares. It took the simultaneous entrance of three more prefects to break the trance, and since Carlotta had one slept with one of those prefects and made out with another, she decided it might be in her best interest to escape now.

"Well..." She turned to James. "I guess everything's okay here."

"I guess so."

"Right."

She made a point of standing on her toes to kiss James on the lips before she left.

* * *

"Oi, Carlotta!"

The witch stopped at the sound of her name, hollered from within one of the compartments on her way back from the prefect compartment.

It was Mary MacDonald who had called her, and she sat inside with her usual group (sans Lily Evans, of course). Donna Shacklebolt did not so much as glance up from the book she was reading, and Marlene Price scowled at Carlotta's entrance, but Mary smiled cheerfully at her. Carlotta knew better than to suspect that Mary was actually excited to see her—rather, she probably wanted something.

"Hullo," Carlotta greeted nonetheless, leaning against the doorframe. "Had a nice holiday, did you?"

"Wonderful," replied Mary; "But so did you, I hear."

_Of course_, Mary would already know about James; she was intolerably silly, but Mary always knew all the gossip, and they hadn't exactly been _private_ on the platform. Still, it was somewhat disconcerting that news traveled _so_ quickly at this school.

"Yes, yes," said Carlotta vaguely. "I couldn't be happier."

"Oh?" And it was Marlene who spoke this time. "Surprising, isn't it? That you can be happy with just _one_ bloke..."

"Not so surprising," Carlotta retorted, "so long as the bloke is as satisfied as you are." She watched with somewhat fiendish pleasure as Marlene's expression grew dark. Rather then continue the conversation, Carlotta hastily added: "I was hoping to find Shelley. You haven't seen her, have you?"

Mary looked at bit disconcerted; she bit her lip rather then answer. Donna actually tore herself away from her book, and Marlene's frown vanished. There was something smug in her tone, when she responded: "Have _you_?"

"Have I seen Shelley? No. Why?"

Carlotta could have sworn that Marlene and Donna exchanged knowing looks before the latter turned back to the large, leather bound volume in hand, simultaneously replying: "She's got a tan. I'm still darker, though."

"I have no idea what that means," said Carlotta.

"Shame, that," said Marlene. Mary seemed anxious. "Shelley didn't tell us where she was going, but I'm sure you'll run into her sooner or later." And Carlotta left the compartment rather the more confused for the visit.

She still mulled over the conversation when she returned to the compartment that she and James had selected earlier. It was occupied by a few first years, however, and Carlotta was obliged to find another vacant one. They would have to return to fetch their uniforms later on, but for now, it did not matter. Carlotta more or less expected to spend the majority of the trip with the Marauders or Shelley, and where they sat was of little consequence. At length, she found an empty compartment and seated herself beside the window. She peered out at the passing scenery, humming under her breath. Scarcely five minutes had passed before the compartment door opened, however, and Carlotta turned to see a witch she didn't recognize enter.

Just because Carlotta did not recognize the witch did not mean that she was unacquainted with her, however.

The witch was petite and curvaceous, quite pretty with ash blond hair styled in a fashionable, just-below-the-shoulder wave.

"_Oh-my-Merlin, Shelley!"_

Michelle Mumps smiled at her, but it was not the smile of years gone by. She'd had her teeth fixed—whitened and straightened—and it looked as though she'd finally become serious about her bubotuber regime, because her skin was clear. She wore make up, too, and her nose looked different, so that Carlotta was momentarily unsure of whether her imagination or other methods had changed it.

Whatever the case, Shelley did not look like Shelley.

Carlotta sprang to her feet

"Oh my _Merlin_!" she repeated, looking her friend up and down in disbelief. Shelley's smile could not be removed. "You're so—so _tan_... and you said you were on a diet, but, Shell, you're so _skinny_ now... you look _beautiful_..."

"I know," squealed Shelley, and it was strange hearing her best friend's voice from this unfamiliar life form.

"Sit down," Carlotta beckoned. "Where's your trunk? You'll have to explain all of this to me."

"My trunk is in another compartment," said Shelley, sitting down. "As for _this_..." She indicated to her new look, "...there's not too much to explain. I've been on a diet all summer—I told you that—and then... well... the last few weeks, I've had this marvelous potion..."

"Potion?"

"Mmm... it's a miracle. Actually, it's magic, but all the same. You should try it, Car—it's _brilliant_..."

Carlotta raised her eyebrows. "Shell, you know I don't... use things like that."

"Oh, right," said Shelley vaguely. "Well, anyway—I had my hair and nails and skin done about two weeks ago, and..." she beamed, "here I am!"

"Two weeks ago?"

"Mhm."

Carlotta searched for words, but Shelley seemed to be at no loss for them.

"Carlotta, you wouldn't _believe_ what's happened to me in the last month. It's amazing. _Everything's_ changed..." She beamed. "But what about _you_? I guess things have changed for you, too..."

"Right," said Carlotta stiffly. "I actually—I was a little worried about... about your response to that... particular bit of news."

"The fact that you're dating James Potter?" asked Shelley casually.

"Well... yes."

"I wrote you back, didn't I?"

"Yes, but... I mean... Shelley, I don't want to hurt you, and I know that you—that you used to have a bit of a crush on him, so..."

"Never mind it, Car," interrupted her friend, getting to her feet. "I've known James for as long as you have, and I've never done anything about my little crush. You had an opportunity, and—like you always say... love is meant to be explored, right?"

"So—so you're really alright with it?"

"Absolutely. Come on, then—I want to show me off to everyone." She slid open the compartment door. "Now that you're in a relationship, Car, I'll have to be the new you."

Carlotta smiled weakly. _Michelle Mumps_ the new _Carlotta Meloni_? Not likely. The girl could scarcely utter a word in the presence of an attractive bloke...

(11:00 a.m.)

Remus Lupin waited outside the prefects' compartment, presumably for James to finish whatever it was he had to do, but Carlotta and Shelley awaited the Head Boy at the end of the car. Carlotta pretended to listen to Shelley's endless chatter about potions and psych-healers and her diet, but really, her attention was fixed upon the prefects' compartment. The prefects themselves had already left, except Remus... what were Lily and James _doing _in there?

Nothing bad, obviously. Remus was right outside. But was Lily telling James that he should break up with her? Was she saying what a whore she thought Carlotta was? Was she angry that James hadn't told her?

And what would Shelley be like when James came out to meet them? Would she retreat into her usual shyness? Would she remember all her feelings for James and start to blame Carlotta? Would she act the confident, self-assured part that she had, so far, pulled off quite exceptionally?

Oh, Merlin, that James would hurry up, so that Carlotta would know one way or the other.

Finally (and it was not actually that long a wait), the Head Boy appeared. Remus did not join him, but rather reentered the prefects' compartment, and James walked to meet the two witches that awaited him at the end of the car.

"Hullo again," he said cheerfully to Carlotta, and then he smiled good-naturedly at Shelley. "Alright there, Mi... Shelley?"

"Mishelley?" teased Shelley, crossing her arms.

"Yes," said James. "That's your nickname. Didn't you know?"

Shelley giggled, and Carlotta experienced the strangest tugging sensation in her chest. It could almost have been said to resemble (_but of course not really at all_) jealousy. But then Shelley broke her eye contact with James and quite casually suggested they find a compartment, to which James requested that they sit with the Marauders.

Shelley agreed enthusiastically, and Carlotta wondered why she felt unhappy with the scheme.

(2:00 p.m.)

"Alright, now I'm confused," said Sirius Black, squinting at Shelley as though he needed spectacles. "There's _another_ bird in your dormitory?"

Carlotta and Shelley had joined the Marauders in their compartment before lunch, but some of them were having a more difficult time adjusting to this fact than others. Carlotta sat to James's right and Shelley to his left; Peter and Sirius sat across from them, but Remus had departed after luncheon for his prefect patrols.

"No, Sirius, this is _Shelley_," Carlotta attempted to explain. Sirius sent her a vacant look. "Michelle. Mumps. My best friend."

"You know her," said Peter, rolling his eyes. "She played Gobstones with us at the end of the year."

Sirius frowned.

"How many girls did you think there were in that dorm?" asked James, confused. Sirius shrugged.

"I dunno." He counted them off on his fingers. "Marlene, Evans, Shack, Mary, Carlotta..." He looked at Shelley. "You? Have you _really_ been there this whole time?"

James sighed, rolling his eyes. "He's not really _mean_; just stupid."

"What? She never introduced herself. How was I supposed to know her?"

"Sirius..."

"No, he's right," interrupted Shelley, much to Carlotta's supreme shock. She held out her hand. "Michelle Mumps."

"Well, I know that _now_," said Sirius, taking her hand. "_Really¸_ though—the _whole_ time? All six years?"

(4:00 p.m.)

It wasn't until rather later in the afternoon that Carlotta had any time alone with James. They'd had scarcely seen each other without the other Marauders present since her departure from Hartland, for though she had visited the Potters' almost the instant her family had returned from Italy, Sirius, Remus, and Peter had been present for most of her stay. _Most_.

In the late afternoon, however, James bribed a few second years into vacating a compartment at the end of the car, and they took full advantage of the solitude.

"I _love_ trains," James muttered against Carlotta's lips, and she smiled.

"Did you charm the door?"

"Mhm."

"Good."

She had been on the seat beside him but, holding onto his shoulder for support, moved to sit on his lap, and then knelt up, kissing him all the while.

"Did you miss me?" she whispered, in between kisses.

"Since... yesterday?"

"Mhm..."

She dragged her nails down the back of his neck.

"Mmm... was... _positively lost_."

"Good."

_ God, he was good at this_.

She moved her lips to the space just below his ear, and, as she did, an odd thing happened. A thought that had never bothered Carlotta Meloni before now occurred to her.

_Who else?_

_Who else had kissed that particular spot on his neck? Who else had sat on his lap and thought her thoughts? Who else had run her fingers through his hair? Who else had he kissed like this?_

_ Get a grip, Carlotta. This is not you. Petty jealousies are _beneath_ you_.

_Who else had he made sigh, running his hands up the outside of her leg, or..._?

Carlotta pulled back. James raised an eyebrow.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She got off his lap. "I was just—just thinking maybe we could... talk."

James looked only that much more confused. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. No, no, no, no, I just... I just want to talk." She wasn't convincing anyone, but James was polite enough not to comment.

"Okay," he replied agreeably. "Let's talk. What about?"

"Um... well..." _How many girls have you snogged since fourth year and where can I find them? _"It's crazy about Shelley, huh?"

"Seriously?"

"What? She's my best friend. It's a valid topic."

"Okay," he repeated, shrugging. "Yeah. It's nice for her."

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno... she just seems... friendlier. More confident."

"Do you think she's pretty?"

"What?"

"Never mind. I didn't mean that. I mean... I didn't mean that in a... obnoxious girlfriend way."

James frowned. "Carlotta, is everything okay?"

"Yes, yes, of course it is," sighed his girlfriend in reply. "I'm sorry. I'm acting like a madwoman right now. I think—I think I need a moment. Why don't you—why don't you go and chat with your mates, and I'll go chat with mine for a while?"

"Um... okay?"

"Yes..." Carlotta ushered him to his feet. "You do that."

Still baffled, James nonetheless complied. He was all but pushed out of the compartment and then walked the length of the corridor, stepping through the bewitched door that carried him onto the next car, where his friends had their own compartment. Carlotta ran one hand through her long, soft hair, waiting a few minutes until she thought her boyfriend would be safely inside the Marauders' compartments. Then, she followed his path onto the first car, heading directly for the compartment where her fellow seventh year Gryffindor girls had formerly sat. She had no idea if they resided there still—or if, following the Head meeting, Lily had returned there at all—but Mary, Marlene, and Donna had been there when Carlotta returned from the prefects' compartment, and it seemed perfectly plausible that they would be there still.

She did not knock, but slid open the door to Compartment G immediately upon her arrival. The four girls Carlotta had expected to see there, however, had diminished to only one.

"Hi," said Marlene, the occupant, confused.

"Is Lily around?" asked Carlotta.

"I don't know where everyone went. I only just got back a little while ago."

"Oh... you have no idea then—when she'll be back?"

Suspiciously: "Why do you need Lily?"

"Well... I don't know," Carlotta had to admit. "I just... I needed her advice on something. Can I talk to _you_?"

"Why on _Earth _would you suspect that's a good idea?"

"I don't know who else to talk to! I would... I mean... normally Shelley... but, she's... and Lily can be rather obnoxious, but she's good at listening—which isn't even a real _skill_, so it's not as though..."

"Meloni, calm down," Marlene interrupted. "It's fine. Talk."

Carlotta nodded; she took a deep breath and began: "I think I'm going mad."

"Going?"

"I don't know what's wrong with me," the brunette continued, purposely ignoring the blonde's quips. "Maybe I've been hexed! Maybe I—I don't _know_, but something is not right."

Beginning to show a little concern, Marlene leaned forward. "Are you ill or something? Oi, ate a bad Bertie Bott's, didn't you?"

"No," sighed Carlotta. "It's not that kind of problem. It's... I... I keep having these strange thoughts..."

"I _knew it!_ You're a lesbian!"

"Marlene!"

"No?"

"_No_."

"Damn it."

"It's about James. I've been having these strange thoughts about _James."_

"Imagining him as a woman?"

"_Marlene_."

"If you're going to prolong it, I'm going to be witty," said Marlene, shrugging. "What's the problem, Carlotta? Get to it already."

"I'm feeling _jealous_," said the brunette, very quickly and with disgust. "Of everyone. Of course everybody adores James, but every girl who comes into contact with him, I think they're trying to steal him! And just now, we were... well... I couldn't get it out of my head the other girls who he'd snogged. That's never bothered me once before! It's so... pedestrian! It's _awful_. And—and you're one of those... mundane types, who gets jealous over blokes, so maybe you have some advice." She looked hopefully at her companion, who stared back.

Then, Marlene burst out laughing.

For several seconds, she was unable to make any kind of response, and Carlotta folded her arms.

"I'm trying to be serious, Marlene."

"C-c-c-c-could you be... quiet—for a moment?" gasped Marlene, unable to contain her laughter. "I'm just—I'm just trying to store th-this m-moment in my head... so... so I c-c-can remember it in... in all its beauty!"

Carlotta rolled her eyes.

"Oh, _my_ Merlin, I want to have a torrid love affair with this moment," Marlene continued, regaining a little control. "I want to buy this moment dinner. I want to have this moment's illegitimate children. I want to..."

"Marlene, it's not funny."

"Oh, I beg to differ," chuckled Marlene. "I mean... did you honestly expect _sympathy_? From _me_? Agrippa, that's _rich_."

"This is completely different from Miles..." said Carlotta impatiently.

"Yes, dear, it is," replied the other. "This is so, so, _so_ much better." She paused and then added, "For me, at least."

"I thought you were supposed to be one of the _nice_ ones."

"Not to _you_!"

Carlotta got to her feet. "You see, this is why I wanted _Lily_."

She started for the door, but Marlene hopped up and impeded her path. "No, no, no, wait," said the blonde, and she seemed to be fighting a battle with the impulse to laugh again. "I'll be good. I can give good advice, too."

Reluctantly, Carlotta sat down again. "Let's have it then."

Marlene took a moment to compose her thoughts. She sat down across from Carlotta. "Believe it or not, I understand. James has spent the better part of six years pursuing one girl, and now he's with you, and you have first hand knowledge that a boy will cheat on his girlfriend. And that makes you nervous. Right so far?"

Carlotta nodded slowly.

"The fact that you're jealous does not make you insane—it makes you a human being, Carlotta. The fact that you're jealous of every single girl you see _does_, however, make you insane. But, hold up, before you storm out of here, it's perfectly understandable. It's probably just a little bit of latent humanity poking through that incredibly skinny and tan exterior of yours. You're starting to have legitimate feelings, and I imagine the fact that you haven't had very many in the last seventeen years is making your whole system a little mad."

"I've had legitimate feelings," Carlotta grumbled.

"Then why are you always mocking other people for having them, too?"

"I..."

"Carlotta—James isn't going to cheat on you."

Carlotta was not convinced. "All blokes will cheat."

Marlene shook her head. "Ten galleons says that James won't."

"But what makes you so sure?"

"I don't know. Call it intuition."

"That's not exactly reassuring." Carlotta rose to leave again.

"Wait," said Marlene again, and Carlotta waited. "You're not _really_ worried about Lily trying to get James, are you?"

"No," the brunette admitted.

"You're worried about someone else trying something?"

"Yes."

Marlene nodded slowly. "Well, then... my only advice is that you should be a better girlfriend then you were a friend."

But, Carlotta thought, it was not so much advice as it was a warning—a well-meaning one, perhaps, but a warning all the same.

* * *

Carlotta returned to the Marauders' compartment, feeling no more confident but somewhat more in-control then before. Sirius and Peter played Wizards' Chess, and Remus read a battered copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.

"So this is what the Marauders do in their down time, is it?" she asked, smiling at the sedate scene before her.

"Rather mundane, isn't it?" remarked James, unbothered by the fact.

"No," Carlotta replied; she sat down and leaned her had against her boyfriend's shoulder. "Just normal."

(7:45 p.m.)

"Zendra, Angelo" became a Gryffindor, finally bringing the annual Sorting Ceremony to a conclusion. Carlotta, who was seated with the Marauders, beside James, clapped with the rest of the Gryffindors, and then—as McGonagall removed the Sorting Hat and stool—Professor Dumbledore got to his feet.

"I welcome all of you, both old and new Hogwarts students, to another school year," began the aging wizard, and Carlotta felt a surge of affection the headmaster; there was comfort in the familiarity of his voice. "Of course, you are all anxious to take to your suppers, so I will remain succinct, I hope, in my speeches. However, there are a few orders of business to attend to. I would first like to take this opportunity to introduce to you the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—may I present, Professor Eran Ramsay."

There followed the usual polite applause for the wizard who rose from the staff table; he had a hard, angular face, with high cheek bones and a long, thin nose. His hair was black and long, worn in an inoffensive pony-tail and coupled with a goatee. However, as severe as Professor Ramsay appeared, he smiled benignly as he bowed his head in response to the clapping of the students.

"Of _course_ another bloke," Carlotta pointed out. "Third one in a row for that position, isn't it?"

She knew she didn't imagine that Sirius rolled his eyes in response.

"Who's the little kid?" Remus muttered, before an actual argument could break out between James's girlfriend and his best mate. "Sitting next to Ramsay."

A second look told Carlotta that Remus was correct; between Ramsay and Professor Babble, there sat a young girl. She could not have been more than nine—certainly not Hogwarts age—and had black hair, cut in a severe bob. The young girl did not look out across the hall, but stared shyly at the empty plate before her.

Remus's question went unanswered, however, for when Dumbledore resumed his speech, it was to introduce another new addition to the staff.

"Secondly," the headmaster went on, "in light of recent events—both in and outside of Hogwarts—it is the Ministry of Magic's wish that all the students have the opportunity to speak to someone, should they feel the need. And so, it is my pleasure to introduce Madam Fiona Keepdown."

Carlotta was not the only one to gasp at the name and the witch who answered to it, but she was certainly in the minority.

"_Fiona Keepdown_?" the Gryffindor whispered to her four confused companions. "She's _brilliant! _Have any of you read her book?"

"What book?" asked James.

"It's called _Spiritual Magic_," Carlotta gushed in an undertone. "There are some truly _inspired_ meditation exercises in there—it drastically improved my spell power. The book's positively stocked with information... beautiful insights into the lie of self-reliance, the magical properties of incense, and this _wonderful_ piece on the importance of a witch's connection with _air_..."

Sirius raised one eyebrow. "Why on _earth_ would we have read that book?"

Carlotta scowled. "It was a best seller."

"Did the entire Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's buy a copy?"

"_Padfoot_," James censured, kicking him under the table.

Carlotta only rolled her eyes, while Dumbledore went on to list a few of Madam Keepdown's accomplishments. The witch herself was a tall, broad-shouldered woman of about forty. She had long, curly, honey-colored hair and eyes almost the same color. She wore gauzy green robes, tied around the waist with a cut of rope, which contrasted with the extensive jewelry (of varying metals) on her hands and around her neck. Her earrings looked like peacock feathers.

"Madam Keepdown," continued Dumbledore, "will be staying at Hogwarts, per the Ministry's invitation, to provide... guidance, should any of the students feel that they need someone to talk to."

"That means you, Pete," Sirius whispered derisively.

"As the only here who has tried to off herself," said Carlotta, "I think it might be a good idea."

"Yeah, but you were cursed, not lonely," Sirius pointed out.

"You think it wasn't _scarring_?"

"Fair enough."

"Each student," Professor Dumbledore carried on, "will have a scheduled time to meet with Madam Keepdown every month. Furthermore, you will meet with Madam and the rest of your year once a week at a regularly scheduled time."

"Bloody hell," sighed Peter, but he recoiled somewhat when Carlotta scowled at him.

"This could be really helpful," she pointed out, but the Marauders looked skeptical.

"And lastly," the headmaster said, "this year, Hogwarts will be hosting a crew of hit wizards from the Ministry of Magic. Over the last year, we have sporadically hosted such teams, but this year, the hit wizards shall maintain constant security over the school. I ask that you, the students respect them and their wishes while they remain here, for they do so for your own safety. Now, I have delayed your feast long enough." He smiled across the hall. "Welcome, all." Then, Dumbledore clapped his hands once. Carlotta did not need to look at her plate to know what appeared there.

(8:45 p.m.)

The Great Hall emptied and the Entrance Hall filled, as the students moved from one to the other, mixing at the bottleneck of the doors and then branching off into the groups of the four houses. The trip across the Entrance Hall was laborious, for Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, who were required to move in the same direction against the flows of the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. Carlotta stayed with the Marauders (sans Remus, who led the others of the house), though James would soon be required, as Head Boy, to depart with Lily for a meeting in Dumbledore's office.

The loud rumble of differing conversations and prefect-issued instructions (primarily directed at the first years) overcame all else, until, before Carlotta's crowd had traversed half the hall—one piercing shriek cut through the din.

"What was that?" Carlotta wondered at once, for her view of the source was impeded by other craning students.

James had already left her side, though, pushing his way through the crowd to see what had gone wrong. Carlotta followed—more successfully than the other Marauders, who were larger than she—and a small ring had already formed around the screamer and the other actors in the little drama.

"You _slag!_" cried Mary MacDonald (it was she that had shrieked), and to the onlookers' shock, it was to Shelley Mumps and that Ravenclaw, something Stebbins, that she spoke. "You—you—you—you were snogging _her?_"

"Mary, I..."

Stebbins' attempt at an explanation was thwarted, however.

"You lying cheating _slag!_" she reiterated. "And _YOU!_" (To Shelley), "Who the _hell _do you think you are?"

Shelley flushed red. Her pale hair was disheveled; she wore, Carlotta noted. her school skirt significantly shorter than in past years, and despite the weight loss, her jumper seemed tighter. It was a funny thing to notice at a time like this, but it was the very first thing that struck Carlotta, followed by the fact that Shelley's lipstick was rather smeared.

"Mary, I didn't..." Stebbins tried again, but it was obvious that, whatever his claim, he _did_. Traces of aforementioned smeared lipstick marked his face and collar.

Mary drew her wand. James moved to stoop any further trouble, but Donna Shacklebolt and Marlene Price already had it in hand. Marlene grabbed Mary's free wrist and Donna moved between the opposing groups one steadying hand held out.

"I can't believe you!" Mary shouted. Lily, who had been up ahead with Remus, could be seen pushing her way back down the marble staircase towards the disturbance. "Y-y-y-you and... _her_? Shelley Bloody _Mumps_? You have _got _go to be kidding me!"

"Mary, c'mon, let's..." Marlene attempted to coax her friend away, but Mary struggled against her restraints.

"You disgusting twat," Mary continued furiously. "Both of you! In the Entrance Hall! Oh my God, I can't even..." She looked ready to use her wand again.

Lily arrived and forcefully took hold of Mary.

"Mary, I... we..." Shelley stammered something, but whatever her defense, it was belied in the guilt painted clearly across her face and Stebbins's.

Lily had now moved her arm around Mary's shoulders, steering her back into the crowd and muttering something to her. Mary shouted a few more profanities, and everyone else had begun whispering too. James seemed to snap out of whatever confused trance had bound him, and he stepped forward, ordering everyone to return to their Common Room, perhaps with the authority of Head Boy, but more in his capacity as James Potter.

"Bloody hell," said Sirius to Peter, somewhere to Carlotta's left, as the crowd slowly resumed their paths; "I thought we were about to have another Entrance Hall brawl."

"Almost a tradition now," agreed Peter.

James continued to gesture people into their proper groups. Carlotta had lost sight of both Stebbins and Shelley, and she found herself knocked around as she strived to remain stationary and catch a glimpse. Shortness had its disadvantages. She was moved, by force of the crowd, closer to the marble stair, and there she surrendered, temporarily giving up the search and ascending.

At the top of the staircase, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, more organized now, separated into their separate queues, but Carlotta stepped out of her group. James was already jogging ahead—perhaps to Dumbledore's office—so Carlotta hung back, trying to see Shelley. The staircase cleared, and Carlotta was soon left alone. Or almost, anyway.

At the bottom of the marble staircase sat Shelley. The last of the Hufflepuffs disappeared, and Carlotta descended.

"Shelley..."

"Go away," retorted the other, and Carlotta flinched at the sharpness in her tone.

"Shelley, please. Are you alright?"

"Oh, a great mate, _you _are, Carlotta," Shelley snapped again, scowling over her shoulder as Carlotta reached the bottom step. "What do you even want?"

"What's wrong?" pressed the brunette earnestly. "Shelley, what's happened?"

"Nothing. Go away."

"I'm not going to go away. Tell me what happened. Did you...?"

"I don't want to talk about it," snapped Shelley, wiping her reddening eyes. "Oh, there goes the mascara..."

"Shelley..."

"Oh, just leave it, Carlotta. I don't want to talk now."

"But—but what Mary MacDonald just said..."

"Yes, it's true, now leave me alone."

"Shelley, you can talk to me..."

"I don't want to right now," said Shelley firmly. "I want to be left alone."

Slowly, Carlotta nodded, getting to her feet. "I'll go upstairs then..."

"Good."

"You'll be up soon? When—when you're ready?"

"Sure."

"Shelley..."

"Yes, I'll be up."

(9:20 p.m.)

"_THAT BASTARD! THAT SLAGGING, LYING, SHITE-SACK ARSEHOLE!"_

Mary was throwing shoes at the wall when Carlotta entered the seventh year girls' dormitory.

With a _smack_, one of Mary's trainers struck near Donna's bed.

"_THAT CHEATING SON OF A BITCH!"_

_SMACK_.

A loafer hit the space next to the window and fell behind the desk.

"_...AND WITH THAT FAT, UGLY POCKMARKED BINT!_"

Marlene looked helplessly on as a sandal nearly overturned one of the lamps. Donna was rearranging her unpacked dresser with little concern for the unfolding drama around her. At first, no one noticed Carlotta's entrance; then, Mary, in bending over to pick up the other trainer, caught sight of the new arrival and for a moment she calmed.

"Oh it's you... I thought it might have been your whore of a protégé."

"Mary, I know you don't want to hear this," sighed Marlene, coming to her friend's side, "but you need to calm down. You are going to ruin all of your shoes."

"I don't _care_," muttered Mary, but the trainer _thumped_ to the floor nonetheless. She stood there, in the center of the dormitory, clothed in her uniform, with her robes falling off one shoulder and a few tendrils of chocolate brown hair pulled loose from her half-tied arrangement. Her mascara had run a little, and she looked so... sad.

Mary MacDonald was a silly girl—Carlotta _knew_ this to be true. She was exactly the sort of girl that Carlotta avoided being herself, and so it was odd that she should feel such... such sympathy (empathy, perhaps) for this grieving little witch.

"What—what happened?" Carlotta asked, because she still wasn't sure that she knew. Mary at once hardened again.

"What _happened_?" she almost shouted, and Marlene sighed. "What _HAPPENED_? What happened is that I saw _your_ fucking whore of a mate finishing up a suppertime snog with _my fucking boyfriend!_ Oh _God..." _Mary covered her eyes with one hand and sat down on the floor. "Everyone _saw_... _everyone_... in the Entrance Hall... how _humiliating_..."

"Are—are you _sure?" _asked Carlotta; she didn't know why it bothered her so. She'd always thought Shelley could do with a little corruption. "I mean, are you sure they...?"

"Of course I'm fucking sure!" snapped Mary, getting to her feet again. "They were right bloody _there!_ And I—oh my _God_, everyone heard me... I was shouting... why didn't I at least get to hex her? Or _him_? Or _both_?"

Marlene patted Mary's back comfortingly.

"But maybe Shelley didn't _know_..." Carlotta began, and Mary looked ready to shout for a third time, only to be interrupted by the slamming of one of the drawers Donna had been rearranging.

"Are you _trying_ to get a shoe launched at your head, Meloni?" she asked pointedly, turning to face the others. And she had a point.

"Didn't know _what?"_ Mary ranted on._ "That I was dating Stebbins_? Of course she knew! How could she bloody not? We dated the whole end of last year! She was in the compartment this morning when..." Mary stopped suddenly.

"Stebbins wasn't in our compartment when Shelley was," Marlene pointed out, but Mary's mind was evidently elsewhere.

Then, she smiled and looked up at Carlotta.

"There's something you should know about your chum, Meloni," she began.

"Mary, don't..."

Marlene went ignored.

"She's going to try to sleep with James."

Carlotta blinked. "What?"

"She told us this morning."

"No, Shelley's... Shelley's fine with James and me dating..."

"Nope," said Mary, and Marlene once again protested futilely. "She told us in the train compartment this morning. She even has a plan."

"A—a plan?"

"Yep."

"What plan?"

"I don't know," said Mary. "I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out, though. You taught her everything she knows, right?"

Carlotta sat down on the edge of the bed that had been hers since first year; Mary seemed to have calmed down with this little revelation.

Marlene suggested to Mary that the two of them go up to Lily's room to talk, but Mary didn't want to talk. Marlene suggested they go to the kitchens, but Mary was full. Marlene suggested that Mary go to bed, but Mary couldn't possibly sleep. Mary suggested that she go to the Ravenclaw dormitories and tear Stebbins limb from limb, but Marlene didn't want to go to prison. In the end, Mary went to take a shower, and Marlene went downstairs to wait for Lily.

Donna finished her arrangement of the drawers and set about unpacking her books.

"Is it true what Mary said?" Carlotta asked faintly, when they were alone. "About Shelley?"

"It's none of my business," replied Donna, unconcerned. "It's none of Mary's business either, but Mary doesn't care about that sort of thing. I do. And I _don't_ want to be involved in this."

"Why would Mary say it if it's not true?"

"MacDonald's angry."

"So should I believe her?"

"I don't care. I suggest you believe whatever will cause the least amount of interference with my life and my ability to get full marks on my Ancient Runes N.E.W.T."

It was clear that Donna was not going to be terribly helpful, so Carlotta ceased her interrogation. Marlene returned only a few minutes after she had gone—Lily-less—but did not look much more in the mood for conversation and went directly to wash up in the loo. Anyway, Carlotta had already gone to Marlene for advice once today; twice would just be humiliating.

She waited for Mary to finish her shower or for Lily to return—whichever came first. Eventually, Donna picked up her own bath towel and went to take a shower, just as the sound of running water switched off. Unfortunately, before she had emerged, the dormitory door opened, admitting Shelley.

The blonde looked anxiously about. "Is she in here?"

Carlotta jumped up off the bed, unexpectedly nervous at the sight of Shelley, now dry-eyed. "She's..."

"Oh, there is no way that whoring _bitch_ is sleeping in here tonight."

Mary had returned. In her nightie and dressing gown, she stood on the threshold and glared at Shelley with unmitigated loathing.

Shelley looked hurt—actually, for a second, she looked as though she would cry again. She wasn't used to this.

"Mary, you can't kick Shelley out of the dormitory," Marlene pointed out, standing just behind her friend. "She'll have nowhere to sleep."

"She can try the Ravenclaw boys' dorms," snapped Mary. "Apparently, they're not very choosy."

"Mary..."

But Mary's eyes were fixed upon Shelley. "The thing that you don't understand about me, Shelley, is that, naturally, I'm not a nice person. I am one of those mean, popular bitches, who wants nothing more than to mock the girls who bite their nails and chew on their hair. Usually, I hold all of that in, because Lily makes me feel bad about it. But for you, I'm going to make an exception, clear? My advice to you is stay out of my line of vision, because—y'know... out of sight, out of mind, and... you do not want to be on my mind."

"I..."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mary once again interrupted. "Was there something you needed?"

"I didn't..."

At last, Lily returned, and not a moment too soon.

"Thank _Merlin_," sighed Marlene.

The Head Girl surveyed the scene in front of her. "What's going on?"

(10:00 p.m.)

Without knocking, Carlotta opened the door to the Head Boy's dormitory. James knelt on the floor, already in his night clothes, as he fumbled through his trunk for something. He looked up upon Carlotta's entrance and smiled, but there was something—something _just not right_ in his expression.

"Alright, Carlotta?"

Carlotta tried to match his smile, but it was weak. She sat down on the large bed and took in the room around her—the dark wood paneling, the large oak desk and wardrobe, the heavy window-hangings, like spun gold...

"What's wrong?" asked James, sensing something amiss.

"You didn't hear all of that?" replied Carlotta. "Shelley? Lily? The shouting in the dormitory?"

James shook his head. He got to his feet. "What happened?"

His girlfriend merely sighed, though it was comforting, at least, to know that _someone_ in Gryffindor tower had not heard all of that. She patted the space on the bed beside her. "Sit down? I have something to tell you..."

James did so, once again repeating his inquiry of, "What happened?"

"I lied to you," said Carlotta. _Merlin, he was handsome, her boyfriend_. "I said 'no lies,' but the fact of it is that I'd already told you one."

James did not seem to understand.

"...I said that Shelley didn't hate you, because she didn't actually have an opinion on you one way or the other. Do you remember?"

"Er... I suppose so..."

"It's not true." And the rest came spilling out in half-broken sentences, inexpressible concepts and feelings that words failed to convey: everything—Shelley's old crush, Carlotta's own mixed feelings, her ex-best-mate's strange behavior on the train, what had happened (_some_ of what happened) in the dormitory just now... and when she was finished, Carlotta folded her hands on her lap and waited for the response.

"Well..." said James at length; he sounded as though he'd been hit in the back of the head with a beater's bat. This was obviously a bit for him to analyze. "I suppose that explains a few things..."

Carlotta looked up at him. "What things?"

"Well..." her boyfriend began again. "Just... unexpected reactions, I guess."

Unexpected reactions? Who had an unexpected reaction? Sirius, perhaps... not Lily... her apathy was hardly explained by the Shelley situation...

"Never mind it," said James, and he scooted back on the bed to sit with his back against the headboard. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know," Carlotta replied, still seated at the edge of the bed. "I thought... that is, I _knew_ you wouldn't... you wouldn't want to get mixed up in all of this." She hesitated a long moment, before asking the critical question: "Do you want to break up?"

"No," said James—there was neither shock nor dismay in the tone of his reply, however; he was entirely matter-of-fact. "But I don't want you to lose your best mate over me either."

Carlotta thought she might cry. She shook her head and dropped her gaze. "Unless, in the event of our breakup, you're planning on seeing Shelley, it's not going to make a difference for _her_."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." She spoke very plainly, "I've already lost my best mate." James tried to argue, but Carlotta cut him off: "No, listen—I _know_. It's done. But that's not really the issue... do you—do you want to break up because... because of what _I've_ done?"

"No," replied James, in the exact same manner as before. "I don't _want _to. But—I'm just not sure what—what I can do that doesn't end with me being a complete git."

"That's my fault, isn't it?" He didn't answer; she interpreted his silence as an affirmative, and wondered why she felt as though she were going to cry again. "It's alright. What was it? Three weeks? Not actually a bad run... might be a record for me, I don't know..."

"Carlotta."

"What?"

James sighed. He waved for Carlotta to come join him, and she climbed closer, seating herself beside him at the top of the bed and resting her head upon his shoulder. "We'll figure something out," he said. "I don't know _what_ we'll figure out, but... we'll do _something_."

* * *

Much later, when Carlotta had borrowed pajamas from James, and he had at last drifted to sleep beside her, she lay awake, staring at the wall of the dark dormitory. She wasn't even close to being tired.

There was a small, vindictive part of Carlotta that she did not like to admit to (or give in to) that reveled in the capturing of James Potter. It was the same part of her that had wanted to see Alice Griffiths defeated and had been sorely injured when Frank had rejected her. And now, it took pride in having James want her, when the only one he had ever really seemed to want was Lily Evans (it had been so easy). It took pride in the fact that he—who had seemed distant and unattainable to Shelley—was _hers_.

But that was only a little piece of Carlotta, and she was ashamed of it, even when it drove her actions.

Mainly what Carlotta felt just then was fear. Shelley was pretty now _and_ driven, and Carlotta knew all too well what that combination might mean for a boyfriend. But, if she were being completely honest with herself, Carlotta knew that there was more to it than that.

_Why him? Why James Potter_.

Truthfully, James was Head Boy now, and it was not of Shelley that Carlotta was afraid.

* * *

**Part II: Mary**

**"Never a Good Reason"**

Mary MacDonald walked assertively across Platform Nine and Three Quarters, head held high and a smile on her perfectly painted red lips. The familiar, painful twinge of nostalgia struck her only briefly at the sight of the Hogwarts Express, and then, with the force of all her happy anticipations for the term, she shoved aside her sadness at the knowledge that this was, indeed, her final first day of school.

To be in love, even superficially, on the first day of school, is a wonderful thing indeed.

She wore a cute little sundress, blue and quite short, but it adored her summer tanned skin, and everyone was looking at her in just the right way—not too much, but just enough to let it be known that Mary Elizabeth MacDonald looked _good_.

"'Morning, Lily!" the brunette said to her friend, as she skipped past; "See you on the train, shall I?" But Mary did not wait for Lily's reply; she hurried on by, and eventually located a burly sixth year to help her load her trunk. While he did so, Mary was nearly knocked over by a third year, skipping by and chanting in a rather annoying sing-song voice, "_Welcome, welcome to another year at Hogwarts!_"

Mary rolled her eyes. "Children. _Honestly_."

Her friends always sat on the same car for simplicity sake, so locating Marlene and Donna aboard the train was of little difficulty. She squeezed through the corridors, nodding and smiling at those she knew and ignoring the rest.

"Mary!" greeted Sabrina Barbery, a Ravenclaw in their year, as she passed. "How are you? How was your holiday?"

"Oh, fantastic. I got such a tan! You?"

"Wonderful. Still dating Stebbins?"

"All summer, yes."

"_So_ lucky. He's _dreamy_."

"I _know_," replied Mary, and they both giggled.

"Well, we'll have to catch up soon," said Sabrina lightly. "So much to tell! Oh, did you hear?" She leaned confidentially forward. "Carlotta Meloni and James Potter."

"No _way_..."

Sabrina nodded, pleased to have been the one to relate the news. "I had it straight from Valerie Turpin."

"I bet _she_ was furious."

"Oh, everyone knows Val's insanely jealous of everything Carlotta does, and anyway I think she fancies James."

"Who doesn't, these days? When did this all happen though? I saw James a few days ago, and he didn't say a word."

Sabrina shrugged. "No idea. Val was sparing with the details."

"She wouldn't want to think about it too much."

Sabrina laughed politely. There was a pause, as she waited for the inevitable reciprocation of gossip. Sabrina had given her contribution, and now it was Mary's turn.

"Well, you _know_ Adam McKinnon and Prudence Daly are going out, I'm sure."

"Prudence? Merlin, I had no idea! When?"

"His sister married her—second cousin or something. They got together at the wedding."

"No _way_. Wow—wait until Sheryll hears... what did Marlene Price say?"

Mary hesitated. "Marlene?"

"Sure, didn't Marlene and Adam date?"

"No, they were only mates."

"Blokes aren't mates with girls for _that_ long unless their getting _something_ on the side. They probably snogged a little... or maybe she does _other kinds_ of favors..."

"No, she _didn't_," said Mary firmly. "They were _just friends_."

Sabrina shrugged. "Whatever you say. You would know better than I. But, honestly, Prudence and Adam? I can't believe I never thought of it before. They'll be _adorable_... Oh, and did you hear about Clancy Goshawk and Charlie Plex?"

"Them too?" asked Mary. "Busy summer, I guess. How did it happen?"

"One of his brother's parties I expect," said Sabrina, waving her hand airily. "How do these things ever happen?"

"Bit of a shock, considering Clancy's so clean cut. The girl doesn't even drink, does she?"

"And she's a prefect," agreed Sabrina sagely. "Anyway, I'd better go. I'm supposed to meet Sheryll. We'll catch up soon?"

"Of course."

Then, they went their separate ways, and Mary found her friends' compartment. It was occupied not only by Marlene and Donna, however, but a younger witch as well, whom Mary guessed to be Donna's sister.

"I thought you were sitting with your boyfriend," said Marlene curiously, as Mary took a seat beside her.

"I am—but not for a little while yet. How are you, then?"

"Oh just grand," said Marlene sarcastically.

"Wonderful," said Donna, in a similarly sardonic tone. "Oh, this is Bridget, by the way," she added, gesturing towards her sister. "I don't suppose you two have ever met. Bridget, Mary; Mary, Bridget."

"Lovely to meet you," said Mary, smiling brightly; "First year, are you?"

Bridget nodded.

"What house do you want to be in?" asked Marlene.

"Well..."

"It's no use, Bridge," Donna interrupted. "You'll have to be a Gryffindor. If you were a year younger, you could be anything you like, but I don't want to have to play against your house in Quidditch."

"Well, if it's good enough for Kingsley and you," said Bridget shrugging; "I can't argue too much."

"Donna was supposed to be a Ravenclaw," Marlene told her. "We think it might have been the Sorting Hat's sole error."

"Don't corrupt my sister," scolded Donna. "Silencio, Price."

Lily entered the compartment a moment later.

"Good morning, again," said Marlene. "Did you get your fill of fresh air on the platform?"

"Oh, yes, it was lovely," muttered Lily unconvincingly; she sat down beside Marlene and folded her arms.

"Is—something wrong?" asked Mary, confused. It was unlike Lily to be sullen, especially on the first day of school.

"Oh, no, everything's fucking fantast... hello, Bridget."

Donna glared at the redhead.

"Sorry," Lily apologized; she looked out the window at the stationary scene of the platform and watched the passersby in silence.

"What is _wrong_ with everyone today?" Mary wanted to know.

"What are you talking about?" replied Lily dully. "I'm _unfathomably_ cheerful right now."

"Obviously," said Donna.

"Well," began Bridget. "This is fun, but I'm supposed to meet Millie Bones at the end of the car..."

Donna scowled. "How do you already have friends?"

"I grew up with Millie, Donna."

"Did you? Honestly? Oh. Oi—hang on a minute, I'll take you there... make sure you don't get lost..."

"Donna, I'm _fine_... bye, everyone. It was nice to meet you, Mary."

Donna, nonetheless, followed her younger sister into the corridor.

"Protective Donna," mused Marlene. "This should be fun."

Donna returned, and when the train began to pull away from the station, Mary decided to share the bit of gossip she had obtained in the corridor.

"James Potter is dating Carlotta," she said, locating the blue nail varnish from her handbag and beginning to touch up a few chips on her otherwise impeccable manicure. "Sabrina Barbery just told me."

"Wait, since _when_?" asked Marlene, surprised. "He didn't mention it last week! Did he say anything to you about it, Lily?"

Lily had located what looked like her Hogwarts letter and was now reading over it. She shook her head. "He didn't say mention it to me."

"Some people don't feel the need to obsess over their love lives to every single person they encounter," observed Donna, with a meaningful look at Mary, who stuck out her tongue in response. Donna merely shrugged and picked up the Ancient Runes text she had brought along.

"It's still strange," said Marlene; she seemed the most perturbed by the matter, and she kept looking at Lily. Even Mary had to find it a bit odd that Lily's reaction was non-existent. Whether or not Lily had ever reciprocated any of James's feelings for her—and Mary could never decide what _she_ believed on that matter—she ought to have _some_ opinion. Sabrina's newest slice of information occurred to Mary, and she felt compelled to add: "Oh, Marlene, you'll have to be careful. Sabrina already asked me about your reaction to the news of Adam and Prudence. She thinks you two dated."

"Oh _God_. How does _she_ already know about them?"

"Sabrina Barbery knows about that sort of thing before anyone else... it's her defining characteristic."

Marlene raised her eyebrows.

"...And I might have told her."

"Nice."

"It's not as though she wouldn't find out on her own..."

"I know, but..."

"Hello everyone," interrupted someone knew, standing in the open doorway of the compartment. A blonde had entered; she wore a wool polo neck dress, yellow, that did not quite meet the middle of her thighs. She was curvy and cute, and Mary didn't recognize her, oddly enough, as she looked to be about their age.

"Hello, Shelley," greeted Donna, barely looking up from her Ancient Runes book. Everyone else, on the other hand, was staring at the new arrival—who was, indeed, Michelle Mumps—in shock.

"Sh-_Shelley_?" asked Marlene, still uncertain.

This seemed to be the reaction that Shelley had rather been hoping for. She sat down on the seat beside Donna, beaming from ear to ear—a smile quite unlike the awkward, yellowing one of two months prior.

"You look... adorable," Mary managed to articulate through her shock.

"Not that you didn't before," Lily covered hastily.

"_Eh_," said Donna, shrugging. Lily kicked her.

"It's alright," replied Shelley, and it was not just about twenty-five pounds and a good tooth-correction charm that had effected such a change; she sat straighter on the bench, and her tone of voice was more relaxed. "Marlene, your hair looks _precious_."

"Er... thanks," said Marlene, distracted. "Going back—what _happened?"_

"Diet, exercise, and someone telling you what to wear?" suggested Donna.

"A bit of that, yes," chirped Shelley. "And this _fabulous_ potion, which I'll have to tell you all about later. I recommend it to all of you—it's _amazing_." (Mary was most certainly not the only one to raise her eyebrows at that comment... actually, Donna, who was still mostly absorbed in her Ancient Runes text, was the only one in the compartment that did not). "Brilliant. Anyway, I'm not allowed to eat anything that's sweet, salty, or the color brown, but other than that, it's _brilliant_. I got ever so tan and even had a few sessions with a psych-healer..."

"Trendy," noted Mary, and Shelley nodded vigorously. She then sighed and leaned back in her seat.

"My whole outlook has changed," she told them.

"Well—that's... good, I suppose," said Lily, for the others were silent. "I mean... you sound... happy?"

"I _am_ happy," Shelley gushed. "I've snogged more boys in the last two weeks then in my whole life."

Mary and Marlene exchanged looks.

"Lovely," said Donna dryly, not looking up from her book. Shelley raised her eyebrows.

"Well, Donna. How was _your_ summer. You—look pretty much the same?"

"Do I?" asked Donna. She set aside her book. "Well that's funny, because, actually, I spent the summer working in a pub to support my brothers and sister, I read all four volumes of Waffling's Magical Theory, finished the books on the list for next term, completed my homework before August, helped Mary with hers, and ordered around a well-respected auror. And, I'm sorry, you got a tan, did you say?" Shelley had no immediate response for that, until Donna returned to her book, muttering, "Wonderful. Carlotta Meloni, Volume Two."

Shelley's smile vanished at once. "I suppose you've heard," she said darkly, now addressing the whole compartment. "Sabrina Barbery was out in the corridor telling anyone who would listen, and... oh, Marlene, she mentioned Adam and Prudence Daly, too—are you alright?" She almost sounded like the old Shelley for a moment.

"Adam and I never dated," said Marlene stiffly.

"Really? I thought for certain... oh, well... anyway, James and Carlotta. Dating. Did you hear?"

"Y-yes," began Mary. "We just heard. Are you okay?"

"Well, I am _now_," Shelley replied. "I wasn't when I first found out. Carlotta wrote me as soon as they got together... a few weeks ago. They were on holiday in the same town, apparently."

"Just like Frank!" said Marlene, with another significant look to an apparently oblivious Lily.

"Carlotta wrote the whole thing to me in a letter, shameless as ever," Michelle continued. "I cried for about two days straight. I ate all sorts of salt and sugar and at least half a dozen brown things—it was awful."

"And then what?" asked Lily.

Shelley shrugged. "I got out of bed, bought a bit more of that potion I mentioned, got some new clothes and a tan. Isn't it nice?"

"Very nice," Mary admitted.

"I'm still darker," said Donna, and Lily smothered a giggle.

Mary frowned. "And now—now you're not upset about it?"

"_Upset_? Well... maybe not _upset_. I don't have any reason to be upset." She smiled again, with just a hint of mischief in the expression this time. "I've got a plan, you know."

"A plan?" chorused Lily and Marlene.

"Mhm." She seemed quite pleased with herself. "If Carlotta taught me _anything_, it's how to catch a boy who has a girlfriend."

"Well, this is lovely," said Lily, some time later when Shelley had departed once again. "Now I get to try and face James Potter in the Head meeting. Brilliant. Bloody fantastic."

"I'm worried for her," said Marlene. "Shelley, that is. She seems... different."

"And the Most Obvious award goes to..." Donna muttered.

"You know," Mary remarked, "I think you're right. It's not just the hair and the tan and the white eyeliner..."

"Confidence isn't a bad thing," Lily pointed out.

"That's not confidence," said Donna. "It's just a different kind of insecure. She may have dropped a few pounds and bleached her hair, but she's still Shelley Mumps. People don't change."

"They do sometimes," argued Lily.

"Not substantially."

"Sure they do."

"Nope. You wait and see... she'll seem really different for a while, but it will all wear away quickly enough. Same Shelley, sluttier clothes."

(12:30 p.m.)

Around noon, Donna and Marlene were sent out together in search of the food trolley, which had stopped by an hour previously but was now, at lunch time, more desperately sought after. Yet it was only Donna who returned.

"She's gone to sit with Prudence Daly," explained the witch, unwrapping a Pumpkin Pasty and shrugging off the information as though it were a comment on the weather.

"Prudence _Daly_?" marveled Lily and Mary in unison, and the latter added: "Whatever for?"

"_I_ don't know. Prudence invited her. Very energetic, that one... like a Hufflepuff more than a Ravenclaw. I bet she _hugs_ people. She seems the hugging type. Anyway..." She dropped a few trolley items onto a vacant seat, "there's your food. Enjoy it. I'm off."

"Off where?" asked Lily.

"To sit with Bridget."

"Bridget doesn't want you to sit with her," Lily advised.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"How could you possibly _not_ know that?"

Donna looked indignant. "I'm going," she insisted, and without further regard for the wisdom imparted to her, she left.

"Poor Bridget," remarked Mary. Lily smiled weakly and then returned to the book she had been reading, unwrapping a chocolate frog in the process. Mary sighed. "Are you sure you're alright, Lily?"

"Me? Oh yes, I'm fine."

"You're _certain_?"

"I don't know what you're talking about Mary. I'm perfectly fine."

Mary was not entirely convinced, but she was just swayed enough that her guilt at having agreed to meet up with Stebbins at this time was mostly assuaged.

"Go right head," said Lily, when Mary introduced this idea to her. "I'm quite alright by myself."

"If you're sure..."

Lily waved her off, and Mary departed to find Stebbins.

* * *

The loo on car three of the Hogwarts Express was _not_ made to fit more than one person. On the contrary, it was almost certainly designed so that only one person could fit in there with any degree of convenience. Mary MacDonald did not view this as a warning that two was a crowd, however; rather, she thought of it more as a challenge.

Stebbins had accidently turned the tap on a handful of times, and Mary's knickers seemed to be missing, but other than that, the experience was well worth the few bruises earned in the process. Well, probably.

Mostly.

Well, okay, he wasn't _phenomenal_. But she'd had much worse... oh, without a doubt: _much _worse. As for _phenomenal_: well, she'd only really had _phenomenal _maybe once. She supposed that to be the exception rather than the rule.

(What Mary did _not_ know was that even her definition of "phenomenal" was rather impaired, relatively speaking, due to adolescent inexperience.)

Stebbins was fiddling with his belt—trying to refasten it—and Mary sat on the sink, light headed (mostly because she hadn't eaten, but maybe for other reasons, too) and blissful.

When he was all together again, Stebbins returned his focus to Mary; he smiled charmingly at her and gave her a quick peck on the lips.

"I love you, Mary."

"I love you," she replied, grinning. And she really thought as much, too.

He was cute and charming and cheesy and a good (for argument's sake) shag. What else could she possibly want in a boyfriend, really?

"Shall we leave together?" Stebbins asked, brushing kisses across her lips.

"Mmmm, no... you go out now. I'll be out in a bit."

Stebbins nodded. He opened the door to the corridor just enough to check that the coast was clear, and it must have been, because—with a final smirk at Mary—he stepped out. Mary locked the door and at once turned to the mirror.

Like a professional, she pulled a compact from her pocket and powdered her nose and cheeks again. She wet her finger in the tap and cleaned up any mascara that had strayed underneath her eyes, and she had her hair rearranged to perfection in less than a minute. At wand point, she cleaned off her dress. located her knickers, and adjusted her outfit, so that in under five minutes, she no longer looked as though she'd just had sex in the loo on car three of the Hogwarts Express at all.

Smiling, Mary unlocked the door again and followed Stebbins' steps into the hallway.

(7:00 p.m.)

The whistle blew, and the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade station. At once, the entire train seemed to explode with activity. Mary, who on returning to her compartment after an afternoon spent with Stebbins, had found it rather deserted, and she had spent the subsequent hours with Sabrina Barbery and company. They weren't a bad lot, either, although Mary never felt particularly... well... _challenged_ among them.

Mary queued up in the corridor with the others, chatting with a girl named Sheryll about the latest dish on Sirius Black, but, when they at last moved through the traffic and onto the platform, she changed her focus to locate either one of her closer mates or her boyfriend.

Neither Marlene or Lily (or Donna, for that matter) nor Stebbins could be located however, and the other students were moving fast towards the thestral-driven carriages that would bare them up to Hogwarts. Rather than be stuck in a carriage with a few random third years or something, she quickly reserved for herself a spot in Sabrina Barbery's carriage and then continued to keep an eye out for someone better.

She had no luck, however, and ended up riding to the carriage with Sabrina's friends.

When the carriage at last came to a stop, Mary finally _did _locate one of her dorm-mates, although it was Donna. Still, Mary bid farewell to the others and skipped off to walk with Miss Shacklebolt towards the castle.

"Where are Lily and Marlene?"

"No idea," said Donna. "I was changing in the loo when we arrived. We were separated."

"Oh... and I don't suppose you've seen Stebbins, have you?"

"Who?"

"_Stebbins_. My _boyfriend_."

"Oh, him. No, I haven't seen him."

The second through seventh years were guided through the well remembered Entrance Hall and into the Great Hall, which was alight with hundreds of glowing, levitating candlesticks, and a sky-like ceiling, rich with countless stars. Mary breathed in the scents of the hall and realized how much she had missed this place in the last months.

She sat down at Gryffindor table with Donna, and the two were soon joined by their other two companions. Professor Dumbledore sat at the center of the staff table, and Mary marveled that, a year earlier, she had sat at Gryffindor table just as she did now and noted Professor Black for the first time. It seemed centuries ago.

Another wizard had taken Black's seat, and there was a frizzy-haired witch that Mary did not recognize present, too, but the others were all wonderfully familiar.

Professor McGonagall, who had gone to fetch the first years, now returned, leading a queue of nervous eleven-year-olds toward the front of the Great Hall. They all glanced about in wonder, some whispering, and some too awestruck to speak at all. Mary remembered falling squarely into the former category during _her_ sorting.

McGonagall disappeared into the little room behind the staff table and then reappeared with a stool, a scroll, and the Sorting Hat. Some of the first years eyed the hat anxiously, while others seemed to already know what was coming. And yet, they all received a bit of a shock, when McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat down upon the stool, a rip opened near the rim, and the hat began to sing.

(8:45 p.m.)

Supper let out early. The Welcoming Feast usually lasted longer than an hour, but, for whatever reason, that evening—September 1st, 1976—everyone finished early and was on their way after one glorious hour of feasting.

Tired and full, the students made their way into the Entrance Hall.

Mary walked with Marlene and Donna, and Lily walked part of the way with them, before she jogged ahead to lead the way to the Common Room with Remus Lupin. The funny part—and it wasn't actually _funny_ so much as interesting—was that if Mary had gone ahead and walked with Lily, or if she had left the Great Hall two minutes later, she might not have seen what she saw as she approached the staircase with her friends.

What she saw was this: emerging from the left side of the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall, walking in a sort of zigzagged manner, so that they occasionally brushed hands, and appearing several shades of disheveled were Shelley Mumps, Mary's roommate, and Stebbins, Mary's boyfriend.

For a split second, her brain actually registered the cheerful acknowledgment: "_Oh, _there _he is. He's alright after all_..." before her brain registered several other things.

For instance, she noticed the fact that Shelley's coral lipstick was on the both of them, and that the moment they stepped into the light of the Entrance Hall, they both froze, for the Hall was either far more or far less full than they had been expecting, so that their own arrival was made unexpectedly noticeable. She noticed that Stebbins spotted Mary first, and his expression sobered at once, the smile fading from his lips before it had faded from Shelley's by several seconds. She noticed that, as the pair realized what had just happened, each seemed to retreat into him or herself. Their hands no longer brushed; they did not touch.

They looked guilty and blushed.

Mary noticed all of this. It was another split second before she understood it.

And _then_ she shrieked.

(9:20 p.m.)

"_THAT BASTARD! THAT SLAGGING, LYING, SHITE-SACK ARSEHOLE!"_

_He'd been saying he loved her only hours ago._

"_THAT CHEATING SON OF A BITCH!"_

_She'd said it back_.

"_...AND WITH THAT FAT, UGLY POCKMARKED BINT!_"

_He'd snogged—possibly shagged, for all Mary knew—Shelley... for no reason at all, just because he could_...

Carlotta entered the dormitory, and Mary paused in her throwing of her shoes. "Oh it's you... I thought it might have been your whore of a protégé."

Carlotta remained confused as to what, exactly had happened, and Mary explained it in simplest terms. She let the pure anger and hatred she now channeled towards Shelley Mumps permeate her voice and her words, and she didn't want to throw these shoes, she wanted to light them on fire.

"Are—are you _sure?" _asked Carlotta eventually. "I mean, are you sure they...?"

"Of course I'm fucking sure! They were right bloody _there!_ And I—oh my _God_, everyone heard me... I was shouting... why didn't I at least get to hex her? Or _him_? Or _both_?"

Carlotta tried other rationalizations that did nothing but annoy Mary, and she was halfway through explaining that Shelley _must _have known about Stebbins, when she remembered something. She remembered Shelley's flippant remarks in the train compartment that morning.

"There's something you should know about your chum, Meloni," she began. She could feel herself smiling and hear herself talking, but they both seemed to be actions of another individual.

But it was brilliant, and it was perfect.

"Mary, don't..."

"She's going to try to sleep with James," said Mary.

Carlotta blinked. "What?"

"She told us this morning."

"No, Shelley's... Shelley's fine with James and me dating..."

"Nope," said Mary, still ignoring Marlene. "She told us in the train compartment this morning. She even has a plan."

"A—a plan?"

"Yep."

"What plan?"

"I don't know," said Mary. "I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out, though. You taught her everything she knows, right?"

Carlotta sat down, as though standing had just become quite difficult. Mary felt a surge of vindictive pleasure, and Marlene and Donna both looked a little anxious. Donna resumed her chores, and Marlene resumed her nannying.

* * *

"Oh, there is no way that whoring _bitch_ is sleeping in here tonight," barked Mary.

Shelley turned red, and her hair—no longer so perfectly styled—fell in front of her face as she dropped her gaze to the floor... she was ashamed and embarrassed and hurt. She wasn't used to this. She wasn't Carlotta—even if she had known the consequences, she hadn't understood them.

Mary couldn't care less.

"Mary, you can't kick Shelley out of the dormitory," Marlene pointed out. "She'll have nowhere to sleep."

"She can try the Ravenclaw boys' dorms. Apparently, they're not very choosy."

"Mary..."

But Mary's eyes were fixed upon Shelley. "The thing that you don't understand about me, Shelley, is that, naturally, I'm not a nice person. I am one of those mean, popular bitches, who wants nothing more than to mock the girls who bite their nails and chew on their hair. Usually, I hold all of that in, because Lily makes me feel bad about it. But for you, I'm going to make an exception, clear? My advice to you is stay out of my line of vision, because—y'know... out of sight, out of mind, and... you do not want to be on my mind."

"I..."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mary once again interrupted. "Was there something you needed?"

"I didn't..."

"Thank _Merlin_," sighed Marlene suddenly, but it was a second before Mary realized why. Lily had entered the room, returning from her Head Girl meeting, probably.

"What's going on?" she asked, moving further inside the room.

"Nothing," replied Mary authoritatively. "Shelley was just on her way out."

If it were not for Lily, Shelley would honestly have gone, too. She would quite probably have ended up on the sofa in the Common Room.

"No, Shell, ignore her," said the Head Girl, putting her arm around Mary's shoulders as she spoke to Mary's opponent. "C'mon, I've got a room all to myself, Mare. We'll have a... sleepover or something."

Mary did not remove her eyes from Shelley, but, eventually she relented.

"The door's open," Lily called after them; "I'll be along in a minute."

* * *

And, eventually, they were all up in Lily's dormitory... well, not all of them, but Lily, Marlene, Mary, and Donna all sat on the Head Girl's bed, a bottle of firewhiskey passing between them.

"There's a definite possibility we drink too much," remarked Marlene dismally.

"Or not enough," said Mary, taking a swig of firewhiskey. She passed the bottle to Donna.

"So, what do you lot you think?" asked Donna; she looked down into the bottle reflectively. "Worst day ever?"

Marlene dropped her head onto Lily's shoulder. "Worst day ever," murmured the blonde.

Mary sighed. The firewhiskey still burned her throat—she really needed a chaser—and even the alcohol induced lightheadedness did not lift the anger and guilt and grief that had settled in the pit of her stomach.

He had said he loved her, and she had said it back.

"Worst day ever," she agreed.

* * *

**Part III: Donna**

**"Ghost of Christmas Past"**

"Hold my hand."

"I'm not going to hold your hand."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm eleven years old, and it's ridiculous."

Donna scowled at her younger sister, who looked—half defiantly, half amusedly—up at the older witch.

"Anyway," Bridget Shacklebolt continued, "I have to push the trolley. C'mon, Donna—I can't very well get kidnapped with you hovering right there."

"Fine," Donna relented. "But only because I wouldn't be able to push my own trunk without both hands. You go first."

And so, with all due caution, Bridget stepped through the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. Donna followed.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters buzzed with students and parents alike, and Donna nearly toppled into a second year as she passed through the barrier. Bridget giggled, and it took all of Donna's self-restraint not to curse. When she had regained her footing, Donna pushed her trolley to where her younger sister awaited her.

"Never be _that_ child," she warned. "Children like that get hexed."

The two Shacklebolts wove their way through the maze of people towards the train, pausing only as Donna spotted Lily on a bench.

"What in Merlin's name is she doing sitting about?" Donna wondered impatiently. "She's going to miss the train. Daydreaming, I expect."

Bridget rolled her eyes, but Donna pretended not to notice, and they approached Lily, who did, indeed, seem to be daydreaming as she sat on the bench, humming almost imperceptibly in the din.

"C'mon, then," Donna said to her friend, skipping formalities. "I'll go find a compartment."

Lily, too, rolled her eyes, but she must have been as accustomed to Donna's way of talking as Bridget, for she replied with relative patience: "Alright, alright. I'll be along in a minute."

Donna nodded and then indicated for Bridget to follow her towards the first car.

A younger student (Donna didn't know how old... all first through fourth years looked roughly the same to her: short) was skipping about the platform, loudly chanting welcomes to everyone. Donna nearly knocked her over with her trunk. Unperturbed, the girl skipped away, and Donna glared after her.

"Don't be _that_ child either."

* * *

Donna located a Marlene occupied compartment before she found an empty one, and so she sat down there, knowing that it would be Lily's preference.

"Wow, Bridget," marveled Marlene, "you've gotten so big."

"You haven't seen her since she was eight," Donna pointed out, dealing with her sister's trunk. "Of course she's grown."

"I _know_, but it's still a shock." She smiled at the younger witch—a much nicer smile than Marlene ever spared for Donna. "Are you excited to start school?"

Bridget nodded enthusiastically. "I can't wait."

Donna sat down, and her sister followed suit.

"Alright, Donna?" said Marlene. "It's been—what? All of a week? How was your last day at the pub?"

"Fine."

Marlene smiled slyly. "Anyone interesting drop by?"

Donna glared; "You've been talking to Black."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, shut up."

Marlene looked smug.

"Seen much of Adam yet?" asked Donna pointedly, and Marlene's expression fell.

"Funny," she said coolly, and her mood remained foul until Mary joined them, followed shortly by Lily.

"Did you get your fill of fresh air on the platform?" asked Marlene of the latter, as the Head Girl took a seat.

"Oh, yes, it was lovely." But even Donna caught the bitterness in her voice.

"Is—something wrong?" asked Mary.

"Oh, no, everything's fucking fantast..." Lily caught sight of the younger witch and broke off. "Hello, Bridget. Sorry..." she added to Donna.

"What is _wrong _with everyone today?" asked Mary, who—besides Bridget—seemed the only positive person there.

"What are you talking about? I'm _unfathomably _cheerful right now," deadpanned Lily.

"Obviously."

Bridget cleared her throat. "Well, this is fun, but I'm supposed to meet Millie Bones at the end of the car..."

"How do you already have friends?" marveled Donna. _She_, after all, hadn't had proper friends till... well... rather later than the first day of school.

"I grew up with Millie, Donna."

"Did you? Honestly? Oi, hang on a minute..." Bridget was starting for the door, and Donna got to her feet, "I'll take you there—make sure you don't get lost..."

She ignored Bridget's protests and followed her out into the corridor.

"Honestly, Donna," insisted the younger girl, as the pair pushed their way through the crowded walkway. "I'm eleven years old. I'm quite able to take care of myself."

"Aren't you... nervous?" asked Donna, surprised. "I was..." (bloody frantic) "...a bit anxious on my first day."

"Of course I'm nervous," Bridget replied, smiling over her shoulder. "I've got butterflies, and I think I'm going to faint every time I think about the Sorting. But it's exciting, too. It's... fun."

"You—you haven't had a lot of fun, I suppose, have you?" asked Donna softly.

Bridget didn't seem to understand the question, but she spotted her friend—a large-nosed, bushy-haired girl, whom Donna hoped was quite smart. "Oh, look, there's Millie!"

(12:00 p.m.)

Around noon, Donna and Marlene half volunteered to go find the food trolley and bring back snacks for the others. The first car, though crowded, brought them no success, and so they moved on to the next, bickering out of habit as they went about nothing in particular, until on the third car, by some unfortunate twist of fate, they ran into the very last people that Donna wanted to see: a group of Ravenclaws that, unfortunately, included Charlie Plex.

They were loitering about in the cramped corridor, and Marlene only sidestepped them with difficulty. Before Donna could do so, however, Charlie impeded her path.

"_Move_," she snapped.

"You didn't write all summer," replied Charlie, ignoring her command. "Didn't you miss me at all?"

His friends—there were two—chuckled.

"Why would I miss you?" retorted Donna. "You tried to get me in trouble with your girlfriend and landed yourself in the hospital wing with tentacles. Stupidity isn't a very attractive trait, Plex. How _is _dear Cassidy, incidentally? I hear her dumping of you was fairly entertaining..."

Charlie scowled.

"I've got a new girlfriend, actually," he told her coolly. "She's a much better shag than you ever were..."

Marlene laughed loudly, and the Ravenclaws and Donna looked at her. "What?" asked the blonde, scoffing. "I heard you're dating _Clancy Goshawk. _The girl wears her school uniform on _Sundays_. There's no way she's shagging _you_. You probably haven't even gotten to touch her below the shoulders."

Charlie looked as though he'd been slapped, and Marlene took the opportunity to grab the collar of his robes and pull him out of Donna's path. She stepped by, and the pair tried to make a hasty exit, before Charlie could regain his composure. They had no such luck.

"I saw you with your sister on the platform!" Charlie called after them. He touched on a nerve, and he must have guessed it when Donna hesitated.

"Please, let's just go," Marlene begged, but Donna was frozen.

"She's a cute little thing, isn't she?" Charlie continued. "I hope she lands in Ravenclaw—I'm sure we'll have loads to chat about!"

Donna turned on her heel. "If you so much as _speak _to her..."

"You'll what?" taunted the Ravenclaw, but Donna's fury superseded her will to put him in his place. "Y'know, I don't know why everyone's so afraid of you, Shacklebolt. Your threats are all idle. Tell me, does she know what an easy shag her older sis is?"

Donna made for her wand, but Marlene grabbed her arm.

"He's all talk," she said seriously. "And he's not worth it." Still, Marlene had to practically drag Donna onto the next car, at the end of which, the desired trolley was located. Donna had lost her appetite.

"He had better stay away from Bridget," muttered Donna, more to herself than her companion.

"He will," said Marlene. "And if he doesn't, we'll kill him, alright?"

That sounded about right to Donna. They joined the queue for the food trolley, but Marlene's reassurances did nothing to assuage the newborn doubts within Donna. When someone else joined the little crowd and spoke to Marlene, for a moment, Donna thought it might have been Charlie again, but, fortunately, it was only Adam McKinnon. He was accompanied by a tiny Indian girl, who must have been his new girlfriend, and Donna paid no attention to the pleasantries exchanged between the three of them.

What would Charlie Plex say to Bridget, given the opportunity? If she ended up in his house, would he make her life hell? Would he tease her? Would he tell her all about his "relationship" with Donna the previous year? Even if he didn't, it was quite possible that she would find out eventually—probable, even, the way people at the school talked...

"Hi, Shack," Adam politely greeted her eventually.

Donna nodded in reply, but the expectant silence that ensued told her that she ought to follow up with something else. The only thing that occurred to her was Quidditch: "Did you practice that position over the holidays?"

No one seemed to understand the question.

"The flying exercise that Potter told us to review at the end of last year..."

"Oh. That. Right," said Adam. "Yeah, a little."

Donna stepped out of the conversation as it was redirected towards Marlene, who stammered through poor explanations of the various domestic goings-on. Donna, meanwhile, having moved to the front of the queue tried to remember what Lily and Mary had requested to eat, but found herself ordering rather randomly, only pausing to deliberate over which bag of Bertie Botts' contained a more reasonable number of beans for the price.

"Feel free to jump in at any time," said Marlene to Donna, as she fumbled over a description of the protest at the Ministry. Donna wondered how it was that she could so coolly tell off Charlie Plex and yet not comfortably converse with one of her supposed best mates.

"But you're doing such a lovely job of explaining things on your own."

Marlene made a face at her, but Adam was still struggling to understand.

"Wait, _Shack_ went to jail, too?"

"No, she didn't even bond to the fountain. She left when we all decided to do that. But she owled Lathe, so the aurors came, and it was fine. And then she came to Frank and Alice's wedding, even though she doesn't believe in them."

"Frank and Alice?"

"No. Weddings. Even Donna must believe in Frank and Alice, right, Donna?"

"I am not listening to your conversation," Donna confessed. She was wondering what Bridget was doing just then... she'd joined Millie Bones in a compartment. Could Millie Bones be trusted? Kingsley evidently thought her a fit companion for their younger sister, but Donna had not verified this. Millie Bones could be a corrupting influence. She could (and probably _did_) mean trouble.

This Millie Bones character had to be stopped.

"Alright, I'm done," announced Donna, paying for her items and making up her mind about what had to be done. "Are you getting anything, Marlene?"

"Er... no, I don't think so after all. You've got everything for Mary and Lily?"

"Obviously." (Hopefully).

"Okay." To Adam and Prudence again: "Well, it was nice seeing you..."

"Wait a minute," Prudence spoke up; "This might seem weird, but—do you want to have lunch with my friends and me, Marlene?"

"Er..."

"You don't have to, of course. Adam's going to have lunch with some mates of his from Hufflepuff, and I'm going to sit with _my_ friends, and I thought it would be a good opportunity for us to get to know one another."

"Oh, well... I suppose, so. Thank-you."

"Lovely!" squealed Prudence, and before Donna could argue (because she had intended that Marlene take the snacks back to Mary and Lily so that _she_ could go find Bridget), Marlene was whisked away.

Adam didn't seem terribly pleased either.

"It's your turn," Donna pointed out.

"My turn for what?" he asked, distracted.

She nodded toward trolley.

"Oh. Right. Tha..."

Donna did not hear the rest of Adam's gratitude, however, because she was already hastening back towards her friends' compartment.

* * *

"Where's Marlene?" Mary asked, when Donna returned alone.

"She's gone to sit with Prudence Daly," Donna replied, unconcerned.

"Prudence _Daly_?"

"Whatever for?"

"_I_ don't know. Prudence invited her. Very energetic, that one..." Donna added, recalling Prudence's overly cheerful voice, "like a Hufflepuff more than a Ravenclaw. I bet she _hugs_ people. She seems the hugging type. Anyway..." She dropped a few trolley items onto a vacant seat, "there's your food. Enjoy it. I'm off."

"Off where?" asked Lily.

"To sit with Bridget."

"Bridget doesn't want you to sit with her."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"How could you possibly _not_ know that?"

But Donna did not have time to argue. Who _knew_ what evils might befall Bridget, the longer she remained away from Donna's supervision? "I'm going," she announced, and did so.

She remembered the compartment from earlier, when she had so foolishly allowed Bridget to venture into dangers unknown, and Donna entered without knocking.

It was immediately clear that she had arrived not a moment too soon, for, there had been a new addition to the party: a little boy.

"Donna!" greeted Bridget cheerfully. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm going to sit with you," Donna told her.

Bridget's cheer vanished at once. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just because."

She would have taken a seat, but Bridget jumped up. "Donna, can I have a word with you, please?" The two sisters went out into the corridor, and Bridget closed the compartment door, leading her sister a few paces away.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a loud whisper.

"I've come to sit with you," Donna reiterated. "It's not safe for you to sit alone."

"You're not sitting with me."

"Yes I am. Who's that boy?"

"What boy?"

"The one in the compartment."

"Dromio Prewett."

"I don't like him."

"You've never met him."

"That's true. I should get to know him before I decide that I don't like him."

"Exactly."

"So we're agreed."

"On what?"

"That I'm going to sit with you."

"Wait, I..."

Donna sidestepped her sister, however, and reopened the compartment door. She sat down next to the window.

"Hello, I'm Bridget's sister," she announced calmly. Bridget reentered, an unmistakable groan escaping her lips as she did.

(5:00 p.m.)

"_I_ want to be in Ravenclaw," said Dromio Prewett, and Donna looked up from her book (Bridget's Level One History of Magic text... one of the only things available in the compartment).

"I think Ravenclaw would be alright," agreed Millie Bones. "Or Hufflepuff, I suppose."

"I don't know where I'll go," said Bridget. "Kingsley and Donna were both Gryffindors."

"What do you mean, _were_?" asked Donna. "I'm not _dead_."

"Obviously," said Bridget dryly. Donna shrugged and returned to the book in her hands.

"I think Gryffindor would be neat," Millie resumed. "But I doubt I could get in. _Brave_ doesn't really sound like me at all."

"Gryffindor would be alright," agreed Dromio. "Anything but Slytherin, really. I've heard they're all a lot of gits..."

"Language," snapped Donna. She did not miss the exchange of looks between the other three, and finally, Bridget sighed.

"Donna, can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked, standing.

"Mhm."

Donna didn't move.

"Outside."

"Don't be thick, we're on a train."

"_In the corridor_."

"Fine."

Once more, Donna followed her sister a safe distance away from the compartment.

"I'm kicking you out," the eleven-year-old announced.

"What? You can't kick me out!"

"Can and am."

"I'm your older sister."

"Yes, I realize that, and you've been my older sister _all bloody afternoon!_"

"Language, Bridget!"

"See!" said the younger girl impatiently. "That's what I'm talking about! You have to stop that, and since you can't stop that, you have to leave the compartment!"

"But..."

"Donna," Bridget interrupted, pleading. "If you follow me around, I'm never going to find any mates. You're going to scare them all away, and you don't want me to be completely alone and friendless, do you?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Come on—you have your own mates. Go find them."

"I need to keep an eye on you, though."

"No, you _don't_. I'm perfectly alright. I don't know what you think you have to protect me from, but you _don't_. And you're certainly not going to do any good bothering my mates in there. Donna, I love you, but I don't want you following me around on my very first day... or any other day for that matter."

Donna sighed.

"Fine," she allowed. "But... but don't go wandering about, okay?"

"It's a _train_. It would be rather difficult to get lost, don't you think?"

"Just promise me, yeah?"

Bridget nodded. "Alright"

"Thank-you."

The younger girl joined her new friends again, and Donna considered returning to the compartment occupied by her own mates earlier that afternoon, but she changed her mind, wandering instead onto the next car. She walked with the vague intention of going to the back of the train, but—on the third car—ran into the food trolley once again, and decided she would rather like a bite to eat.

She bought a few chocolate frogs, a pumpkin pasty, and a bag of jelly slugs and turned to leave, but as she did so, she nearly ran directly into a Hufflepuff witch... in fact, the very last Hufflepuff that she wanted to see just now.

The girl's expression grew sour at once. "Oh, hello, _whore_," said Cassidy Gamp, folding her arms. "Still here are you? I heard a rumor you dropped out to work at a pub."

A dozen retorts—clever rejoinders that would have put Cassidy Gamp in her place—rose to the tip of Donna's tongue. A dozen ways in which she could silence this Hufflepuff menace with yellow hair and vacant eyes occurred to her, as they almost always did. In the long hours at the Leaky Cauldron, when business had been slow and Donna's focus on her ever present book hand slipped, she had imagined scenarios, where Cassidy had not hexed her from behind, where Donna had been able to point out that it was Cassidy's own fault she didn't realize that Charlie was running around on her—that her own naïveté had been to blame, and that Donna hadn't had any obligation to Cassidy Gamp, a near stranger. In those imagined scenes, Cassidy, a girl of average intelligence that Donna knew to be inferior to her own, always came out the loser: she would flush red and huff, before storming away, with Donna satisfied that she, at least, had now been given a chance to say her side of things.

And there, at the food trolley on the second car of the Hogwarts Express, Donna could have said it all.

But, for whatever reason, she did not.

"I'm sorry, Cassidy," she said instead.

Cassidy's blue eyes widened with wonder, and she blushed. "You _what?_"

"I'm sorry," Donna repeated, and it was more difficult to repeat; the first time, the slippery apology just dropped from her mouth. The second time required her to ignore her to ignore her protesting pride—to admit the one thing that Donna Shacklebolt _never _admitted: that _she_ had been wrong.

Cassidy could not believe it. She continued to stare at Donna, mouth agape. Though Donna did not know it, the Hufflepuff had also imagined such a scene between the two witches. In Cassidy's version, Donna had given her signature scathing reply. Cassidy had countered it, and a long, satisfyingly mean verbal joust had ensued, with Cassidy at last winning out: pointing out some truth that would tap into the Gryffindor's well-concealed conscience... leave her in a stunned (guilty, perhaps) silence, so that Cassidy could walk away, head high.

Donna did not follow the script.

"What do you _mean_ 'you're sorry?'" Cassidy demanded. "You—you can't just... just apologize like that... expect me to forget what you and... what you and he did to me!"

"Forget?" echoed Donna. "Why would I want you to forget, you idiot?" (_That_ sounded more normal). "Your type is everything that's wrong with teenage girls." Cassidy scoffed, but Donna continued, "I certainly _hope_ you haven't forgotten. I _hope_ you've wizened up a little—all Hufflepuffs can't be _completely _thick, can they? Natural selection would have eliminated you centuries ago."

Cassidy blushed, stammering something incomprehensible before she achieved an actual reply: "W-W-Why would you even care?"

"I don't know," said Donna defensively. "I don't, I suppose. I don't care. I don't even know why I'm... I'm..."

"Apologizing?" suggested the food trolley lady, whom both Donna and Cassidy had forgotten altogether. Donna scowled over her shoulder at the elder witch.

"Nobody asked _you_." She turned back to Cassidy. "But yes, essentially that. I _don't_ care—I don't' think I have anything to apologize for, but... all the same..." She hesitated again, and Cassidy, who had been too stunned to really appreciate the first two _I'm sorrys_ now awaited a third with visible anticipation. "...All the same, I shouldn't have done what I did. To you."

"How can you say you've got nothing to apologize for and then say you shouldn't have done it in the same sentence?" Cassidy wanted to know. Donna glared at her.

"Hell if I know," she snapped. "You haven't ever had contradictions? Of course not. You haven't the depth. _Merlin_."

But Cassidy wasn't hurt by this. A smile grew on her lips.

"Stop that," Donna ordered. Cassidy ignored her. "_Stop _it."

"You actually feel guilty, don't you?" marveled the blonde. "_You_, Donna Shackbolt..."

"It's _Shacklebolt, _idiot."

"...You actually feel bad."

Defiantly: "So what?"

"Well _I've_ never heard of you feeling guilty over anything," the food trolley lady spoke up again.

"_Right_?"

"Once again, no one asked y—how would you even _know_?"

Cassidy was beaming now, and Donna did not think she could physically tolerate another minute of this. "You _actually_ feel guilty," the astonished Hufflepuff repeated.

"Oh, sod off," sighed the Gryffindor, and without purchasing anything from the trolley, she slipped by a still smiling Cassidy.

(6:00 p.m.)

There was no observation deck, but Donna stood at the very end of the last car, and through the windows on the door, she could see the retreating train tracks that stretched endlessly out behind them, as though the Hogwarts Express herself were leaving footprints.

She had been there for well over half an hour, but she dreaded going back towards the first car, lest she run into Cassidy again.

This part of the train was quieter than the rest. About a quarter of the compartments were completely unoccupied, and few students moved about the corridor, so when Donna heard footsteps behind her, she turned to see who approached.

For a second time that day, her vague fear that it might possibly be Charlie Plex was assuaged, as it was, in fact, Adam McKinnon.

"McKinnon," she greeted.

"Shack," Adam replied. "What are you doing here?"

Donna shrugged. "Bridget didn't want me to sit with her anymore."

"Who's Bridget?"

"My sister."

"You have a _sister_?" asked Adam, incredulous.

"It's her first year, yes. And three brothers, too."

"Really? _Huh_."

"What?"

"Nothing. I just can't imagine you as an older sister."

"Evidently Bridget's not too keen on the idea either."

Adam grinned. "Oh, c'mon, Shack. You can't blame her. She probably wants to get to know people… you wouldn't have wanted Kingsley to follow _you_ around on _your_ first day of school."

Donna opted not to mention that on _her_ first day, _she_ had followed Kingsley until absolutely forced to join the other first years. She merely shrugged and changed the subject. "Where's your little girlfriend?"

"Coincidentally enough, she just went to go visit with her young brother, actually," replied Adam. "She's supposed to meet me here before we arrive, though." Donna nodded in response, her mind being rather elsewhere, and after a short silence, Adam added: "What did you think of her?"

"Think of whom?"

"Prudence."

"Oh, I don't know. Not much. She's very small."

Adam rolled his eyes.

"Well she _is_. She can't weigh more than a quaffle."

"Funny."

"It's not an insult. Some girls are just quaffles."

"And some are bludgers," Adam countered. Donna snorted.

"I have no problem with that. Bludgers go after what they want."

"But what they want is to knock people off their brooms."

"Again: I have no problem with that."

Adam smirked, shaking his head. "You're a strange one, Shack. How was your holiday, then?"

"Alright. Dull."

"What's this I heard about a protest?"

Donna shrugged again. "It wasn't a big deal. I left early anyway."

"And Frank and Alice? I feel like I missed so much."

"You did."

"Thanks. I thought you said it was dull..."

"It was, but a lot of dull things happened. I worked at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Yeah, that's what I heard. You and Sirius...

"Mhm."

"Did you two fall in love?" teased Adam. "Working all those late shifts in the romantic lighting..."

"Shut up."

"You're blushing."

"I am not."

"You are! Wait... Shack... did you really fall for Black?"

"Don't be thick. I do _not_ fancy Sirius Black."

Adam considered her carefully. "But you do fancy _someone_?"

"Fuck off, I _don't_."

"Liar. It's not that Charlie Plex bloke, is it?"

Donna glared at him.

"I guess not. Who is it? Why all the secrecy? Is he married?"

"McKinnon."

"Fine." But he appeared no less amused. "So," he resumed presently, "Did you see much of your mates?"

"Sure."

"Yeah? And... and the Marauders?"

Donna rolled her eyes. "You're way off, McKinnon. I don't fancy Black."

"Right." Adam was quiet, and Donna wondered if she had misinterpreted the direction of his leading questions. Still, she couldn't imagine what he _was_ getting at, and she didn't want to guess, so she changed the subject again.

"Do you think I should have been a Ravenclaw, McKinnon?"

"What?"

"Do you think I belong in Ravenclaw?" she asked, and when Adam did not reply at once, she added: "It's not that difficult a question; I don't know why you're puzzling over it like it's the sphinx's riddle or something."

"Well, I don't know," said the wizard. "I've never thought of it. Do you want to be in Ravenclaw?"

"Not anymore. It's Bridget I'm worried about."

"Your sister? Do you think she'll be in Ravenclaw?"

Donna hesitated.

"I don't know why you're puzzling over it like it's the sphinx's riddle," said Adam dryly, and Donna rolled her eyes.

"I wouldn't really care where she ends up," the witch responded at last. "I wouldn't, except... except I don't want her to—that is... she has this idea of me. She thinks I'm... good. And I don't want her to find out otherwise."

Adam nodded slowly, seeming to understand. "You know, Shack, there is a way to guarantee that."

"Murder Charlie Plex? Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind."

"_No_," said Adam. "Prove her right."

"It's too late for that," replied Donna. "Anyway, it's not _only_ that. There are other things she shouldn't... it's just... she's too _young_. I wasn't that young when I was eleven."

Adam looked at her with evident amusement for a few seconds. "A protective Shack," he then remarked; "this should be interesting."

Donna scowled but realized that in asking the question at all, she had opened herself up to ridicule, and she therefore decided to change the subject to something they could both discuss reasonably: Quidditch. They had mulled over roughly six matches and two significant trades from the Wimbourne Wanderers before Prudence Daly arrived.

"Hullo, Boyfriend," she said, craning to bridge the considerable height difference and kiss him on the cheek. "Hello, Donna."

"Hi."

"Hello, Sweetheart," said Adam, without a trace of irony. Donna did not even try to conceal her shudder at the sound of the nickname, but neither Prudence nor Adam noticed. "How was your brother?"

"Very well, thank-you. And how are you, Donna?"

Donna, who had resumed her idle staring out the window, nodded politely. "Well."

"Good. Have you seen Marlene this afternoon?"

"Not since she left with you. I've been with my sister"

"Oh. I was hoping she might have said something about her visit... I enjoyed it immensely, but I'm afraid Val was a little rude. I felt _so_ awful, but Val's rude to everyone. Still, Marlene _is_ a dear, isn't she?"

"Mmm," said Donna vaguely.

"So—so you would say you got on alright?" asked Adam, shifting slightly.

"Oh yes," gushed Prudence. "I just know we'll be great friends."

"Oh. Good. That's... good."

Donna wondered that Prudence could not detect her boyfriend's inexplicable discomfort, but the witch prattled on about the various goings on with her brother, without regard for Adam's somewhat forced smile.

"I'm going to change and find Lily," Donna announced, when there was a break in Prudence's monologue.

"Oh, bye Shack."

"Bye, Donna."

"Goodbye, Sweetheart. Boyfriend."

Prudence giggled, but Adam blushed as Donna slipped past them and advanced towards the next car. It was not until she had actually closed the door to the last car that Prudence's resumed conversation faded completely.

(7:00 p.m.)

"Firs' years, this way!" called Hagrid the groundskeeper, and Donna hurried across the platform, towards the group of complying eleven-year-olds, lest they depart for the boats before she had the opportunity to speak to her sister one more time.

"Bridget! Oi, Bridget!"

Bridget Shacklebolt sighed noticeably as she paused, waiting for her sister to catch up.

"I have to go, Donna. I promise I'll be..."

"No, listen," Donna interrupted, drawing her away from the others. "I'll only be a minute. I need to—I need to tell you something."

"Let's hear it, then."

"What... whatever... that is, wherever you end up, it's not a big deal to me. Alright? I mean, I'll probably be really angry if you end up in Slytherin, but the hat considered putting me there too, so... it's not the end of the world. Go where you want to go, and if that's where I am, it's fine, but if it's in Ravenclaw, then that's... not ideal. But fine, I suppose. But if you are in a different house, I just want to make sure that you look out for yourself."

"Look out for myself?" echoed Bridget. "You're kind of frightening me, Donna."

"Just—be careful. And don't worry."

"Be careful, and don't worry. Mixed messages, Donna."

"Be careful about everyone else," Donna clarified. "And don't worry about me. I want you to be happy."

Bridget smiled. "I know _that_."

"Firs' years, follow me!" Hagrid called again.

"I've got to go," said Bridget. "I'll be fine, though."

"I know you will."

Her sister hurried off, and Donna turned back towards the older students, scanning the queues to the carriages for her friends.

(7:40 p.m.)

"You know," said Lily, "there's a superstition that the house that gets the last student to be sorted will win the house cup that year."

"That can't be true," Marlene reasoned, as "Norris, Hermia" became a Hufflepuff. "Zabini was the last to be sorted _our_ first year, but Gryfifndor won the house cup."

Lily shrugged. "All I know it what I read."

Orlap, Demetrius joined the Slytherins.

"Where's Stebbins?" Mary wanted to know, craning her neck to get a better view of Ravenclaw table.

"Merlin, do you have to keep an eye on him at _all _times?" asked Marlene.

"I haven't seen him since we got off the train, though..."

Riker, Audrey and Phoebe—sisters—were sorted to Hufflepuff.

"I'm sure he's around here somewhere," said Lily.

"Will you lot be quiet?" snapped Donna, who was paying an unusual amount of attention to the new first years. "They're almost on 'S.'"

Robards, Oliver became a Gryffindor.

"Oh, calm down," replied Marlene. "It's not as though you're going to miss..."

"Shacklebolt, Bridget," called McGonagall, and Bridget shuffled nervously towards the front of the hall. Donna scowled at a few whispering fourth years nearby, and they fell silent as Bridget placed the Sorting Hat over her head. For nearly a minute, the ragged rim of the cap concealed most of Bridget's wiry black hair and about half of her nose. Then...

"Ravenclaw!" bellowed the hat, and the Ravenclaws clapped appropriately. Bridget hopped off the stool, beaming, and she waved to Donna on her way over, apparently unaware that she had done anything wrong.

"Bad luck, remarked Marlene. "But at least she wasn't in Slytherin."

Donna sunk down, propping her chin in the palm of her hand, as Bridget took her place at her new house table. Charlie Plex sat some distance away, beside his cute brunette girlfriend that Marlene had identified as Clancy Goshawk, but he seemed to be scanning Gryffindor table with his eyes.

Donna made certain that she was looking away before he located her. She felt sure she going to be sick.

"Toke, Leander" was deemed a Hufflepuff.

"It's not as bad as all that," Lily comforted, evidently having noticed her friend's queasy expression.

"If he speaks a single word to her," Donna muttered, and only Marlene understood.

"He was only trying to get a rise out of you," she replied quickly. "He hasn't the nerve to actually give her any trouble."

"Who?" asked Lily. "Who are you talking about?"

"Charlie Plex," Marlene explained. "He was on the train—he teased Donna about Bridget."

"You didn't mention that," murmured Lily.

Donna, somewhat unconsciously, had clenched one fist under the table. She barely heard the others' dialogue. Charlie had returned his attention towards the Sorting of Vasser, Bianca, but even the remnants of the smirk on his face, as he fiddled aimlessly with his girlfriend's hair filled Donna with the urge to hex him.

(8:50 p.m.)

Lily and Marlene walked on either side of Mary, whose reactions to Stebbins and Shelley seemed to be backward: anger first, and now shock. Donna walked just behind them.

"Why—why would he...? Why would Shelley...?" Mary choked on her words, however, and what she did utter betrayed that she was almost surely crying.

"He's disgusting," Lily was murmuring, glaring at anyone who dared to stare at them. "He's disgusting, and he's not going to get away with it, okay?"

"Hey, Shacklebolt!" called a voice behind her.

Donna tensed at the familiarity of the voice, and only a cruel sense of curiosity caused her to pause. The other Gryffindors shuffled around her, until Donna moved out of the queue towards Gryffindor Tower.

Charlie Plex caught up with her.

Donna did not inquire as to what he wanted, because she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to give him the satisfaction of any verbal response at all.

"Shacklebolt," he repeated, smirking. "I noticed that your sister made Ravenclaw."

She just stared him.

"You must be so proud."

Still nothing.

"I mean," he went on, "it must be nice for you to know that not everyone in your family is doomed to second best. Anyway..." He looked exactly as he had in the corridor on the train: "it'll be nice having a Shacklebolt around in the Common Room again."

_He's all talk_, Marlene had said.

"I'm sure the two of us will have plenty to talk about, your sister and I."

He was trying and failing for a reaction. He just wanted to know that he could still get under her skin. What Charlie Plex failed to understand was that he'd never had that ability to begin with. Not really.

"We have so much in common, after all—intimate knowledge of you, for one thing."

The two queues—one for each house—moved by and had all but past the pair in the middle. The lack of reaction from the one seemed to rile the other, however, and he tried to raise the stakes.

"She looks so much like you, Shacklebolt. It makes a bloke wonder if she's like you in other ways, too."

No response.

"...Should I interpret this stony silence as agreement?"

It was almost funny, how hard he could try so hard for a reaction, while others could obtain it without much effort at all.

"...Because I'm sure Bridget and I will get to be the best of mates pretty soon."

The sound of sweet, innocent Bridget's name on his foul tongue at last earned him some reciprocation.

"Charlie," she began, and his faltering smirk was reinvigorated at the sound of her voice (her defeat, he must have thought). "It's not going to work," Donna continued. "You think you can scare me, but I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of your threats... honestly, Cassidy Gamp is more intimidating to me than you are. You think you can get on my nerves and rile me up and scare me, but you can't... you never could. I never cared about you. I never wanted you. I never even cared enough to hate you. Most of the time, the sex wasn't even that great, and the conversation was worse." Charlie looked vaguely uncomfortable. He wanted to interject, but Donna kept on: "You've got your new girl, and your attempts to flaunt her do absolutely nothing to me, because if she's stupid enough to publically acknowledge association with you, she's not even worth my sympathy. But somehow, even _I_ don't think that anyone can be quite _that_ thick, and sooner or later, she's going to realize that you're not worth the effort, too."

"You'd better..."

"I'd better what? Shut my mouth?" Donna drew herself up to her full height, and it seemed to her that Charlie shrunk. "I've already told you that I'm not afraid of you. What you have to understand is that I'm stronger and smarter than you are, and you might think that you've got something on me, but _I_ know that I'm better than you. _I_ know that if you ever did anything... ever said anything I didn't like, I would get you. I wouldn't just ruin your reputation, and I wouldn't just give you tentacles, Charlie. I would completely destroy you ,and I would enjoy it. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll have the opportunity to do this, because I know that you don't have the nerve to actually do anything, but that's the real humor of the thing, because I _do_ have the nerve. I got 'second best' as you pointed out: I'm in Gryffindor. You might be clever, but I've got nerve. I've also got borderline anger problems and an auror brother who could probably talk me out of any legal problems. So..." (Charlie's smirk had vanished all together), "...here's the plan: you don't speak to me anymore. You don't speak to anyone I know. You don't speak to my sister. You don't look at her; you don't acknowledge her; you don't bully her; you forget that she exists, just like you forget _I_ exist, and if you don't, I will quite literally kill you." Donna smiled. "Clear?"

Charlie said nothing. He looked as though he wanted to, but could not quite find the words that could follow _that_. So, instead, with a hateful glare, he turned and followed the now disappeared Ravenclaws towards his own Common Room.

Donna breathed deeply.

At least (and it was small comfort) the day had afforded her _one_ victory.

(10:00 p.m.)

The Head Girl's dormitory was warm and inviting.

Donna wouldn't have liked it anyway.

That, at any rate, was what she told herself, when she sat down on the edge of the bed, where Mary and Marlene already awaited Lily's return. Marlene had returned to the girls' dorm and retrieved a bottle of firewhiskey from her trunk, and Mary had already had two large swallows of the stuff.

Eventually, Lily joined them. She looked paler than usual, and Donna even asked what that was about, but the redhead only shrugged it off.

"What was all that yelling?" Mary asked, and she had the courtesy to look a bit nervous, as though she knew that it might have pertained to herself.

Lily shook her head. "Don't worry about it. Just... just promise me you won't kill Shelley tomorrow."

"She deserves it," muttered Mary.

"Probably, but... all the same."

Lily sat down on the now crowded bed, and Mary offered her the bottle.

"I'm going to change first."

She went to the loo to change her clothing (alright, Donna was a little jealous of _that_), and when she returned, they all formed some kind of circle on the bed.

"Rubbish day, this," sighed Marlene. "Thank you for being better mates than some."

Lily smiled weakly and took the firewhiskey bottle. "Cheers to that."

Mary ranted for a bit. The others listened and offered their agreement. Donna mostly kept quiet, her brain filled with Cassidy and Charlie and Bridget and a vague discontentment. She was always happy to be back at Hogwarts, but something about this particular term seemed... wrong. Of course, she didn't want to work at a pub for the rest of her days, but now, here... she felt powerless. Useless.

She couldn't even look after Bridget as much as she'd like to.

"There's a definite possibility we drink too much," remarked Marlene eventually, drawing Donna back into the conversation.

"Or not enough," said Mary.

Donna took the bottle. The glass rim shone in the dormitory light, and she could almost see a bit of her reflection in the amber liquid within. "So what do you lot think? Worst day ever?"

* * *

**Part IV: Marlene**

**"You Would Cry Too"**

"You're hair looks _so_ cute," Bernice Fletcher gushed.

"Merlin, I didn't _recognize _you, Marlene!" said Maggie Snow.

"_Love_ the pixie cut, Price..." complimented Sabrina Barbery.

Even Shelley, whose changes to self were far more drastic, found it in her to compliment Marlene's haircut, when she stopped by their compartment that morning. So, all in all, the day hadn't started out too badly, but Marlene knew better than to have too many positive expectations for the first day back.

With her newly chopped off hair, however, she could not help but feel a slight surge of optimism. It was a new year; it was her last year, and she was... completely _free:_ free of Miles Stimpson, free of obligation to anyone but herself. She wasn't alone; she was unconstrained.

And that was a brilliant feeling.

She didn't see Adam all morning.

Not that she was looking.

At lunch time, Marlene and Donna were sent out in search of the food trolley; they bickered half the length of the car, until they encountered a group of students that, unfortunately, included Charlie Plex. One uncomfortable conversation later, they reached the trolley and stood with the half a dozen students huddled around it, waiting their turn to order. Eventually, the inevitable happened.

"Oh my _Merlin_, your hair."

Marlene knew without turning that this commenter was not like the others, and Marlene smiled. Briefly, she forgot what must inevitably occur soon, but it hit her in full force when she turned to see the pair that stood behind herself and Donna in the queue.

"Adam! _Hi_."

"Hello," Adam McKinnon replied, and he seemed genuinely happy to see her. His smile was mirrored on the face of the petite Indian girl at his side, however, and Marlene made both her quickest and most thorough inspection of Prudence Daly to date.

Prudence made everything around her seem abnormally large. She was tiny, with shiny black hair and features that could only be called delicate. Marlene felt like a bumbling giant next to her, and that was only combined with the guilt she experienced for having claimed to hate the girl a month and a half prior, for Prudence's wide smile was nothing if not sincere.

"This is Prudence."

"We've met," said Prudence sweetly. "Nice to see you again, Marlene."

"You too."

"Your hair is _adorable_."

"Oh, thank-you; that's so sweet..."

"Yeah, it's so short," said Adam.

_He's a bloke. He doesn't have to speak intelligently about hair_.

"It is that, yes."

"Hi, Shack," Adam greeted Donna, perhaps to cut the awkward silence.

Donna, whose attentions were divided between Adam and the food trolley, nodded in reply. "Did you practice that position over the holidays?"

Everyone looked at her.

"The flying exercise that Potter told us to review at the end of last year..." Donna explained, bewildered.

"Oh. That. Right," said Adam. "Yeah, a little."

"_Dear God, please strike me dead right now," _Marlene silently prayed._ "Please, please, please, please..."_

"So how was your summer?" asked Adam to Marlene, while Donna moved to the front of the queue and began purchasing her items.

"Pretty good..." the blonde replied. "Spent the night in jail, cut off all my hair, it rained... standard things like that."

"Wait, you spent the night in _jail_?"

"Long story. What about you? America, yeah? Weddings? Fun and all that...?"

_Shut up, Price. You sound like an idiot. _

"Adam told you about that, did he?" spoke up Prudence pleasantly. "Oh, it was _such_ a beautiful ceremony... his sister was _gorgeous_..."

Marlene found herself smiling and nodding to everything that Prudence said, but she had no idea what _exactly_ was being articulated. Something about the weather and lace and bridesmaids and...

"Oh-my-God, Frank-and-Alice-got-married..." she blurted out suddenly. "I'm sorry. That was really rude. I just—I just remembered, and..."

Prudence laughed it off. "No, no, it's fine. Who got married now?"

"Frank and Alice," Marlene repeated, blushing. "Longbottom and Griffiths. Well, Longbottom and Longbottom now. Alice was thinking about keeping the Griffiths, but Mrs. Longbottom is really scary, and Alice didn't want to offend anyone, and she figures, hey, she's secure in her independence—she doesn't need to make a statement out of it. And Mrs. Longbottom's _really_ scary. Anyway, sorry, the bridesmaids thing just reminded me..."

"Wait," said Adam, "so Frank and Alice got married? Frank didn't even tell me he was engaged!"

"Well, he wasn't," Marlene attempted to explain. "We were at the Potters. It was right after the lock-up thing... and we'd barely slept, what with being in a lock-up... and then—wait Sarah didn't tell you about the Ministry?"

"Sarah? Sarah who? Sarah my sister?"

"Right. She was there."

"Sarah went to jail?"

"No, _she_ didn't... they already had enough volunteers. But she tied herself to the fountain."

"_What_?"

Marlene turned to Donna. "Feel free to jump in at any time."

Donna, who was debating which bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans contained more beans and was therefore less of a scam (as was her custom), merely snorted. "But you're doing such a lovely job of explaining things on your own."

"Wait, _Shack _went to jail, too?"

"No, she didn't even bond to the fountain. She left when we all decided to do that. But she owled Lathe, so the aurors came, and it was fine. And then she came to Frank and Alice's wedding, even though she doesn't believe in them."

"Frank and Alice?"

"No. Weddings. Even Donna must believe in Frank and Alice, right, Donna?"

"I am not listening to your conversation."

"Well, she does," Marlene insisted. "Anyway, it was... kind of frightening."

"The wedding?"

"No, the protest."

"What protest?"

"Did I not mention the protest yet?"

Adam began to laugh. "Marlene, I have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

"Shut up! I'm _trying_!" But she was laughing too, now, which did not make her explanation any easier. "The arrest... stop laughing, you're ruining the story—the arrest... no, the _kind of _arrest was be-be-because of... because of the protest."

"And the protest was because of...?"

"Alright, I'm done," announced Donna, paying for her items. "Are you getting anything, Marlene?"

"Er... no, I don't think so after all. You've got everything for Mary and Lily?"

"Obviously."

"Okay." Marlene turned to Adam and Prudence again. "Well, it was nice seeing you..."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Prudence; "This might seem weird, but—do you want to have lunch with my friends and me, Marlene?"

"Er..."

"You don't have to, of course," Prudence continued, and Marlene noted that Adam looked as confused as _she_ felt. Prudence most have noticed that the blonde's glance in Adam's direction, because she hastily added: "Adam's going to have lunch with some mates of his from Hufflepuff, and I'm going to sit with _my_ friends, and I thought it would be a good opportunity for us to get to know one another."

"Oh, well..." (This would be so much easier without Adam's eyes boring into her), "...I suppose, so. Thank-you."

"Lovely!" squealed Prudence, and—without purchasing anything from the trolley—she looped her arm through Marlene's and led the way back towards her compartment, only pausing a short distance away to blow a kiss and bid farewell to Adam. Marlene glanced back, too; Adam continued to look bewildered and Donna annoyed.

"I hope I wasn't too forward just now," Prudence Daly went on, as she guided Marlene (it must have been a funny sight, too, because Prudence was so much the smaller). "You see, Adam talks about you a great deal—I know the two of you are close, and, well, I can't help wanting to know his best mate, can I?"

"N-no, of course not."

"Exactly," said Prudence. "And I would like for the two of us to be mates as well."

"Well, of course."

"We both love Adam very much."

Marlene blushed. "We do?"

"Oh!" Prudence stopped walking abruptly and turned to Marlene. "Don't think I buy into all of those rumors! Of course, I know that you and Adam were only ever mates."

"Right," said Marlene stiffly.

"...I meant more like..." They began to walk again, "We both love him... _differently_. You're like a sister to him!"

And only one thought registered for Marlene in response to that:

_I am an _awful_ sister._

* * *

Prudence's group of friends was more varied than Marlene's. While Marlene, Donna, Lily, and Mary (and Adam) were all of the same house and year, Prudence's group consisted of two seventh year Ravenclaws, Valerie Turpin and Alexa Kyle, a sixth year Ravenclaw (like Prudence) Daniela Prentiss, and a Hufflepuff seventh year, Meghan McCormack.

Alexa and Meghan were nice enough, Marlene knew from her limited experience with them, and Daniela she did not know at all, but she was rather sure that Valerie Turpin was _never_ going to be her mate. This belief was solidified when, upon Marlene's entrance, Valerie beamed falsely at her and said: "Marlene! Your hair! So short—just like a boy!" She followed this with a giggle, which she must have thought was merited due to the supposed subtleness of the jab.

Marlene arched an eyebrow, but none of the other girls seemed to notice anything suspicious as the two new arrivals took seats. Perhaps they were numbed to Valerie's particular brand of obnoxious bitch.

"It's very bold," said Daniela with more genuine enthusiasm. "_Daring_. Where did you have it done? In London?"

"Sort of," replied Marlene. "I did it myself, actually. Just... picked up the scissors and started chopping." She mimed vaguely, and Valerie, at least, looked appalled. "My mum touched it up a little, though—she used to cut hair for a living, so..."

"Well it looks wonderful," said Prudence. "So are you excited for classes?"

"What?"

"All the new classes... aren't you excited?"

Right. Ravenclaws. Smart.

"Oh, yeah. I love that... studying, and... books. It's... brilliant."

"Personally," Prudence continued, "I can't _wait_ for N.E.W.T. level Arithmancy. I thought for certain I failed my O.W.L., but I scraped an 'O.' Do you take Arithmancy, Marlene?"

"Er... no. Never much cared for numbers."

"What's your favorite class?" asked Alexa politely.

"Um... I don't know, really. I like Care of Magical Creatures... Charms... and Herbology. Herbology's always fun."

"So more practical classes then theoretical?" asserted Prudence. "That's very sensible of you. Just like Adam, you know."

"Agrippa's _sake_, Pru," sighed Valerie. "You're _always_ talking about Adam McKinnon these days."

"I know," Prudence replied. "I can't help it. I'm in love." (_Merlin and Agrippa, that _word_ again!)_ She smiled warmly at Marlene and asked: "So how was the holiday? Summer before seventh year is terrifically important, they say."

"Did you do any work experience?" asked Valerie, as if she already knew the answer.

"Er... no, not exactly." (She didn't think they would regard lending a hand at the McDonalds' grocery very highly). "You see, I'm not really sure what I want to do yet."

"No?" pressed Valerie. "That's odd. I've known what I was meant to do since I was eight."

_Knew what a prostitute was when you were eight, did you?_ (Marlene did _not_ say this, but she wanted to).

"Me as well," agreed Meghan McCormack. "And thank _Merlin_ the Hollyhead Harpies don't require _any_ N.E.W.T.s."

"Oh, Meg, you _would_," Valerie derided, and it was at least encouraging to know that Valerie was universally unkind. "But you must have... _some _idea what you're good at, Marlene... or are you planning on getting married?"

"The two aren't mutually exclusive, Val," Prudence cut in, blushing slightly, indicating that she, at least, felt embarrassed for her friend. "And I suppose it must be nice not having every little detail mapped out. You can study what you like, without having to fret about whether it's good enough for someone else. After all, we're only teenagers."

The conversation moved from future plans to summer escapades (Marlene took some pleasure in describing some details of the protest and subsequent "incarceration") to just general preferences—classes, books, Quidditch teams, and music. Prudence liked Hate Potion, the Bluebottles, and Cockatrice (three of Marlene's—and Adam's—favorites), and even noted that she had taken to "some muggle band" that Adam had obsessed over. By the description, Marlene deduced she meant the Beatles.

As the talk continued, it became abundantly clear—and the irony was not lost on Marlene—that Prudence was her primary champion in that compartment and Valerie her primary adversary.

In fact, the only issue that Marlene could rationally hold against Prudence Daly or anyone else in there, for that matter (except Valerie Turpin, against whom she could hold a great many things) was that, despite Prudence's invitation to "have lunch" with them, no one seemed to be eating. At all.

It was quite frustrating.

Time wore on, Marlene's stomach growled imperceptibly to all but herself, and she found her attention drifting in and out of the conversation. Did they just never _eat_? Weren't they hungry? Had they already eaten when she came in? Was _this_ why they were all so skinny? Well, no, Meghan played Quidditch... she had the Donna-esque athletic build, but the others must simply have starved themselves, because...

"Merlin, is that the time?" Prudence asked suddenly. "I was supposed to meet Adam half an hour ago."

"I should go too," Marlene quickly added, lest she find herself left in that compartment without her defender. "My mates will be waiting for me."

"Of course," agreed Prudence, as both girls rose.

"It was very nice seeing you all," Marlene added to Meghan, Alexa, Daniela, and Valerie.

"Oh, yes," agreed Daniela. "We really ought to have a Gryffindor in are circle, you know."

"Er... right." Because she didn't have the faintest clue what that meant. "Anyway, have a good day, then..."

Prudence followed Marlene out into the corridor.

"Thank-you ever so much for coming," said the Ravenclaw as they walked. "And I'm sorry if Valerie came across as... as a bit rude. She can do that, but she doesn't mean it, really. She's just shy and comes off as... abrasive." Prudence frowned: "Particularly to other girls."

"No, it's nothing," replied Marlene. "Um—thank-you for inviting me." They stepped through to the next car.

"Of course! I meant what I said earlier... I do hope we'll be friends. Oh, this is mine..." She pointed to a compartment that must have been ordained as the meeting place with Adam McKinnon.

"I hope so too," replied Marlene, forcing a smile. Prudence really was a nice girl... Marlene only wished she didn't feel sick to her stomach every time the Ravenclaw mentioned her boyfriend's name.

Prudence beamed. She hesitated for a moment and then wrapped her arms around Marlene in a terrifyingly unexpected hug. Marlene hugged her back, despite her innate reservations, but drew away as soon as she politely could.

"Have a wonderful day, Marlene!"

"You as well."

Marlene advanced forward, and Prudence opened the compartment door. As the former walked on, she could still hear the latter's enthusiastic salutations to her boyfriend, and Marlene quickened her pace.

(5:00 p.m.)

It was about half past three when Marlene returned to Compartment G from her expedition with Prudence Bloody Daly and company, but none of Marlene's friends were actually in the compartment, which was a little annoying. Their belongings remained, but the people themselves were missing. Marlene sat down, ate the remaining two Pumpkin Pasties, and waited.

Carlotta stopped by for advice from Lily, but settled for advice from Marlene. She came and went, and when she was gone, Marlene continued to wait for her friends.

She recopied her Transfiguration essay in neater handwriting, finished the Potions reading, and stole a book from Lily's bag to skim, and still the others had not returned to the compartment. She was starting to feel rather deserted and wondered if perhaps she ought to have been nicer to Carlotta, if for no other reason than the other witch might have kept her company.

She dismissed this thought almost immediately.

Since apparently Prudence's friends did not ever consume food, Marlene's stomach was almost completely empty, and it let out a protesting growl sometime around five o'clock. Her head ached a little too, so, grabbing a few coins from her own sling bag, the witch set off in the corridor with the resolution of locating the food trolley.

The corridors were busy, as others also grew restless at this time of the afternoon, and as Marlene attempted to move from the second to the third car, she was almost knocked over by the opening of the lavatory door.

"Oh, terribly sorry!" said Shelley, emerging suddenly, and closing the door hastily behind her.

"No worries," sighed Marlene. "It's just what I need to be hit by a door at this point."

"Where are you off to?"

"Food trolley—and maybe to find my supposed mates."

"You really shouldn't eat that rubbish off the trolley. It's _awful _for your figure."

"I live dangerously," replied Marlene. "Also I haven't eaten all day, and I'm about to pass out."

Shelley nodded. "That reminds me of the first two weeks of _my_ diet."

"_So_ many days ago..." agreed Marlene sagely. She was about to excuse herself from the conversation, when the washroom door behind Shelley opened again, this time admitting a bloke—some Hufflepuff sixth year that Marlene did not know—who slunk into the corridor, begged the girls' pardon, and—blushing but smirking—departed onto the next car.

Marlene stared after him.

"Did—did he just come out of the same lavatory you were just using, Shell?"

Shelley nodded, also blushing.

"Were you in their at the same time?"

Shelley nodded again.

"Were you braiding each other's hair?"

Shelley raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't think so." Marlene tried to work it out in ill-functioning, unnourished brain. "So, you just—shagged random bloke in the lavatory?"

"Oh, no," said Shelley swiftly, as they moved to the sides of the corridor, to allow another student to step between them on his way to the next car. "We only snogged. And... well... mostly it was just snogging. Certainly not _shagging_. I'm not a _tart_, after all."

"Okay," Marlene replied, shrugging. "That's... fine, I suppose. I mean, it's better than pining after your mate's boyfriend, right?"

"I have no intention of pining, yes," said Shelley.

"Good. That's marvelous. And if Random Hufflepuff Bloke in the train lavatory is what helps you get over James, then that is a grand ode to feminism or something..."

"Get over James?" Shelley echoed, surprised. "I'm not _getting over_ James Potter."

"You're not?"

"No!"

"Does Random Hufflepuff Bloke know this?"

"I'm not getting _over_ James Potter... I'm _getting _James Potter..."

"I just don't see why you have to use both of his names..."

"It's all part of the plan," Shelley added proudly.

"Right, the plan," Marlene recollected from that morning. "But I still don't understand how Random Hufflepuff Bloke is part of the plan..."

Shelley laughed, tossing her wavy hair in the process. "No one likes a prude, Marlene."

"So you're just going to snog random Hufflepuff Blokes until James fancies you?" Marlene pressed. "I don't understand this plan."

"Don't be silly, Mar," said Shelley lightly. "I've got a date with a _Ravenclaw_ later tonight."

(6:00 p.m.)

Marlene eventually _did_ get her snack, and though the compartment was still empty when she returned, she took the opportunity to change into her school uniform. Then, it occurred to her that she might find Lily up at the front of the train, in the prefects' compartment, and she traveled there.

Lily was, indeed, hiding out in one of the two prefects' compartments, but—either naturally or by Lily's command—the other prefects who had elected to stay there were all in the _other_ compartment designated for their use. Lily was left alone.

She had already changed into her robes and was deeply involved in a book when Marlene arrived.

"What're you reading?" asked the blonde, sitting down opposite her friend. Lily set down her book.

"Tolstoy."

"God. _Why_?"

"I like the characters. I mean, I hate them all, but I like them all, too."

"Whatever that means," said Marlene. "Have you been up here all afternoon?"

"No, just for the last few hours. Mary didn't come back from spending time with Stebbins, and Donna went to sit with Bridget, and there were these first years running around near the other compartment, so I came up here to read after patrols. How was Prudence Daly?"

"Perfect," sighed Marlene. "She really is. She's cute and energetic and fun. She's perfect."

Lily nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Well, what can you do?" Marlene went on, trying her very best to be philosophical. "After all, the blokes we love can't all choose wretched, vapid, stupid, and hideous girls... it would be too easy."

"That's very true," Lily agreed. She peered out the window at the slowly darkening sky and the blur of images that sped carelessly by. "We'll be there soon, I suppose."

There was something dull and uninterested in Lily's voice, however, that prompted Marlene to ask: "Are you feeling quite well? You seem a little... off."

Lily tore her eyes away from the window. "I'm fine; just a little tired," she said, smiling. "Now, come along, let's hear it. You must have _something _to say about your afternoon with Prudence Daly."

And Marlene certainly did.

* * *

Marlene was with Lily when the train pulled into the station, and Lily informed her that, as Head Girl, she was supposed to lag behind a bit and ensure that everyone disembarked alright. Marlene lagged with her, and, as a result, they were—for a second year in a row—among the last to catch a carriage up to the castle.

They rode with two stranger fifth years, and the trip was quiet... certainly different from the argumentative ride of sixth year, Marlene recalled, with Luke Harper and Donna both there. Lily was silent the entire time this year, and Marlene found it disconcerting. However, as the carriage rounded a bend, and the first sight of the castle became possible, Lily did genuinely smile, and Marlene wondered if Lily's quietness _was_ merely a result of exhaustion.

They disembarked from their carriage when it brought them to the end of its path, and the two girls walked up to and through the castle doors together. It was as they walked through, however, that Marlene caught a glimpse of Adam McKinnon: not simply Adam McKinnon, however, but Adam McKinnon and his girlfriend—two among all the other second through seventh years in the Entrance Hall, but the only two that caused Marlene to stop in her tracks.

Prudence stood facing Adam, arms wrapped around his neck, while his were on her waist. They weren't exactly _snogging_; they were talking, nose-to-nose (somehow, for she was so short) and occasionally exchanging feather light kisses. They were both smiling.

"Marlene?" inquired Lily, who had not seen Prudence and Adam and therefore did _not_ know the reason for her friend's abrupt halt. "What's wrong?"

Marlene only nodded in Adam's direction, and Lily understood the rest.

The full force of the thing hit Marlene at once. Prudence—Prudence was not Adam's _Replacement Marlene_. Prudence was _more_. Prudence was something that Marlene had never been to him, and the two of them were not mere chums... it wasn't just that Prudence would amuse him with her bubbly personality, and Adam would charm her by saying something adorable or clever...

The students filtered through into the Great Hall. Adam and Prudence disappeared. Marlene did not move, and Lily waited.

Prudence was allowed to kiss him, and he was allowed to hold her hand.

"Lily, I can't do this," said Marlene faintly. "I can't go in there. I can't... I can't _look _at them."

"Marlene..."

"No, I know it's pathetic, but I can't help it! You don't know how it—I mean, I just..."

The Entrance Hall was all but empty now; the first years would be along soon, and of the older students, only a handful—besides Marlene and Lily—remained. For the first time that day, tears formed in Marlene's eyes. Lily wrapped her arms around her friend's shoulders.

"Marlene..."

"What did I _do_, Lily?" she muttered, sniffing. "Why didn't I just...? Why couldn't I...?"

"You weren't ready," said Lily. "It's not your fault."

"It is though. I was so _stupid_..."

"No, you _weren't_. You were just getting out of one really complicated, really intense relationship, and you weren't ready to jump into another one. That's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

"But it's not _his_ fault either..."

"No," Lily had to agree. "No, he had every right to move on, too."

"Do you know what's awful? I wish she were evil. You know? I wish she were mean or stupid or... couldn't read or something."

"Harsh, Marlene."

"I know. It's not her fault she's adorable, sweet, funny, tiny, smart, has excellent taste in music, and happens to have the same name as a fantastic Beatles song, after all," sighed Marlene resentfully. She dropped her head onto Lily's shoulder. Lily wrapped an arm around her friend, leaning her own head on Marlene's and smiling sadly.

"Marlene, you are beautiful," she said definitively. "And you are funny, and brilliant, and talented, and you have _fantastic_ taste in music. You know all that, right?"

Marlene merely snorted. "I'll never listen to the White Album again."

"Mar."

"It's his second favorite Beatles' album, you know. The White Album. _Dear Prudence: _track number seven."

Lily chuckled.

"It's not funny, Lily."

"It's a little funny."

Marlene sighed again. "You might be right. I deserve whatever I get."

"No. Marlene." Lily pulled away to look her friend in the eyes. "Don't talk like that. If it's meant to be with Adam, then it'll happen. Really. You have to have faith."

"Then, I guess it's not meant to be with Adam," said the blonde. "I bet he thinks he was a complete idiot for ever fancying me... and I must seem so... desperate. Pathetic."

Lily tightened her embrace around the other's shoulders. They stood like that in silence for some time. "You know it's going to be okay, don't you?" Lily asked softly after a while. Marlene looked skeptical. "It _is_," insisted the redhead. "Prudence may be cute and sweet... she might be _Dear Prudence_, but you're... you're..." Lily smiled: "You're _Here Comes the Sun."_

Marlene looked up at her. "You really think so?"

Lily nodded.

Marlene returned her head to her shoulder. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

She was quiet again, thoughtful this time, as she now draped an arm around Lily's shoulder, and they started towards the Great Hall. "You're _Golden Slumbers_," she said at length. "And Carlotta's _Sexy Sadie_... and Donna's... _Eleanor Rigby."_

Lily laughed at that. "Cruel Marlene."

"_Eleanor Rigby_ is a good song!"

"So mean."

"Fine... _Nowhere Man_..."

"Meaner and meaner..."

"Oh, c'mon, you _know_ it's true..."

Still chuckling, they walked into the Great Hall.

(9:00 p.m.)

Lily was compelled to depart for her Head student meeting, and she left them (Mary, Marlene, and Donna) at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Remus gave the password ("Marzipan"), and they were all admitted to the wonderfully welcoming Common Room. Marlene had not a moment to enjoy the return to the familiar, however, as she almost immediately had to usher Mary upstairs.

The second they were inside, Mary picked up the very first thing she could grab from the nearest open trunk and threw it at Shelley's bed. It was Donna's copy of _Hogwarts, A History_, and Donna at once hastened to pick it up, glaring in the process.

Mary sat down on her bed, disbelief etched on her face.

"He—he _cheated _on me," she said, stunned. "Stebbins cheated on _me_. This afternoon, he said he loved me and—in the _Entrance Hall_... he... he cheated on me with... with _Shelley_?"

Marlene sat down beside her. "Why don't you get changed, Mary? You can put on your pajamas, get comfortable, and..."

"_Shelley Mumps_?" Mary repeated, loosening her tie as though in a trance. "It just doesn't make sense. She's uglier than I am. She's not much smarter than I am... I mean, bigger breasts, but other than that, I can't..." She leaned over and pulled off one shoe. "I mean, I really can't _fathom_..." Slowly, she pulled off the other shoe. "...Why in Merlin's name... _how _in Merlin's name he could..."

* * *

"_THAT BASTARD! THAT SLAGGING, LYING, SHITE-SACK ARSEHOLE! ...THAT CHEATING SON OF A BITCH! ...AND WITH THAT FAT, UGLY POCKMARKED BINT!_"

When several pairs of shoes had been subjected to the harsh realities of a dormitory wall (and one quite nearly to Carlotta's head), Mary calmed down a little.

She was at last persuaded to take a hot shower, and Marlene—rather wanting to avoid another conversation with Carlotta, who was now the only other person in the dorm, besides Donna—decided to go wait downstairs for Lily to return from the Head meeting.

She took off her outer robes, but left on the remainder of her school uniform and started downstairs. When she reached the landing between the boys' and girls' dormitories, a voice called out her name.

"Oi, Marlene!" Adam appeared, jogging down the steps from the boys' dorms, now wearing pajama trousers and a t-shirt.

"Hi," she greeted, a little confused.

"I am so stupid," said Adam.

"Oh?"

"I didn't realize..."

"Didn't realize what?"

"The protest," he clarified. "It was the Dearborn protest, wasn't it? You were _there_? You were one of the people Rita Skeeter was writing about?"

Marlene grinned. "She actually specifically mentions me... she kept my name out of it, but she quotes me."

"_Honestly_?"

"Mhm."

"Wow. That is... brilliant."

"Well," said Marlene, "I _am_ quite brilliant."

"Of course."

They both grinned, and Marlene, momentarily, forgot that it was not—and never again would be—like it had been once upon a time.

Then, she remembered. They both remembered Prudence and the _I love you_ and that Marlene had said _no, _and someone else had said _yes_.

"Prudence is really, really nice," said the witch. "She's—really great."

Adam nodded. "Really, really great," he agreed faintly.

And then, Marlene had an epiphany of sorts. The two of them stood there across from one another, and both knew exactly what was going on—they both knew exactly what was going through the others' mind and were powerless to say anything about it. So they just stood there, like awkward, embarrassed idiots, with nothing to say and no way to communicate.

It occurred to Marlene for the first time just then that it hadn't been Adam that had wrecked their friendship. He hadn't ruined things with his "I love you" because she—all along—had known, and she—all along—had felt the same way. Their relationship had meant everything to her that it had meant to him, but she had been the one with a cause to deny it. She had been the one with a boyfriend.

Marlene wished desperately that she hated Prudence. She wished that Prudence was like Miles—that she was a cheat or a liar or—hell, if she _smoked_, Marlene would have found some solace. But there was nothing wrong with Prudence. She was sweet... she was the kind of girl who people called "sweet" which was even more important. She was delicate and petite and feminine and brunette. There was no overriding law to say that Prudence Bloody Daly was wrong and Marlene Price was right for Adam McKinnon.

The dramatic, eye-contact-filled moment ended as Marlene exhaled softly. "I'm going to bed," she said. "Goodnight, Adam."

"Goodnight, Marlene."

And that was that.

(10:30 p.m.)

"There's a definite possibility we drink too much," mused Marlene, once they were all upstairs in Lily's dormitory. It was _her_ bottle of firewhiskey, so technically, if anyone was to blame, it would be Marlene, but all the same she felt as though she should comment. Her mum always said, _If you need a drink, don't have one._ Of course, her mother had two children from different boyfriends and was writing letters to at least one incarcerated felon, so perhaps she was not the best person to dole out advice.

"Or not enough," said Mary, flinching over a swig of the stuff.

Then Donna took the bottle. "So what do you lot think? Worst day ever?"

Marlene rested her head on Lily's shoulder, and Lily took her head comfortingly.

_Wow, that is... brilliant._

_Marlene, I love you._

_You can tell me anything. You know that._

_I want to be with you._

_This is Prudence._

_I'm sorry—I just... I can't._

"Worst day ever," Marlene agreed.

* * *

**Part V: Lily**

**"Later"**

(10:25 a.m.)

"Cool," Lily repeated for the second time, and the others in the compartment—James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, Carlotta, and a few prefects—continued to stare at her as though she were crazy. She knew this, though she did not look up from the bag in which she attempted to locate her Head Girl's badge. It was odd that, while they all stared at her intensely, no one seemed to notice that she could barely concentrate on her task; she'd cleaned out her bag that morning, so it shouldn't have been very difficult to find that damn badge, and yet her fingers did not seem to be functioning properly at all.

Finally, she managed to focus and find her missing badge, and it was after she had set her bag down again that she commented on the others' expectant airs: "You want a blue ribbon or something?"

It was Carlotta who first managed to call it as it was: "I guess we were expecting a little more... surprise?"

"Surprise?" Better not try to explain about Shelley. "That you two crazy kids found each other?" She pricked her finger trying to pin on the badge. "Not at all."

Mercifully, further exposition was halted by the arrival of more prefects, and soon, Carlotta was gone—though not before she and James exchanged another kiss.

Before he left, Sirius draped an arm around Lily's shoulder and leaned close to her, muttering so that none of the others could hear: "Evans, I think you and I have some catching up to do."

"Damn right we do," Lily could not help but retort. He raised his eyebrows and then departed with Peter.

Remus took a seat beside one of the Ravenclaw prefects, and James stood awkwardly by, while Lily picked up the letter she had been reading before the Marauders' and Carlotta's arrival.

"How do you already have papers?" James asked, amused; he had his hands in his pockets, and his amusement seemed almost nervous.

"Oh, these are just the instructions that came with my Hogwarts letter," Lily replied. "Do you have yours?"

"Yes," said James. "Under my bed at home. Should I go back and fetch it?"

"You can use mine." She handed it over and wondered if her voice was too cold. James seemed to think so, but he did not comment. Lily, meanwhile, made haste to start up a conversation with one of the Hufflepuffs, and this prevented any other dialogue.

(11:00 a.m.)

The Prefect meeting went very badly.

The prefects themselves probably didn't notice much amiss, but Lily felt sure the entire time that she butchered the whole thing.

She just couldn't concentrate.

First of all, there was James.

Second of all, there was Snape.

It was a bloody mercy that the two did not speak an actual word to each other and an additional blessing that Snape did not speak to Lily, but that did not make the situation any less uncomfortable.

As for Severus himself, he looked much the same as he had two months before—pale and unkempt as ever. The familiar surge of pity that awoke in Lily at every new sighting of the Slytherin was predictably present, but it was not accompanied by either the usual affection or any other positive feeling. He only made her sad or angry now.

The reactions to both new Heads were somewhat mixed. The sixth and seventh year Slytherins seemed displeased. Colista Black sniffed indignantly at Lily and muttered something to the sixth year girl about "_The state of Hogwarts these days_." Still, she kept fidgeting with her hair and casting furtive looks in James's direction, so Lily did not think that Colista objected too strongly to _both_ Heads.

The fifth year Slytherins, fortunately, showed no similar signs of mutiny, and, on the whole no one acted out, besides snide comments murmured almost inaudibly.

James, too, behaved himself, and when Bertram Aubrey was shocked and dumbstruck at his presence there, the Head Boy only smirked and winked.

But, all the same, it went very badly. Lily felt sure of this. She'd mispronounced the new Hufflepuff girl's name twice, and kept stumbling over random words. In the end, however, she finished discussing everything she could think of relating to being a prefect—from point deduction documentation to schedules for meetings—and James took over with his half of the presentation. He had agreed to go over the _new_ implements, as enumerated in the Hogwarts letter, and he did so without so much as a stutter. Lily hated him, except not really.

By eleven, the meeting ended, and the prefects all filed out, except Remus, who seemed to be waiting for James.

"So how did I do?" asked the Head Boy. "Should I have led with a joke?"

"You did fine," Lily admitted. "Especially considering you've never been to a prefects' meeting."

"Rub it in, why don't you?"

Lily smiled politely, rather than quipping in reply. James evidently sensed something must be amiss by her lack of bantering retort, and so he offered to help her carry her things—which consisted of her sling purse and a book—and, for a moment, Lily felt incredibly trapped.

"I'll do it," Remus volunteered suddenly. "I'm sure you want to get back to the compartment."

Lily did not think she'd ever appreciated Remus more than in that moment.

"Oh. Okay..." James started to leave, and then hesitated. "Moony, can you give us a minute?" he asked.

"Well, I..."

"Moony."

Remus shrugged. "Have it your way."

When they were alone, James slid the compartment door closed, and Lily raised her eyebrows innocently. "What's up?"

"At the risk of sounding like a complete girl," began the Head Boy, "are you angry with me?"

"Why would I be angry with you?"

"Because—because I didn't tell you about Carlotta. And... because I'm seeing Carlotta."

"James—we were at a protest. When exactly would you have brought up Carlotta? And why would I be angry that you're seeing Carlotta?"

"Well I know... I know you've had some issues with her in the past."

"In the past," echoed Lily firmly. She shrugged. "I was Maid of Honor in Frank and Alice's wedding last week... I think any hard feelings I might have against Carlotta for that are somewhat irrelevant at this point."

"Oh." James nodded awkwardly. "So—so you're not angry?"

"Nope."

"Okay."

"Okay."

James opened the compartment door. "Well—have a good one, Lily."

"Bye." She waved nonchalantly, as James turned and left. Remus had waited for her in the corridor, and he now replaced James in the compartment.

"Shall I carry your bag for you?" asked the Marauder, his mouth twitching as he restrained a smile. Lily rolled her eyes, but she too saw the humor in it.

"I think I can handle it." She did not at once make to leave, however.

"What's wrong?"

"Is James still out there?" asked the Head Girl in an undertone.

Remus arched an eyebrow. "Probably. Carlotta and Shelley were waiting for him at the end of the car."

"Can we wait a minute?"

"You're avoiding him now?"

"I just don't like watching people snog."

Remus made a face. "You don't think they'll... snog a lot... in front of... y'know... people?"

"They're seventeen. Of course they will."

"Bloody hell," sighed the Marauder.

(1:00 p.m.)

She had been his first kiss.

That is, Carlotta had been James's first kiss. It might have been visa versa, too.

Lily reflected on this fact as she bit a jelly slug in half and stared out the window. Fields passed by in a blur, and Mary was talking—either to Lily or to herself—but the Head Girl was having trouble focusing.

Carlotta had been James's first kiss. How odd it was that Lily had never made the connection before... never realized that they really did fit together in their own way. Carlotta was direct; she didn't trouble herself about other people's feelings, and she liked laughter and attention. James was largely the same.

They looked very nice together, too, except that Carlotta was too short for him. Still, it was inconceivable that Carlotta could look _bad_ with anyone. That might have been visa versa as well.

It made a strange kind of sense, and Lily wondered why she had never thought of it before. Then again, she had never really connected James with anyone in her mind before. He had dated that weird Sarah girl back in fifth year for a while, and there had been a slew of others linked to him (either by reality or rumor), but—and perhaps it was because it was _Carlotta_—this new relationship seemed so much more real to Lily.

No, Lily had never thought of James really _with_ anyone before, but she could not deny that Carlotta made sense.

"_Lily_."

Lily started. "What?"

"I _said_..." and it was Mary, "...would you pass the Jelly Slugs?"

"Oh. Right." She handed over the candy and thought it best to pay a little more attention to the conversation at hand.

(3:30 p.m.)

"We'll have to figure something out," Lily mused to Remus, as they finished up their perfectly duty of patrolling the corridors. "You don't think James minded being excluded from the rounds?"

"I have never known Prongs to mind being excluded from work," replied Remus lightly.

"Right. All the same, the odd number of prefects and head students this year is rather awkward."

"I'm sure we'll work something out, though," agreed Remus. They started back towards Remus's compartment—the one he currently shared with the other Marauders, Carlotta, and Shelley. Lily shuddered to think what that might mean.

"How is everything else going so far?" she asked as they walked. "I mean—have you—have you... have you talked to Snape?"

"I could ask you the same question."

Lily shook her head. "He ignored me during and after the prefects' meeting. It's just as well. But I meant... because he..."

"No, I know," said Remus. "I haven't spoken to him though. The Marauders have mostly been keeping to ourselves, so we haven't had the pleasure of running into any Slytherins yet."

"Well that's good."

Remus grinned. "I thought you were the one all about trying not to assume that all Slytherins are evil...?"

"I'm also the one who's all about James and Sirius not going to prison for throwing some Slytherins off a train."

"You make a good point."

They changed cars, growing ever closer to the Marauder compartment. "How is it going with Shelley in there?" Lily wanted to know, for she had noted the girl's presence there when she came to collect Remus for rounds. "Is she... is she alright?"

"Why wouldn't she be? Oh, because she's fancied James since 362 B.C.?"

"Thank Merlin _someone's_ not oblivious to that," sighed Lily. "Does James realize?"

"No, he thinks Shelley hates him. I never thought to tell him _before,_ because I didn't want to boost his ego. She seems pretty normal now, though. Very natural in there... you don't suppose she's moved on, do you?"

Lily wanted desperately to repeat everything that Shelley had said earlier, but it felt incontestably wrong. She gave a noncommittal shrug instead and added: "Just make sure James is careful, yeah?"

"Right." He hesitated while they were still several doors down from Remus's destination. "Lily, can I ask you a question."

"Mhm."

"Just—just answer honestly, okay?"

"Okay..."

"Do you... I mean... have you ever... Have you ever thought that maybe you...?"

"Remus," interrupted Lily, "you're not asking me out, are you?"

Remus scowled. "No I'm not asking—why on earth would you think I was asking you out?"

"Thank Merlin for that."

"Do you think I have a death wish? Honestly, asking you out would be... what do you mean _Thank Merlin_? What if I really had been asking you out?"

"Nonsense, I knew you weren't."

"You did not! You were worried!"

"Maybe a little," Lily admitted. "But only because I didn't want to say 'no' and ruin our friendship. And I would have to say no, because Sirius would be bloody furious with me for trying to steal you."

"You're hilarious."

"What were you _really_ asking?"

"Well, it seems kind of silly now that your vain mind has leapt to the conclusion that every bloke you know is in love with you."

"I can't believe you're still angry about that."

"It was literally fifteen seconds ago, Lily."

"Lupin. Focus. What were you asking me?"

"Well..." This time, Remus was interrupted not by Lily, but by Shelley, who opened the door the Marauders' compartment and stepped out into the corridor.

"Hurry up," coaxed Lily. Remus shook his head.

"I'll talk to you about it later."

"_Remus!_" Lily whined after him, but he was already slipping past Shelley in the corridor.

As he reached the compartment, he called back over his shoulder, "I can't believe you thought I wanted to date you!"

"_Please!"_ she scoffed in return. "You would be so lucky!"

Laughing, Remus disappeared, just as Shelley reached Lily.

"Are you two dating?" she asked enthusiastically.

"Er... no. Just mates."

"Oh."

"Where are you off to anyway?"

"Oh, I've got a date," said Shelley proudly.

"A date?" Lily echoed. "It's the first day of school. And we're on a train."

"It's not that kind of date."

"What kind of date is it?"

"A Carlotta kind."

Lily frowned, trying to work out what that meant. "Shelley, are you going to go snog someone?"

"That's right," said Shelley brightly.

"Anyone in particular, or just the first willing participant?"

"Don't be silly," Shelley laughed, as though speaking to a very naïve child. "These kinds of things have to be _arranged_. I ran into him in the corridor and set up to meet him at the end of the train at three p.m. Plus, it gives me a nice excuse to leave that compartment."

"Wasn't it any fun?"

"Oh, loads. James... well... never mind. But I couldn't stay in there the _whole_ trip. It would look like I had nowhere better to be."

"A fatal error, surely."

"Right. Anyway..." Shelley smiled again—she seemed nothing _but _smiles—"I had better go. But I'll... I say, Lily, have you been shrinking. You seem shorter than you used to."

"No, I'm just aging backwards," replied Lily. Shelley frowned.

"Oh."

"Right."

"Be seeing you."

"Bye... oi, you do know for certain this bloke isn't going to hit you over the head and take all your money, right?"

"Don't be silly, Lily." Shelley waved off her question and proceeded onto the next car.

"I'm starting to worry about that girl," sighed the redhead. "And did she just call me short? _Merlin_, let this day end..."

(7:20 p.m.)

"Lily, I can't do this," said Marlene faintly. "I can't go in there. I can't... I can't _look _at him."

"Marlene..."

"No, I know it's pathetic, but I can't help it! You don't know how it—I mean, I just..."

The Entrance Hall was all but empty now; the first years would be along soon, and of the older students, only a handful—besides Marlene and Lily—remained. For the first time that day, tears formed in Marlene's eyes. Lily wrapped her arms around her friend's shoulders.

"Marlene..."

"What did I _do_, Lily?" she muttered, sniffing. "Why didn't I just...? Why couldn't I...?"

"You weren't ready," said Lily. "It's not your fault."

"It is though. I was so _stupid_..."

"No, you _weren't_. You were just getting out of one really complicated, really intense relationship, and you weren't ready to jump into another one. That's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

"But it's not _his_ fault either..."

"No," Lily had to agree, her confidence faltering. "No, he had every right to move on, too."

"I wish she were evil. You know? I wish she were mean or stupid or... couldn't read or something."

"Harsh, Marlene."

"I know. It's not her fault she's adorable, sweet, funny, tiny, smart, has excellent taste in music, and happens to have the same name as a fantastic Beatles song, after all." There was something resentful in her sigh. She dropped her head onto Lily's shoulder. Lily wrapped an arm around her friend, leaning her own head on Marlene's and smiling sadly.

"Marlene, you are beautiful," she said definitively. "And you are funny, and brilliant, and talented, and you have _fantastic_ taste in music. You know all that, right?"

Marlene merely snorted. "I'll never listen to the White Album again."

"Mar."

"It's his second favorite Beatles' album, you know. The White Album. _Dear Prudence: _track number seven."

Lily chuckled.

"It's not funny, Lily."

"It's a little funny."

(8:30 p.m.)

The walk to Professor Dumbledore's office was quick, as Lily's steps were quick; James hastened to keep up.

"If it's really that important, why don't you just skive off the meeting?" he asked. "I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't mind."

"Of _course_ Dumbledore would mind," Lily retorted. "I can't skive off the orientation meeting. _Honestly_..."

"Will Mary be alright?"

"Sure, once she gets used to the fact that her boyfriend cheated on her in the Entrance Hall."

"You're being sarcastic."

"Yes, I am."

James sighed; he did not struggle to keep up with Lily, who was working much harder than he to maintain this pace, and that was frustrating. "It's just odd," he remarked eventually. "It doesn't sound like something Mi... Shelley would do. I thought always thought she was... nice. If a bit standoffish..."

"Well, I guess she's not standoffish," was Lily's sole reply, because she was just a bit annoyed that James did not grasp his own role in this at all. Worse still was the fact that she could not bring herself to tell him.

James was quiet for a bit, but he resurrected the conversation as they headed into the wing of the castle in which Dumbledore's office was located. "So, what exactly is this meeting about?"

"I don't know," replied Lily. "Probably just to give us general instructions. Maybe to chat about the Head dormitories."

"Oi! That's right! I get my own room!"

"Did you forget?"

"It hadn't occurred to me. Will it just appear at the top of the stair, like it did for Frank?"

Lily nodded. "And there will be one on the girls' end of the tower, too."

"Do we get our own Common Room?"

"What?"

"Our own Common Room."

Lily frowned. "_No. _Where on earth did you get that idea?"

"I don't know," admitted James. "I feel like I read it somewhere."

"Cockroach Clusters."

* * *

Professor Dumbledore sat at his great desk, hands folded atop its surface, while the red and gold bird at his side sang an odd kind of melody. Nervously, Lily approached the two vacant seats that the headmaster indicated, and she cursed the easy calmness that James positively exuded. How did he _do_ that?

Practice, most likely. He'd had more visits to the Headmaster's office in his time than just about everyone else in the school combined.

"Miss Evans, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore greeted them cheerfully as the two head students sat down. "I trust everything went smoothly on the train this morning?"

"Very smoothly," said Lily, and James nodded.

"And I trust the both of you had very enjoyable holidays?"

"We sort of got arrested!" said James proudly. "Although, I suppose you've heard all about that. Dad's a right old gossip."

"I _did_ hear of your exploits in the Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore confirmed, smiling beneath his heavy silver beard. For a moment, Lily thought he might elaborate—that he might have some other comment, or information to share, but he returned the topic to issues at hand. "And this arrangement," he said, "the two of you feel that you will be able to work together efficiently and mutually beneficially?"

"I'll try not to weigh her down," said James.

"I am certain that will not be the case," replied Dumbledore, and Lily nodded earnestly. James quirked an eyebrow at the urgency of her reaction, but she did not care: it was more important that he understand _that_, at least.

"Very well," continued Dumbledore, now businesslike. "There are a number of duties the two of you will have as Head Boy and Girl. Coordinating with the Quidditch Captains over scheduling of the pitch, overseeing point deduction documentation, for example. Lily, I believe, as a prefect will be familiar with much of that, but there is a full list of responsibilities in the Head offices on the fourth floor, which Professor McGonagall will review with you at your earliest convenience. There are some other tasks, however, which are new this year—two in particular. First, starting next week, sixth and seventh year prefects will take evening corridor patrol shifts from eight o'clock curfew to eleven o'clock. Again, Professor McGonagall will review this with you in greater detail soon, but I hoped to give you advance notice, as it will constitute a significant increase in your workload. As N.E.W.T. students, you know that this workload is already considerable, but I believe the two of you up to the task. Am I correct?"

"I suppose so..." said Lily uncertainly.

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" was James's reply.

Dumbledore nodded. "The second new task I have for you," he continued, "involves Madam Keepdown."

"_Please_ say you're not making the Head students go to those rubbish counseling meetings?" pleaded James, and Lily smothered a chuckle. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again.

"No, James, I'm afraid that those are Ministry mandated... given the dramatic events of last year. However, I hope that you two will keep me informed of how you feel those weekly sessions run. If you feel they are beneficial to the students... if there is anything you feel is particularly detrimental... I hope you will keep me informed."

Lily exchanged the briefest of looks with the Head Boy. "Are you asking us to spy on Madam Keepdown?"

"Of course not, Miss Evans. Madam Keepdown is fully aware that she will undergo student evaluation. Indeed, the dear lady invited it."

"Are we not allowed to say they're rubbish, then?" asked James.

"Rather not until you have actually experienced a meeting or two first," the headmaster replied. "Now, to other business..."

* * *

They started back towards the Common Room. James didn't say anything at first, and Lily was not in the mood to start a conversation. She crossed her arms and quickened her pace just a bit.

"Is something bothering you?" asked James suddenly.

_Merlin and Agrippa, what do _you_ think?_

"Nope."

"Convincing."

Lily just rolled her eyes, but she walked ahead of him, so he did not see.

"What's wrong?" he asked, hastening his own steps to walk in line with her.

"Nothing."

"Snaps..."

"Nothing's wrong. Just leave it alone, alright?"

For the length of one corridor, James complied. Then, as though he couldn't help himself: "Oh, c'mon, Evans—do you really hate Carlotta that much?"

"Excuseme?"

"You've been weird all day, and I'm sorry: '_Cool?'_ That's all I get? Not even a 'Congratulations,' or..."

Lily stopped walking. "_Excuse _me?" she repeated. "You're angry that I'm not enthusiastic enough about your relationship? What, you want me to throw you a party with balloons and streamers?"

"Lay off, Evans, that's not what I..."

"You're an idiot."

"What?"

"I said '_you're an idiot_.'"

"I heard what you said! Why am I an idiot?"

Lily did not think she had it in her to answer, however. She merely shook her head in disbelief and continued down the corridor.

"Evans! C'mon don't..." James caught up with her, pulling her to a stop. When he did not immediately remove his hand from her arm, she glared, and he withdrew it at once. "Why are you...?"

And then it was all too much.

_We're dating._

_They're kind of perfect for each other. _

_Just close enough to..._.

"Why didn't you tell me you were dating Carlotta?" Lily snapped, before she could help herself.

James dropped his gaze. "I—I didn't... it didn't come up."

"It _didn't come up_?" (This, practically shouted), "Really? Because I have this _weird_ memory of sitting in an office with you and asking how your trip went, and you just said 'fine,' and then you got all snippy with me, like you _always_ do when you're hiding something, and oh-my-Merlin, _how could I be so stupid_?" It began to make sense, "I thought it was just the Head Boy thing, but... Agrippa's sake, that was what Sirius was trying to get you to tell me, too, wasn't it? And Sam... 'the ginger but not the girl...' I am _such an idiot!_ How did I not _realize_?"

"You're not an idiot, I just..."

"We spent two consecutive days almost _constantly_ in each other's presence, and yet you didn't mention once during that time that you were practically engaged to my roommate!"

"I'm not _practically engaged, _Evans."

"Right, so if you were filling out a form for something, and it had two little boxes and you had to check one—single or taken, you would check...?"

"Are you done, Snaps?"

"No, don't you 'Snaps' me," bit Lily, the anger inside of her bubbling up, intense and uncontainable. "I'm annoyed with you. You deceived me..."

"We were at a _protest_," argued James. "When exactly was I supposed to bring up my love life without sounding like a complete prat? It didn't _come up!"_

"You mean, I didn't explicitly _ask_ you if you were dating Carlotta Meloni? Well, that's true, I guess. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure you could have surreptitiously snuck it in on any number of occasions, including the time I _specifically asked_ about your trip! It seems like, I don't know, you might have managed at least to give me a 'Well, pretty good, Lily; nice weather and all that, and I'm shagging Carlotta Meloni, so _that's always fun_.'"

"Lily..."

But Lily did not give him any other opportunity to defend himself. She supposed he might have had a perfectly reasonable excuse, but she did not want to hear it, and so she turned on her heel and walked quickly away. He said her name twice more, but she didn't turn, and he did not pursue.

Except when she delivered the password to the Fat Lady—and James was still far behind—Lily did not pause once, all the way up to her dormitory. She ignored everyone in the Common Room and barely hesitated at the door to the seventh year girls' dormitory. She continued to ascend the stair, which had not extended so far the year prior, and threw open the door at the top, barely registering the little bronze plaque engraved with the words "Head Girl" that was situated upon it.

It was a lovely room. Spacious, if simple, it was at least the size of the girls' dormitory in which Lily had spent the last six years, and the thought that she had it all to herself would have—under any other circumstances—excited her.

The walls were paneled with honey colored wood, a shade lighter than the great desk near the door to her own private bath. The dormitory was circular, and a large window—with a cushion-covered bench—overlooked the darkened Hogwarts grounds. The stone floor was partially concealed by a round rug, which was the same shade of scarlet as the thick and inviting comforter on her bed. The curtains on the window, however, were a soft cream color, like the pillows on the bed.

The entire room had lit up upon her entrance, and yet none of these details had any effect upon Lily. She barely saw them, for suddenly her eyes were blurred by tears.

Her breathing grew heavy and staggered. She fell back against the closed door and pushed her hair away from her face, forcibly attempting to fend off the attack of panic that quickened her heart and made her head spin.

_No good at all._

* * *

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was there something you needed?"

This was Mary's voice, and Lily, resolutely dry-eyed, entered a very tense version of the seventh year girls' dormitory. Mary and Marlene faced Shelley. Mary looked furious, and Shelley was blushing, stammering some response. Marlene was the only one who noticed Lily's arrival.

"What's going on?" Lily asked, almost out of habit, stepping towards Mary and Marlene.

"Nothing," said Mary, and there was a cold, spiteful bite in her tone that Lily could not remember ever having heard from the brunette before. "Shelley was just on her way out."

Right. Caught up in her own drama for a moment, Lily had almost forgotten about the Shelley and Stebbins debacle. Shelley looked as though she were about to comply with the order, but Lily wrapped an arm around Mary's shoulder. "No, Shell, ignore her," she said, somewhat wearily. She thought quickly. "C'mon, Mare, I've got a room all to myself. We'll have a... sleepover or something."

Still glaring, Mary assented and departed with Marlene.

"The door's open—I'll be along in a minute," Lily called after them. She was, momentarily, left alone with Shelley, until Carlotta emerged from the lavatory. She still wore her uniform.

The three girls stood there, somewhat awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, Shelley," sighed Lily. "Mary's not... I mean... I know you didn't know she was with Stebbins..." Actually, she had no idea if this was true. Honestly, she didn't care. She just... she just wanted everyone to be _quiet_.

"Of course she didn't know," Carlotta spoke up earnestly. "Shelley wouldn't—Shelly wouldn't intentionally try to snog another girl's boyfriend... would you, Shell?"

All the shyness that had prevailed in Shelley when Mary had been in the room suddenly vanished. It might have been the final straw, or maybe she had intended this all along.

"Not like _you_," she snapped, rounding on Carlotta. "You would do it—you _have _done it, without blinking an eye."

"Shell..."

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!" Shelley shouted, and Carlotta blanched noticeably. The room seemed to grow still around Shelley. "HOW COULD YOU? You _knew_! You've _always _known that I was in love with him, and you just—did you even _care?_"

"You... you never... said anything to him..."

"That shouldn't have mattered to you! You were supposed to be my best friend, but you—you didn't really care about my feelings at all! You _knew_, and you went ahead anyway!"

"I didn't mean to hurt you..."

"Of course you did!" Shelley shrieked. "You don't care about anyone but yourself! It must have been... it must have been so exciting for you to land James Potter! You must have thought that... that stupid, mousy little Shelley wouldn't say anything! Like—like in fourth year, when you kissed him... you must have thought I'd stay in line and behave! But I'm not going to! I'm not going to be your stupid little sidekick anymore! I'm _done_ with that!"

Lily wondered if either would notice if she left.

"I am _done_ with you!"

"Shelley, I thought it was just a little crush..." Never had Lily heard Carlotta sound so—ashamed. She spoke quietly and desperately.

"YOU KNEW!" Shelley raged on. "YOU KNEW AND YOU DID IT ANYWAY!" A brief, chilling silence, and then she continued, more calmly, "but it doesn't matter... he's not going to want you for very long."

"What—what's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. If you think he's going to want a girl like _you..."_

Instantly, Carlotta regained her usual calm. She met Shelley's eye. "You think he's going to want _you_?" She laughed; Shelley tried to remain confident. "You think that James Potter is going to pay any attention to _you_, Shelley? You'll have to do more than lose a little weight for _that_ to happen..."

Shelley actually lunged at Carlotta, but Lily stepped in.

"Stop it, _both of you!"_ she shouted. "Carlotta, Shelley—you two have to get a grip. He's _just a boy_."

"He's not _just a boy!"_ Shelley snapped. "He's the boy that _I'm _in love with..."

"He _doesn't fancy you_, Shelley," retorted Carlotta. "He fancies _me_."

"Not for very long! I listened to every story you ever told me, Carlotta! I know all of the _awful _things you've done, and those aren't the qualities that a bloke wants in a girlfriend!"

"Then why are you trying so hard to _be me_?" Carlotta shrieked.

"I don't want to be _you!_ You would have failed potions last year, if you hadn't given Robbie Castle a hand job to do your homework for you!"

"At least I'm not a whining, simpering little _fool_, who thinks that the only reason her pathetic crush never worked out is because she was _ugly_! Truth is, Shelley—he wouldn't have fancied you even if you hadn't resembled a deformed hippogriff!"

Shelley gasped, and tried once more to reach Carlotta, unsuccessful yet again due to Lily.

"I'm serious, _stop it_," she snapped.

"_Stay out of this, Lily!"_ barked Shelley.

"I'm not going to let you kill each other!"

"This is none of your business! Stop meddling!"

Lily rolled her eyes. She stepped back. "Fine. Tear each other's hair out—see if I care." Lily moved back towards the door and fully intended on leaving, except that a small part of her wanted to stay—to hear what was left to be said. Both Carlotta and Shelley were quiet for few seconds, and then, bitterly, Shelley spoke.

"I just couldn't believe that you would do that to me," she muttered, and there were tears in her eyes. "You _knew_..."

"I knew that you fancied a boy whom you had scarcely spoken two words to in six years," Carlotta interrupted, also tearful. "I knew that he liked _me_, and he didn't just want to sleep with me—he liked _me. _So, yes, I wanted to go out with him."

"He didn't _know!_" Shelley replied, her voice rising above normal volume once again.

"He didn't know _what?_ That you would get skinny and be willing to shag him? First of all, you're not even _that_ skinny. Second of all, he's James Potter! It's not as though he's never had options before, okay?"

"I see," retorted Shelley. "So you're _special _are you? _Please_! The only reason anyone would want to be with you is because you're a guaranteed slag!"

"And _you're_ so much better now? You snogged _Mary's_ boyfriend!"

"So _what?_ It's not like Mary MacDonald isn't going to find another boyfriend!"

"You are _such_ a pathetic hypocrite!"

"You're a whoring slag!"

And Lily could not help herself any longer.

"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP_!_" she shouted; it was a volume she did not think her voice had ever actually reached before, and it silenced both Carlotta and Shelley at once. "_You're both wrong!_" she went on furiously. "Neither of you have the moral high ground anymore, okay? And y-y-you're standing here, _arguing_, like a couple of idiots over something that is so—so—so unfathomably insignificant that I can barely handle knowing that two supposedly intelligent seventeen-year-old girls care at all!"

Shelley and Carlotta looked disgruntled.

"Well," began the blonde quietly, "_she_..."

"Bloody hell, I don't care!" Lily went on as before, her voice shaking with anger, and Shelley flinched; "You are _both _wrong! What part of that don't you understand? Carlotta..." She turned to the brunette. "What the _hell_ were you doing? You've known that your best friend was in love with him since first year—you _shouldn't have kissed him, and you shouldn't have started dating him! _You're not _in love_! You did it because you _wanted_ to, and because for whatever reason, you are incapable of understanding that you can't do _every single thing you want to do!_ If you didn't have to act on _every single whim_ that you have, your best, and—might I add—practically _only_ friend wouldn't be standing here shouting profanities at you!"

Carlotta dropped her gaze; Shelley looked momentarily triumphant. Momentarily.

"And _you!"_ Lily turned to the blonde. "You're not much better!For someone who worships and adores the bloke, you don't seem to have a very high opinion of James! You're going to, what? Have a long, fulfilling relationship—get married, have babies, and live in his big, fancy house—based on your trying to seduce him away from his girlfriend? How is that _possibly _a good idea? And, oh my Merlin, don't even get _started _on Stebbins! I hate to say it, but Carlotta has a point! How can you stand there calling her a whore, when everything from your practically orange lipstick to the fact that you just uttered the sentence, 'Mary MacDonald will find another boyfriend,' makes you _just as bad!_"

"I..."

"NO! _No, no, NO! I _am talking now!"

Shelley faltered.

"The both of you need to get your acts together _right now!_ I am _done _caring if Carlotta is seeing the bloke that you fancy, Shelley, or if Shelley is trying to sit on your boyfriend's lap, Carlotta. _Whatever_. But all of this whore-calling, and shouting, and making this dormitory miserable, and... and... snogging my friend's boyfriend to prove a point to each other—all of _that_ ends now! _AND_..." she spoke over two attempts to interrupt, "before either of you say that this is none of my business, I am going to spare you the risk of getting hexed out that window: this is my business, because I'm supposed to have my own room tonight, and yet now, I get to spend the evening agreeing to repetitive statements about what a git Stebbins is! And, also, because the two of you are insults to the very word 'friendship' with how you're behaving! And, _also_, because I'm Head Girl, and there's NO SHOUTING ALLOWED IN THE DORMITORIES!"

She finished her speech.

Shelley and Carlotta did not speak.

At some point—and Lily had no idea when—Donna had entered the dormitory from the bath, dripping wet from her shower and clothed in a bathrobe. She looked from Lily to the other two, amber eyes wide with wonder.

Everyone was silent, and then Carlotta, her voice trembling, almost whispered: "I'm _sorry_."

She addressed Shelley, but the blonde had no pity for the girl who had stolen James Potter.

"I hate you," she replied bitterly.

Lily turned to leave before anything else could be said, but Carlotta beat her to it. She slipped out of the dormitory, slamming the door behind her.

Donna broke the silence this time. "Did—did anyone remember toothpaste? I forgot mine."

Shelley sat down on her four-poster in a huff; Lily sighed.

"I've got toothpaste upstairs," she replied. "Mary and Marlene are going to sleep up there tonight, so if you want to..."

"In the Head Dormitory? _Yes_ please." And then Donna had taken her things upstairs.

"Shelley..." Lily began to say, but the other cut her off.

"It's not _fair_," she snapped; she was staring at the wall, twisting the hem of her sweater between her fingers. "Carlotta gets _everything_. She only wanted him because she—she knew _I_ wanted him and would never have him." Shelley sniffed, a tear trickling down her cheek. Lily really did not want to feel sorry for her, but that didn't change the fact of it.

"I am sorry, Shelley. For all of this... but..."

"Please," Shelley interrupted, calmer. "Please just leave it."

Lily nodded, and she, too, left the dormitory.

Much to her chagrin, however, a small crowd of Gryffindor girls had formed outside the door, undoubtedly drawn by the shouting, and it was Lily's unpleasant task of ordering them all away. As the group dispersed, however, Lily noticed one figure remaining stationary on the other side of the divide between the boys' and girls' dormitories. Carlotta stood on the opposite staircase, a compact mirror in hand as she seemed to be rubbing the tear-induced bags under her eyes.

Lily turned to go return to her own dormitory, but Carlotta had noticed her, too, and she called the Head Girl's name. Lily turned, and Carlotta looked expectantly at her, compact closed now, as though she were waiting for Lily to join her on the other stair. Sighing, the redhead complied.

She ascended to the same step on which Carlotta stood, but leaned against the wall across from the brunette.

"You're kind of self-righteous," said Carlotta.

Lily sighed. "Kind of? As in, it's _kind of _my defining characteristic?"

Carlotta smiled a weak, watery, un-Carlotta-ish smile. "He was never going to fancy Shelley. Honestly, I was a little surprised he fancied _me_."

"Only a little?"

She shrugged. "I'm quite good-looking."

"So I hear." Lily sighed again, massaging her forehead to dissuade a quickly setting-on headache. "Does _he_ know?"

"That I'm quite good-looking?"

"About Shelley."

All traces of humor vanished from Carlotta's impeccable (even in crying) face. She shook her head.

"He's going to find out. I assume you don't think all _that_..." Lily gestured to the dormitory door, indicating everything that had just transpired within it, "...went unnoticed by the mob outside the door."

"I know," Carlotta whispered. "I have to tell him."

"Yes, you do."

Carlotta nodded. She looked as though she were about to leave, but she hesitated. "You're kind of self-righteous, but you... you understand things, too."

"I don't understand this," Lily replied helplessly. "Why _him_? Why this _particular _boy? Why James Potter?" And she had the strangest feeling—she _needed_ an answer, as though she were not posing the question merely to Carlotta. Carlotta's response, however, was not helpful at all.

"Because blokes like James don't want girls like me."

"Carlotta, they all want a girl like you."

"Frank didn't."

"See—see that's what I'm talking about!" Lily insisted, as a fourth year boy passed between them, on the way up to his dormitory. "Almost a year ago, we sat in that dorm and had that conversation about Frank, and _he_ was the one. He was the answer to everything, and it didn't matter about anyone else, because _you two _were meant to be... and look how that turned out! You hurt Frank, you hurt Alice, and you two _weren't _meant to be. But now it's not Alice you're hurting—it's _Shelley_. It's your _best friend!_ How is this any better than the Frank story?"

Carlotta seemed to think the answer was obvious, however. "Frank didn't want me. James did."

"But there must have been a bloke who wanted you and that your best mate wasn't in love with!"

"I know," said Carlotta, almost timid. "But none like James."

A few minutes later, Carlotta went up to bed (in the Head Boy's dormitory—Lily decided not to think about it), and the Head Girl returned to her own dorm, where Mary, Marlene, and Donna awaited her. Before she entered, Lily hesitated at the door; she took one deep, calming breath and closed her eyes.

"_Get it together, Evans_," she thought to herself. "_For everyone else's sake and your own."_

She opened her eyes and the door in unison.

(Approximately Twelve Hours Earlier)

Today was going to be a good day.

The morning sun shone gloriously up above, the birds sang, and the lovely, nostalgia-inspiring smell of smoke drifted across Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Lily sat on a bench on the platform, and her toes tapped in the rhythm of the Beatles song currently stuck in her head ("Ticket to Ride," because the Hogwarts Express had brought it to mind), while she hummed quietly along, watching the passersby with interest.

It was twenty minutes after nine, and she was early, because she'd just been... excited. Excited to be back at Hogwarts with her friends every day, excited to be Head Girl (to James's Head Boy), excited for the plethora of untapped potential that seemed so ridiculously imminent in this new school term. September was a wonderful month.

It was twenty-five minutes after nine. Sirius Black was the first Gryffindor seventh year to arrive.

"You know that you have to actually get _on_ the train, right?" he asked, appearing rather suddenly to Lily's left and plopping down beside her on the bench.

The redhead rolled her eyes. "I'm just enjoying the fresh air."

"_This_ is fresh air?"

Lily merely smiled. "Your sarcasm can't get me down, Black. I like train stations. They are wrought with possibility."

Sirius grinned in reply. "Whatever you say, Evans. I'll see you on the train."

"Almost inevitably."

Then, with a particular spring to his step, Sirius took off, pulling his trunk behind him.

It was nine-twenty-seven; a third year girl had taken to skipping about the platform with the mantra, "_Welcome, welcome to another year at Hogwarts!_"

It was nine-thirty-three, and Lily continued to tap and hum, when Remus Lupin passed by, grinning and waving with more promises to see her on the train. It was nine-thirty-seven when Adam McKinnon passed, adding his own cheerful greeting, and nine-forty-two when Donna finally arrived, with Bridget at her side.

"C'mon, then," she half beckoned, half ordered. "I'll go find a compartment."

"Alright, alright," replied Lily. "I'll be along in a minute."

Donna nodded and followed the usual path to the train car, muttering what might have been explanations (but was more likely warnings) to her younger sister as she went. Lily began to gather up her things, only distracted for a moment by the sight of a young muggleborn bidding goodbye to her parents. By the glow on her face and the evident anxiety of her mother and father, the witch seemed to be a first year. Lily smiled. This kid had no idea what was in store for her...

In a good way.

Lily checked on Ira, her cat, and then got to her feet, preparing to follow Donna towards the Hogwarts Express. She had yet to take a step, however, when her eyes fell upon James and Sirius standing near a train car—odd, she hadn't noticed James arrive, but the station was crowded, and it was in no way impossible that he had slipped by.

For a moment—only a few seconds—Lily observed the two Marauders. The warm morning light caught the Head Boy badge pinned to James's t-shirt, as well as the amused glint in his hazel eyes. He ran one hand through his hair, shaking his head, and replied to some remark from Sirius with a few words of self-aware cleverness that made Sirius laugh out loud. When Sirius gave another reply, James listened, a crease forming between his eyes in subtle interest, one hand idly rubbing his jaw line.

Lily's mind leapt to an evening, not long ago, when she had stood close enough to fill the space and then some that currently existed between the two Marauders—close enough to feel James's breath, close enough to kiss him, if only she had let herself stop thinking a minute or two...

And then, for a moment—only a few seconds—Lily's breath caught in her throat, and she realized something.

She realized that her stomach was doing back-flips. She realized that a little piece of her ached to be standing close to the Head Boy. She realized she hadn't been breathing for several moments.

Lily realized she would very much like to kiss James Potter just then.

It was a moment—only a few seconds—of clarity: a realization that was immediately surprising and then quite obvious. Right there, right then, she wanted nothing more than to kiss James. It wasn't alcohol speaking; it wasn't _just_ hormones; there could be no more excuses.

She liked James Potter.

She really, _really_ liked James Potter.

Lily realized this... for a few clear, hopeful, comforting seconds, Lily realized exactly what she wanted, and it was the first time she had really known this for a very long time. She felt a glow of enlightenment, as one often does when they arrive late at self revelation—when they finally have a grip on what, exactly, would make them truly, ridiculously ecstatic at that instant in time. And what a thing to discover, that it should be James Potter... James Potter, who had liked her once before, and might like her again, if given encouragement...

For a moment—only about nine and a half thrilling, wonderful seconds—Lily was happy. People hurried past her, shouting and talking but mute; the train revved and roared, but silently; her heart pounded, the heat rose in her face. This was going to be a good year.

Then, into the frame of her sight which had now narrowed and centered on James Potter, a new figure entered. Brunette and lovely and flawless, Carlotta Meloni appeared. She wrapped her thin, sun-kissed arms around James's neck and kissed him on the lips.

And James kissed Carlotta back.

And someone walked by to punch Lily in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her for a full six seconds. Or if they didn't, they might as well have.

_James and Carlotta._

_James and Carlotta._

_..._

Mary skipped cheerfully by, but Lily choked on the air when she attempted to reply to her friend's greeting.

James Potter and Carlotta Meloni.

Together.

"_Welcome, welcome to another year at Hogwarts!"_ chanted that wretched third year.

This was... not good.

Not good at all.

(That Evening)

Lily had heard her friends talking—she'd heard every word of their conversations and understood none of it. It was late now, and she didn't have to be the _Lily _of the group anymore. She didn't have to (couldn't possibly) prop up the others. One by one, they went to sleep, and she was alone in her consciousness... utterly alone, because none of them knew (she didn't want them to).

She wanted to be really drunk and think of something else.

She wanted to sleep and not dream at all.

She wanted to be very far away from that place.

She wanted to...

Had every rejection (every "Not in a million years, Potter!") felt like this to him? She would have been so much nicer if she'd known it were possible.

What a way to start a year.

No good at all.

* * *

**A/N: **Too tired for an A/N. I'll blog later. Thank you so much to everyone who reads and reviews: you are so loyal and wonderful, and you make this so enjoyable for me.

Reviews are fanfiction all nighters.

Love,

Jules


	31. Carlotta Delenda Est

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo Ro.

**Before: **Carlotta Meloni has a "reputation," but she decides to settle down and date James, which is problematic because her best mate plain Jane Shelley has a crush on James. So Shelley loses the plain Jane part and decides to get revenge on Carlotta, which, unfortunately, weirdly involves making out with Mary MacDonald's boyfriend, Stebbins. Back in sixth year, Marlene dated Miles Stimpson, who was a tool, and they broke up when he made out with Carlotta at Connor Plex's New Years Party. Sirius played that prank on Snape at the end of last year which caused major problems for the Marauders, but now they're okay. Lily realizes that she likes James... right before she finds out he's dating Carlotta. Also, the Ministry of Magic wants kids to talk about their feelings, so they've sent Psych Healer Madam Fiona Keepdown to Hogwarts to meet with the kiddos on a regular basis.

Chapter 31- "Carlotta Delenda Est"

Or

"Everybody's Trying to Be My Baby"

Remus Lupin sat down on the sofa in Madame Keepdown's office. It was an awful place to be, draped in gauzy cloths and smelling heavily of something thick and sweet that made his throat itch. There were candles on just about every surface available, and Remus worried about the cloths catching fire... certainly, it was a miracle that Madame Keepdown hadn't set flame to one of her ridiculously droopy sleeves in the process of lighting the candles.

"Remus Lupin," the witch echoed back at him, smiling warmly. She had a wide mouth, and the smile affected every inch of her face, revealing laugh lines around her eyes and forehead. Remus had once read that you could tell if someone's smile was sincere based on whether or not their eyes crinkled, so she had that going for her, at least. Sincerity.

"Hello," Remus replied politely. "Nice to meet you."

"And how are you this afternoon?" asked Madame Keepdown. She was seated in a large chair across from him, and she leaned comfortably back in it, her legs crossed at the knee and both on the armrests.

"Very well, thank you."

"You know, you're the first seventh year I've spoken to this year. I had a few fifth years this morning, but you're the very first in your year."

"Oh." Remus couldn't think of anything else to say, and so he merely smiled. He was certain that his eyes did not crinkle, however. "That's... nice."

Madame Keepdown's smile did not falter. "So..." She leaned forward in her chair, now. "What would you like to talk about?

* * *

In the morning, things looked better.

For Lily, at least.

And that may or may not have been (but definitely was) connected to the realization that she now had her own toilet and, more importantly, her own shower.

"_I want you to cooome on, cooome on, cooome on, coooome on, and take it! Take another little piece of my heaaart now, baaaby—c'mon break it! Break another little bit of my heart now, darling, yeah, yeah, yeaaah! Have a—have another little piece of my heart now baaaaby... you know you got it... if it makes you feel gooooooood..."_

Shower singing was the _best_.

After a luxurious forty-five minute shampoo and conditioning extravaganza, the likes of which Lily had never enjoyed in the shared bath, nor had the nerve to attempt in the prefects' bath, she had a somewhat more positive outlook on the impending school term.

So she may or may not (but definitely did) have feelings for James Sodding Potter, and he may or may not (but definitely did) have a girlfriend, who may or may not have been (but definitely was) the loveliest girl in the entire school. So what? Worst things had happened. Much worse things. She would survive. She would thrive. She would be Hogwarts' best Head Girl since _ever_.

She would be taking forty-five minute showers all year, without having Donna bitch at her to hurry up.

Life was okay.

Smelling like green apple shampoo, Lily wrapped a towel around her torso and looked over her reflection in the mirror. She even managed a smile... and a pretty damn genuine one at that.

Still humming the Janis Joplin song under her breath, Lily moved into her room. She dressed herself with relish; her Hogwarts uniform felt fresh and new after a summer of disuse (except for the blouse and knee high socks, which actually _were_ new).

Today would be good.

Really.

Or else.

The others—Mary, Marlene, and Donna—who had spent the night in the Head Girl's dorm had now returned to their own room to prepare for the day. Donna was entrusted with the task of keeping an eye on Mary, and Marlene was entrusted with the task of making sure Donna carried out her task.

Lily dried her hair and threw it into a careless knot; she did her usual make up, and then debated whether or not to pack any books in her bag. She decided against it, as she had not received her schedule yet and would be obliged to carry all of them around. At eight o'clock, she was ready to leave. She reached the door before realization struck her.

It was all well and good to say that worse things had happened, but James and Carlotta would be at breakfast. Together. After having spent the night together. In James's single room.

Her appetite vanished. Maybe she would ask Marlene to get her schedule... she really ought to stop by the head student office—just to check up on things... perhaps get a start on those patrol schedules...

Not that she was avoiding him.

She wasn't all that hungry anyway.

Breakfast was overrated.

Patrol schedules.

Right.

* * *

In the morning, things looked better.

For Carlotta, at least.

James, as it turned out, woke up even earlier than _she_ did. He had disappeared for a run early that morning, and since returned for a shower and change, only as Carlotta was picking up her things to head downstairs for her own shower.

"You can use this one," said James, picking up his glasses from the dresser and putting them on; somehow, Carlotta liked him even better with the spectacles _on_. "Might as well, right?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm done in there."

Carlotta smiled broadly at him, folding her arms across her chest. "You're pretty fantastic, you know."

"I did, actually, yes."

She shook her head and walked to him, standing on her toes to kiss him on the lips before moving towards the lavatory.

"Carlotta..." he stopped her before she'd left, and she paused.

"Mhm?"

"We... I mean—last night. Shelley." James looked at her meaningfully. "What are we going to do about that? She's your best mate..."

Carlotta's eyes grew dark. Then she shook her hair, straightened her posture, and smiled a very _Carlotta_ smile. "Well," she began, "Today's a new day. Yesterday was yesterday—in the past. And what's the point in worrying about the past?"

James nodded slowly, and Carlotta disappeared into the bath.

Something continued to bother him, however, and no matter what Carlotta had to say about yesterdays and todays, at least one thing had remained from the day before that required his attention. So, when Carlotta had climbed into the shower, and James was all dressed, he shouted through the curtain that he had an errand to run, and then descended into the seventh year boys' dormitory in search of the Marauders' Map.

(Potter Again)

Lily heard the footsteps in the corridor outside the Head Office; someone was jogging closer, but the likelihood that it was James seemed extremely slim. It could be anyone... in a second, their footsteps would pass by the open door, and she _really_ needed to stop fretting over every little...

"Snaps."

Fucking hell.

Lily looked up from the prefect list she had been half attending to, her very best impersonation of a smile on her face.

"Potter. What are you doing here?"

James noticed the use of his surname—that much was evident—because the eagerness in his eyes died quickly.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Oh." She held up the parchment; her heart pounded in her chest. "Patrol schedules."

James arched a skeptical eyebrow; "Have you had breakfast?"

"S-sort of. What did you say you were doing here?"

"What? Oh." James seemed to remember his mission. He mussed his black hair, perhaps unconsciously. "I wanted to—to talk to you..." Inexplicably awkward: "about... last night. I... I'm sorry. I didn't exactly _realize_."

Lily stared; she knew she must have blushed but prayed to God that James did not notice. "Didn't... realize what?"

James sighed, embarrassed. "I didn't—I didn't realize why you were angry with me about Carlotta. I thought... I mean, I... just didn't... get it. But now I do."

Her heart pounded in her chest. "D-do you?"

He knew. Oh God, he knew. How could he know? Had someone guessed and told him? Had he heard her shout at Shelley and Carlotta and interpreted elements of it that might have given her away? What had he heard? What had she said? Oh _God_.

"Carlotta told me."

"C-Carlotta?"

_Carlotta knew? No. Bad. Very, very bad_.

"Shelley," James explained. "Carlotta told me that... that she—y'know... fancies me. And you thought I knew that. Apparently _everyone_ thought I knew that, but I didn't—I swear." Lily realized she'd been holding her breath only as she released it in exhale. Shelley. He thought this was about Shelley. "But the thing is," the Head Boy continued, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it. I fancy Carlotta, and I _don't_ _know_ Shelley, and I don't think it's fair that you get on my case about dating her, because I've done _nothing _wrong." James finished and tried to look defiant.

Lily nodded slowly. She set down the prefect list on the desk behind her to buy herself a little time. It occurred to her that James still stood in the doorway; he was only stopping by—only for a few moments, to speak with her...

"Why _are _you dating Carlotta?" she asked, rather suddenly. James frowned.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"If you're dating her because you think she's an easy shag..."

"_Hey_..."

"Hear me out, okay? If you're dating her because you think she's an easy shag, or because you like the idea of monopolizing the girl who doesn't believe in monogamy, then—then you should break it off, because you're breaking up two best mates for no good reason."

"I'm..."

"_But_," Lily spoke over him, "if you're dating her because you have genuine feelings for her, and if she's seeing you for the same reason, then—I may not agree with her decision, but... you're right. You haven't done anything wrong. Carlotta's a big girl, and she can make choices for herself."

"I _do_ fancy Carlotta," James replied. "She's—honest... most of the time, and funny, and not afraid to say what she's thinking, and I have a good time with her. _That's_ why I'm seeing her."

Lily nodded slowly; she made the unspoken comparisons herself and wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor.

"Then you'll do what you have to do, I suppose."

James seemed taken aback by this response, and Lily sighed heavily.

"To be honest," she went on, "it's none of my business. I mean, it is a little, because I get to handle Shelley and Mary and the dormitory, but... I don't know: you don't have to explain it to me."

"I _do_, though."

"Why?"

James shrugged, not quite meeting her eye. "I don't know. You'll make me feel bad if I don't."

Lily snorted. "Honestly, the way everyone talks, you'd think I went around guilting people for every little thing they do!"

"You kind of do," said James, almost smiling.

"Oh, shut up."

Her mouth twitched as she resisted the urge to smile herself, and she decided she had better get rid of James before they got too comfortable. "You'd best get to breakfast," the Head Girl advised, picking up the prefect list again. "You'll want your class schedule."

"What about you?"

"I—I'll be along."

"A little early to be working on Head Girl duties already, isn't it?"

"I'll be along," Lily repeated.

James shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He might have departed then, but Lily called him back. It was a funny feeling to have—this conflict between _wanting_ to speak to him and hoping she never had to. And it wasn't new, either. It was a very, very old feeling. Years ago, when she'd genuinely disliked James, when she'd been friends with Sev, when the Marauders (sans Remus) were essentially her enemies... even then, though she dreaded encounters with him, those encounters were _interesting_. They challenged and engaged her in ways that discourse with others never had. But she had never acknowledged this fact before, and that was unfortunate.

Still, now, her task was an unpleasant one. James watched her expectantly, awaiting whatever last bit of information she had to impart to him. Lily sighed.

"You should talk to Shelley."

James looked doubtful. "I don't think that's a good idea..."

"You _should_," Lily reiterated. "Before things get worse."

"Worse? Carlotta says already they're not mates anymore. How is it going to get worse?"

"I don't know," admitted Lily. "But—it could."

"Yeah, but..." He further ruffled his hair. "Yesterday was yesterday, and today is today, and what's the point in worrying about the past?" Again, James's expression erred on the side of defiance.

Lily arched her eyebrows.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Well..."

"Wait," Lily interrupted seriously. "_Who_ are you? We were introduced in the _past_, and apparently what happened before has on bearing on what's happening now, so..."

"Very funny."

"Bitter, much?"

James made a face, and so did Lily.

"I'll see you in class..." he said, starting to go.

"_Talk to Shelley_."

"God. _Fine_." Lily almost smiled at that. "Bye, Snaps."

"Bye, Potter."

At that, James hesitated for a moment, as though there was something he wanted to add. Whatever that might be, he chose not to say it, and then he was gone.

(Probation)

Sirius did not know where James had gotten to, for the Head Boy's dormitory had been empty when he had gone up before making his way down to breakfast, but Remus and Peter were already in the Great Hall, and it occurred to Sirius that walking to the first meal of the day alone might now be standard procedure for him. The thought was not a happy one.

A few Hufflepuffs made their way through the Entrance Hall when he arrived on the marble staircase, but almost everyone else was already at breakfast, and Sirius knew he had better hurry if he did not want to miss the meal altogether.

"Oi, Padfoot!"

Sirius paused on the top step, and Peter Pettigrew—who had called his name—hurried to catch up.

"God, you're quick."

"Sorry. I thought you'd come down with Remus."

"No, I was waiting for you—you'd disappeared when I got out of the loo."

"Sorry," Sirius repeated. "C'mon then. Can't miss breakfast, can we?"

They jogged down the steps, but as Sirius reached the last one, he felt one of his feet slip out from under him, and he fell to the floor with a crash.

Peter yelped, and, wincing, Sirius began to push himself up. He'd broken his fall with his hands, which were now bruised, and he'd hit his left knee funny.

"Careful, Black," said a voice, and it was not Peter's. Sirius looked around; emerging from the wing that led to the dungeons was Nicolai Mulciber. His wand was drawn at his side. "Had a spill, did you?"

Peter tried to help Sirius up, but the latter waved him off, getting to his feet on his own. "Clever, Mulciber, really," he snapped. His ankle gave a painful twinge, but Sirius did not react. "Tripping hex? What is that? Standard Book of Spells Level Three? It's only taken you four years to master it."

"I hear you're on probation from the school," said Mulciber, ignoring Sirius's taunt. "Although it seems your little boyfriends have taken you off _their_ probation, so at least you won't be alone when you get kicked out."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "You'd better get to breakfast, _Nick_," he retorted. "They're handing out schedules, and you have to find out what classes you'll be failing this year."

"That's all?" drawled Mulciber. "No hexes? No famous _Marauder_ retaliation? I'm disappointed."

"Impressing you isn't high on my priorities list," spat Sirius.

Mulciber grinned. "It will."

With that, the Slytherin turned and made his way into the Great Hall. Sirius's fists unclenched somewhat. When the two Marauders were alone, Peter looked at his friend, surprised.

"You're on probation?" he asked quickly. "You didn't tell us that. Does Prongs know?"

"We weren't exactly best mates when it happened," Sirius pointed out. "Or, you know, on speaking terms. It'll be fine. Come on..."

Peter followed him across the hall. "What does it mean, though?"

"Nothing," said Sirius crossly. "I just—I can't get in too much trouble. It won't be a problem. Don't say anything to the others."

"Why not?"

"Just _don't_."

"You should tell them..."

"I _will_. Just don't _you_ tell them."

"Fine."

"Good."

Remus sat about halfway down Gryffindor table, meticulously applying butter to every corner of his toast, when Sirius and Peter joined him there.

"Where have you two been?"

"Not everyone rises at the crack of dawn, Moony," said Sirius, forcefully cheerful. "Where's Prongs?"

"No idea. Came by to take the map while you were asleep and then disappeared."

"Carlotta's here," Peter remarked, nodding towards their friend's girlfriend, who sat alone some distance away.

"So that precludes all of my theories," said Sirius. He poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. Peter sent him a pointed look, but he pretended not to notice.

* * *

(Sirius)

"So you would say that you're happy here?" Madam Keepdown asked, and, for half a second, Sirius thought that perhaps she could see through the charming smile he had used to mask his vexation.

"Oh sure," he replied, leaning back against the sofa allotted him and calculating exactly how many minutes remained before he would be allowed to leave this one-one-one counseling session (twenty-seven). "It's the best."

"Would you like to talk about last year?"

Her tone remained innocuous, but the question was incredibly leading. She must have known, at least to some extent, about his trouble with Snape the year prior, and that only made this worse. Sirius loved to talk about himself, but he preferred propagating myths rather than actual facts, and he certainly liked to be in control of the information. He'd seen this coming, too, with the meetings with Madam Keepdown, and it was only the fact that he _was_ on probation that had stopped him from skipping out on his appointment all together.

"What about last year?" Sirius challenged; he draped his arms over the back of the sofa.

"It must have been very difficult for you—losing your uncle..."

Oh, she was going _this_ route...

"We weren't that close. I'm not close with my family."

"No?"

"Nope. Well, it's my fault, really," said Sirius, and the bitterness crept through. "I'm just too sensitive. I mean, I get kicked out and disowned _once, _and stubborn, unreasonable me can't find it in him to send a Christmas card."

Madam Keepdown did not react. "Where do you live now?" she asked instead.

"Hogwarts."

"And when you're not here?"

"I have a flat."

"I see. That must be nice."

"The _best_."

"Very impressive, too," added the witch. Sirius arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "I mean, to be able to afford and maintain a flat."

It was almost as though she _knew_. Sirius wondered if they taught Occlumency to psych-healers these days.

"Well," he replied, smiling. "I _am_ quite impressive."

* * *

"Guess what," challenged Marlene, rolling her eyes as Lily met her outside the Great Hall.

"What?"

"It's not particularly easy convincing Professor McGonagall to give you another student's schedule."

Lily frowned. "Did you get it?"

Marlene handed her a page of parchment. "You're lucky I'm so charismatic," she said, smirking. "Any particular reason you didn't make it to the first meal of the day?"

"I got busy," said Lily vaguely, taking the schedule and looking it over, as the two girls—as well as Donna and Mary—made their way across the Entrance Hall. "And, lo and behold, I don't have anything until eleven."

"How nice for you," said Donna, who was herself absorbed in her own schedule. "I have Arithmancy."

"And _we_ have Care of Magical Creatures," said Marlene, looping her arm through one of Mary's. The brunette looked exceedingly glum this morning, although, Lily was glad to note that she had not failed to clean herself up. Her make up and hair were as impeccable as ever, and the only thing obviously off was that she appeared a little paler than usual.

"Maybe we could _not_ shout?" Mary grumbled in response.

"_Hang over_," mouthed Marlene, and Lily nodded understandingly.

They ascended the marble staircase towards the second floor.

"So when is your first session with Madam Keepdown?" Marlene asked. "Donna's is this afternoon."

"Let's not rub it in, shall we?" snapped Donna. "Anyway, I'm not going."

"You _have_ to go. They're mandatory."

"I'll say I'm ill."

"Mine isn't until Thursday," said Lily, locating the note on her schedule.

"Mine's tomorrow," said Marlene. "After supper. I'm glad it's after the session with the whole year, though—it'll be less awkward."

"Oh, when's that?" Lily asked, but she answered her own question a moment later. "Tomorrow before luncheon. That should be a laugh, right?"

"Or a bloody nightmare," said Donna. "Waste of time if you ask me."

"Everything that's not Ancient Runes is a waste of time if you ask you," Marlene pointed out. "Anyway, it should be interesting."

Lily arched an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"

Marlene snorted. "Think about it. Carlotta, Shel... sorry, Mary—She Who Must Not Be Named, James, _this _one, Steb—sorry: that Cheating Lying Shite, to say nothing of Snape and _you _and the Marauders, and Mulciber... Charlie Plex and Donna... all together. How could that _not_ be interesting?"

"We've had classes together before," Lily reminded her.

"Sure we have," Marlene agreed. "But no class where we all sat in a room and had a chat about our feelings. Donna might actually be right about it: a bloody nightmare."

Lily hadn't given it much thought up until now, to tell the truth, but Marlene's description of the event sounded rather daunting.

Have chat about her feelings?

Not likely.

(Cinderella)

"What a bitch!" exclaimed Ravenclaw Valerie Turpin, handing Shelley Mumps a handkerchief, but not really looking at the blonde, whose hands concealed most of her face. This changed when Shelley took the handkerchief and used it instead to conceal her flushed cheeks.

They stood in the girls' lavatory off the fourth floor, and Valerie had been touching up her lipstick when an ostensibly distraught Shelley entered, five minutes earlier. Now that the Gryffindor's story was told, Valerie picked up her forgotten make up and turned towards the glass over the tap again.

"You can't just let Carlotta get away with this!" Valerie ranted on, delicately applying the creamy pink wax over her lips. "Girls do _not_ steal their friends' crushes!"

Shelley finished wiping her (dry) eyes and set down the handkerchief on the side of the sink. Valerie was now smacking her lips together, vision fixed upon her reflection, and she did not notice her companion's face at all.

"But what could I possibly do?" Shelley asked carefully. "I mean—she's _Carlotta Meloni_. She gets away with everything... like, last year, when she tried to steal Frank Longbottom..."

"Mmmm..." was Valerie's only response.

Old news. Shelley tried again.

"...Or how she shagged Simeon Fowl when he was still dating Jackie Trilby."

"Mmmm..." said Valerie once more, now tracing the outline of her lips with her ring finger.

"...Or how she shagged Derrix Pomfrey and Miles Stimpson in the same night."

This time, Valerie's reaction was much more satisfying. She froze, finger still poised at the corner of her mouth as she leaned over the sink towards the mirror. Without moving, she asked in a very serious tone: "At the same _time_?"

Honestly? No. And she'd only snogged Miles Stimpson...

But all the same...

"I... think so..."

Valerie's expression lit up. She recapped the lipstick and faced Shelley. "What a _whore_."

Shelley felt ill. She blushed and nodded.

"Oh my Merlin, I need details! When did this happen? _Where _did this happen?"

"The Plex's New Years Eve party last year."

"_Really_? Merlin, that doesn't surprise me. Those things are always disgusting. And—_Agrippa_—I _saw_ Carlotta snogging Miles Stimpson there, but I had no idea she..." Valerie dissolved into high pitched laughter that gave Shelley a headache, and it was a minute before she calmed down enough to speak again. "If James ever found out..."

A long pause... Valerie was giving her a cue, but Shelley was late on her line: "N-no. No, you can't tell anyone..."

Valerie's beaming grin did not falter. "Oh Merlin, of course not. Not a soul."

Shelley nodded. "Well... I should go. I have class soon. Thanks for..." She was interrupted by the opening of the loo door; several sixth year girls entered, including one or two of Valerie's friends. "Thanks for listening," Shelley finished, as the girls, chatting and laughing, headed straight for the available mirrors.

"Of course, Shelley," Valerie cooed in reply. "Carlotta is a bitch. You can talk to me _anytime_." She gave the Gryffindor's shoulder a comforting squeeze. Then, her eyes sparkled with a sudden inspiration: "You know, everyone likes a Cinderella story..."

Shelley raised her eyebrows. One or two of the other girls were watching the pair now. "Cinder-what?" asked Shelley.

"Cinderella," repeated Valerie, and, for a moment, Shelley thought she might explain a bit more. Instead, she said: "I mean, you've gotten really pretty now... no one sees it coming... it's kind of brilliant."

"What are you talking about, Val?" asked one of her friends, a girl named Sheryll (who probably didn't know Shelley's name at all).

Valerie sent Sheryll a look—an _I'll tell you later _look—and Shelley knew that she would... she would as soon as Shelley left the room. She was anxious to get out now, and so, rather than question the "Cinderella" bit, Shelley sent Valerie one final queasy smile, and then started towards the door. It had not quite closed before Valerie could be heard beckoning the others closer; Shelley was a few steps away before she heard the giggles.

Under other circumstances, Shelley might have been concerned that they were making fun of _her_, but this time she knew better. Valerie was already relaying the gossip to the others.

For a second, Shelley felt guilty, but it was Carlotta herself who had always claimed guilt was an arbitrary emotion, best ignored.

(Fine)

September the second past relatively calmly for Lily. She had Transfiguration and Charms, and, after supper, she stopped by the Head offices once again to begin work on the prefect patrol schedule. James made no appearance this time, but, just as she was preparing to return to the Common Room, Remus arrived.

"I thought I might find you here," he said, smiling.

` "Why did you think that?"

"Prongs said you were here before breakfast. Apparently you're taking this Head Girl business _very _seriously."

"Ah..." Lily slipped the prefects list into her book bag. "I'm just leaving now, actually."

"I'll walk with you."

Lily smiled and nodded, hitching her bag up on her shoulder and following him out into the corridor.

"Full schedule tomorrow," Remus noted idly as they walked. "Defense and Herbology..."

"Mhm," said Lily, "and lest we forget the best part: our year meets with Madam Keepdown tomorrow morning."

"I had my first one-on-one with her just now, actually."

"Oh?" Lily raised her eyebrows. "And how was it? Donna was supposed to have hers today, too, but she pretended to be ill."

"It was..." Remus frowned. "Interesting. Not too bad, really."

"Really?" echoed Lily. "Did she ask you about... y'know...?"

"My condition? No. I don't think she knows, to tell the truth. We just chatted about school—classes, being a prefect, all of that..."

"Oh, that reminds me..." Lily paused to grab a sheet of parchment from her schoolbag, and then continued walking. "I've been trying to work out this patrol schedule... with the odd number, it's a bit strange, and then there's the fact that once Quidditch starts and the clubs begin meeting, there will be all these conflicts... anyway, if you're going to patrol with James, it looks like it should be..."

"Wait a minute," Remus interrupted. "Why am _I_ patrolling with James?"

"Because he's one of your best mates," replied Lily, as though it were obvious. "Would you rather patrol with me? That might work, but I'm supposed to be covering for the Ravenclaw seventh year..."

"Why aren't you patrolling with James?"

Lily kept her eyes on the parchment in her hands. "Why would I be?"

"Well... he's Head Boy, you're Head Girl... I got the impression that's how it was planned."

"No, no, it doesn't make much of a difference," said Lily, waving her hand. "Anyway, I thought you'd want to patrol with..."

"I don't want to patrol with James. I'm always with him."

Lily snorted.

"Are you avoiding him?" asked Remus. Lily looked up from the parchment.

"No, of course not," she said. "Why would I be avoiding him?"

"That's a good question."

He watched her carefully for a moment, until Lily broke eye contact and returned to her schedule. "I'm not avoiding Potter. If you don't want to patrol with him..."

"Lily..."

She spoke over him, "...Than you can take my place with the Ravenclaw prefect. It's that girl—er—Clancy Goshawk..."

"Lily..."

They were approaching the portrait of the Fat Lady now.

"...Next Wednesday at eight, and Dumbledore explained most of the procedure for patrolling, so I'll talk about that on..."

"_Lily_..."

"...Monday, at the prefects meeting, and..."

"Lily."

"What?"

They had both stopped walking, several paces away from the entrance to their Common Room. Remus crossed his arms.

"Is there... anything you want to talk about?"

"Aside from prefect patrols?"

"Yes, aside from that."

"Nope."

Remus stared her down for a few seconds more, but Lily remained strong until, at last, he sighed and relented. She started for the Fat Lady's painting.

"If there _is_ anything, though..." Remus went on, falling into stride with her again, "You'll let me know?"

"I'll let you know," said Lily briskly. "But really..." (She gave the password to the Fat Lady) "I'm _fine_."

The Common Room was crowded and noisy. Non-N.E.W.T. or O.W.L. students hadn't had much homework assigned, and almost no one was starting it anyway. The other Marauders were amongst the crowd by the fire, occupying the best seats, as usual, although the presence of Carlotta at James's side was something of an unhappy novelty. Lily decided to go upstairs.

As she crossed the Common Room towards the stairs, she noted Shelley Mumps chatting with a fifth year that Lily didn't know. The pair sat in the corner, and Shelley seemed to have fully recovered from the evening before. She did not look at Lily, however, and the Head Girl made no attempt to catch her eye. She continued upstairs.

At the top of the staircase, Lily expected to find her dormitory empty. Such, however, was not the case: Mary lay on her bed with a bottle of butterbeer, a magazine, and something that looked like a very large block of cheese, out of which she was taking occasional large bites. She looked up lazily upon Lily's entrance.

"Can I sleep in here tonight?"

Mary took another bite of the cheese, and Lily nodded. She dropped her bag onto the floor, kicked off her shoes, and joined her friend on the bed.

* * *

(Mary)

"H-h-h-he s-s-said he _l-loved _me," Mary sobbed on, and Madam Keepdown leaned forward, giving her a cotton handkerchief. Mary blew her nose. "Wuh-why would he s-s-say that? I was already s-s-sleeping w-w-with him! It's not as th-th-though he _had_ to!"

"Mary, dear..."

"And _Shelley!"_ Her tone turned angry. "That—that ugly _wretch! _Why would y-y-y-you cheat on me with _that? _It's... it's ridiculous! It's incon-inconceivable! I'm _Mary Bloody MacDonald!_ I could have absolutely cheated on him about twelve different times, but I didn't, because I was in love with that lying _arse_! Shelley! _Michelle Mumps!_ She has all the conversational skills of a walrus, and is even _less _attractive!"

Mary blew her nose again.

"Now, dear," Madam Keepdown said, and she looked as though she were going to take Mary's hand, but—at the sight of the crumpled handkerchief therein—changed her mind and leaned back in her chair again. "Dear, you have every right to be angry. It isn't fair, is it? But do you think speaking so—so _angrily_ about others is going to make you feel better?"

Sobering up, Mary raised an eyebrow.

"Are you joking? Every time I come up with a new adjective or title for _Stebbins and the Slut_, my mood improves at least three percent."

* * *

The seventh years had their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Ramsay on Friday morning,

Ramsay had a deep, rich voice—low and harmonious, like music. But the melody of his lecture contained a sad undercurrent that matched a certain sorrow in his black eyes. He was not particularly somber, but the feeling in his words was unmistakable.

In his lecture, Ramsay covered the Patronus charm, but his delivery didn't seem like normal _class_—it was almost as though he were retelling a legend in the great tradition of antiquity. He wove the elements together with an artistic flair, and in his own gentle, deliberate way, brought the story to dramatic climax.

"...The Animagus," he said, "does not change its form. It _cannot_. But the Patronus often evolves once within a wizard or witch's lifetime, perhaps connecting to someone with whom the caster is deeply attached. The Avarian interpretation of such a change—such an evolution—is that while the Animagus is a representation of the wizard's soul, the Patronus is his heart."

He smiled and became quiet, and many of the females in the room, at least, watched him with great interest. Then Ramsay's smile grew broader; he stepped away from the blackboard and his posture relaxed somewhat, as he continued in a more casual tone: "But of course, there are _observable_ traits in a changing Patronus. For instance typically, as I have said, if an evolution _does_ occur, the change is in relation to the Patronus of another. There have been a few reported incidents when one's Patronus changed to the form of an animal generally associated as the enemy of the caster's enemy's Patronus form, but, for the most part, the change is associated with another emotion all together... Love, of course." He looked out amongst the students. "Can anyone describe this phenomenon?"

Donna, of course, raised her hand. "Someone who becomes emotionally involved with another person might notice their Patronus change form to match the other person."

"Now," quizzed Ramsay, "you say the word 'match.' How do you mean it?"

"Er... it could take on the same form."

"Perhaps... or the forms could contrast."

A Ravenclaw girl raised her hand. "Why would contrasting forms show a connection?"

"Fair question," allowed Ramsay. "It's difficult to say. In fact, it's difficult to properly explain the reasons for any of this phenomenon... Although," (he looked amused), "they _do_ say that opposites attract..."

"Well _he's_ dishy," noted Carlotta, when class had ended, and she withdrew from the classroom with the Marauders.

"Pure sex appeal," agreed Sirius sagely.

"That _voice_," added James, pretending to sigh, and Peter and Carlotta both laughed at that.

The corridors grew increasingly busy, and the Marauders were obliged to move out of their hallway-encompassing formation to pass through the crowd. Since Carlotta did not move from James's side, however, the pair rather fell behind on their way to the next class—_Counseling_ with Madam Keepdown—until the other Marauders had entirely disappeared onto the next floor.

"Sodding gits," said James, unconcerned. Carlotta, on the other hand, was preoccupied with something else. When they arrived on the third floor, she had begun to notice that many of the other students in the corridor were casting unsuccessfully surreptitious glances in her (and James's) direction. A few girls even began to whisper furiously as they passed, and as they reached the end of the corridor and started down the stair to the second floor, Carlotta could not merely dismiss it as paranoia.

"James..." she began slowly.

"Mhm?"

"Are people staring at us?"

"Probably. I'm fairly gorgeous."

"No, seriously, James..." She nudged him, and he glanced about.

"You might have a point," he muttered, as he locked eyes with a sixth year girl, who quickly looked away. "Here, wait here a second." James let go of Carlotta's hand and walked briskly to the end of the corridor. There, he paused for a few seconds, and then turned and walked back.

"What was the point of that?" Carlotta wanted to know.

"I was trying to figure out if they're staring at us," said James. "They're not. They're staring at _you_."

The couple resumed walking.

"Why are they staring at me?"

"I don't know. Oi—_you_!"

"James..."

But he had already garnered a fifth year Hufflepuff girl's attention, and James wasn't about to back down.

"Why are you staring at Carlotta?"

The girl blushed. "I'm n-n-n-not staring at any—any—anyone," she stammered.

"Oh, you were definitely staring," James contradicted blithely. "So... _why?_"

"I w-wasn't..." The Hufflepuff dropped her gaze and hurried off at once. James and Carlotta exchanged looks.

"That is disconcerting," stated James. "I'll try again..."

"James, please, don't," asked Carlotta, grabbing his hand quickly.

"You sure?"

She nodded. "Let them stare. Fuck 'em, right?"

James grinned and shrugged. "Alright."

The classroom designated for the class's meeting with Madam Keepdown was a large, previously unused one on the second floor. The desks were not arranged in rows or aisles as was typically the case, however, but situated around the perimeter of the room facing the center. There was no blackboard, no teacher's desk, but at the end of the square room—along the wall furthest from the entrance—there was a brief gap between desks that served as the only focal point in the classroom.

Carlotta gave James's hand an excited squeeze. "This should be fun, right?"

James snorted. "Fun. _Right_."

Carlotta stuck out her tongue and then surveyed the already half-full room quizzically. "Where shall we sit?"

The Marauder did not hesitate. He nodded towards the desks that his three cohorts had already designated as their own and took the one beside Sirius, as that had a vacancy to its immediate right. Carlotta took that.

"Took you two long enough to get here, didn't it?" asked Sirius dryly; he began to rummage through his book bag, presently withdrawing a box of Sugar Quills.

"Shut up, Padfoot."

"I didn't say anything."

"You implied."

"You inferred."

"Dolt."

"Prat."

"_Children_," interrupted Remus. James and Sirius ceased the bickering. "Oi, Padfoot, hand over the Sugar Quills," Remus added, gesturing for the box. Sirius provided it, and both Remus and Peter took one of the sweets from within.

"So," began Carlotta, leaning forward over the top of her desk. "I wonder what she's like in real life."

"Who?" asked James.

"Fiona Keepdown, of course."

"Oh, her. Well..." he looked to Remus and Sirius. "You've had your meetings with her. How was it?"

"You two have already met with her?" asked Carlotta enviously. "I'm not until Monday! Is she brilliant? How is she?"

Remus shrugged. "Inoffensive."

"Tall."

Carlotta arched an eyebrow. "Inoffensive?"

"_Tall_?" asked Peter.

"Yeah, she's freakishly tall. It's a little off-putting, to tell the..."

"What do you mean, _inoffensive_, Remus?" Carlotta interrupted.

Remus shrugged. "Non-offensive. Not particularly helpful or beneficial, but I'm not weeping and asking for an hour of my life back, so..."

"Not beneficial?" Carlotta echoed again. "But... it was only the first meeting. Of course you had to get to know one another..."

"Sure... but I don't see it being all that useful to me."

"Why-ever not?"

"Because..." Remus considered it. "Because I'm not going to talk about anything important with a stranger."

"But..."

"He's a bloke," James added. "Sorry, Car—it's just not likely to happen."

"That point of view is utterly archaic."

"And accurate, Quaffle," said Sirius, taking a bite of the Sugar Quill. Carlotta sent him a look.

"Did you just call me a 'Quaffle?'"

"Nope."

"Padfoot..." warned James, Remus, and Peter in unison. Unperturbed, Sirius continued to suck on the Sugar Quill. Carlotta struggled to understand what, exactly, was going on.

"It's better not to wonder what goes on in Sirius's mind," Remus advised.

Sirius took another noisy bite from the Sugar Quill, and with the resulting _crunch_, Carlotta could not resist the urge to add: "Do you have any idea what those will do to your teeth?"

"Make them sing with joy at the pure deliciousness that is a Sugar Quill?" Sirius suggested. Carlotta raised her eyebrows. "_And_... that's my cue," said Sirius, hopping up from his desk. "Be seeing you, lot."

With a wave, he strolled across the room, and, rather to the others' surprise, fell into the vacant desk beside Lily Evans.

"What's that all about?" James wondered to the other two Marauders.

"He's been in a weird mood since term started," said Remus. He picked up his own Sugar Quill again and took a bite. _Crunch._

Carlotta shot him a look, but Remus did not respond.

* * *

"Lily Evans, you are a vision."

Sirius Black dropped into the vacant desk beside Lily's, and she rolled her eyes but didn't really mean it. She sat at the opposite side of the room from the rest of the Marauders—her friends hadn't taken their seats yet, as they all waited for the arrival of Madam Keepdown—and, as a result, it was something of a surprise to have Sirius there at all.

"Good morning, Sirius."

"And how are you on this glorious dawning of a new day?"

Lily shrugged. "Why aren't you sitting with your mates?" She nodded vaguely towards James across the room, but did not quite look at the Head Boy, because he was holding Carlotta's hand.

"Meloni is disrupting my equilibrium," replied Sirius casually.

"Your equilibrium?"

"My Zen, if you will."

"You have Zen?"

"I am Zen."

"Do you know what 'Zen' is?"

"Not anymore, I don't. Carlotta disrupted it all away."

"Do you know what 'disrupted' is?"

"Your nit-picking is doing a number on the little Zen I have left, Snitch."

"I thought Carlotta 'disrupted it all away,' and why did you call me a snitch?"

Sirius only grinned enigmatically, as he leaned back in the desk, hands behind his head. Madam Keepdown chose that moment to at last arrive, sweeping in through the door and clapping her jeweled hands together in a call for everyone's attention. Marlene, Donna, and Mary took their seats to Lily's right.

"Here we go," breathed Sirius.

"Good morning, everyone," gushed Madam Keepdown, once the floor in the center of the room was clear, except for her own, viscose clad figure. "I'm Fiona Keepdown, but you may all call me Fiona, of course."

"Because she's cool like that," muttered Donna sarcastically, and Lily smiled behind a concealing hand. Madam Keepdown managed to address everyone, despite standing in the center of the room, with surprising grace, although it required a lot of movement, and her deep grey skirt swished along the ground as she turned, almost constantly, so as to insure that her back was not facing any one group too long.

"I'm so happy to meet all of you this morning," she continued dreamily; "some of you I've already spoken to, but the rest, I look forward to getting to know better. Now, this isn't a regular _class_. You don't receive marks or a score... but you are rewarded for coming. Not just the benefits I hope you can all receive from this time every week, but house points."

"You've got to be kidding me," grumbled Sirius.

"When you enter the room every week," Madam Keepdown went on, "you'll each receive five house points. When every member of the house is present, that house receives an additional ten points."

"It's going to inflate the house point economy something awful," muttered Lily, and Sirius smirked.

"Also, it's unfair," he whispered in reply. "There are more Hufflepuffs than anything else. They'll get more points every week."

"Why on earth do you have that information so readily available?"

"It's the sort of thing that's useful to know when you're me."

Lily shuddered. "Maybe I don't want to know. Anyway, I think that's why there's the extra ten points if everyone shows up," she added. "If you have more members in your house, there's a greater likelihood that someone won't show."

"Yeah, but they're Hufflepuffs. What else have they got to do?"

"Excuse me!" called Madam Keepdown, and though she wasn't exactly looking at the pair, she pretended to scan the room, and said, as though making a general announcement, "Let's remember to be respectful! I'll listen to anything that any of you would like to share, so please, do the same to me." She smiled, and her eyes flickered to the offending Lily and Sirius.

Only when she turned away, did Lily whisper, "You're getting me in trouble already."

"That was _your_ fault."

"...Now," Madam Keepdown once more resumed, "I would like to take today as an opportunity for all of us to get to know one another. I know that you've all had many classes with each other over the years—you're seventh years, after all—but I _know_ that each of you probably has many people in this room that you don't know at all."

"I probably couldn't put a name to more than eight," admitted Donna in an undertone.

"...So we're going to be introduced to each other," said Madam Keepdown, and she was positively beaming now. "But we're not going to introduce _ourselves_. Instead, I want each of you to find someone in this room that you don't know very well... preferably, someone from a different house, and I would like for you to spend some time... just talking. Chatting. Getting to know one another. And then, in the last half hour, you will each spend a little time introducing your partner."

"_I need a cigarette_," sighed Sirius.

"Now, if you'll all partner up..." She continued with her instructions. Lily eyed the perimeter of the room, each of her classmates lined up along the walls, and it was not until she reached the end and realized that _he wasn't there_ that she knew for whom she had been, almost automatically, looking.

Snape hadn't shown up. No surprise, really... and it wasn't as though Lily wanted to speak with him or anything like that, but his absence was—somewhat troubling.

"What do you say, Evans?" asked Sirius, as everyone else slowly began to rise from their desks in pursuit of a partner.

"You're supposed to go with someone you don't know," Lily pointed out.

"So? Keepdown won't know the difference."

"She just caught us talking, Black."

Sirius made a face. "Fine. I'd be offended, but Alexa Kyle is looking awfully fit this morning..." He was gone a moment later.

* * *

"So what do you think?" asked Carlotta, turning to James. "Reckon she's noticed that we've been holding hands this whole time?"

Her boyfriend looked confused. "Who?"

"Madam Keepdown," said Carlotta, nodding towards their teacher. "I mean, do you suppose she'll let us be partners?"

"Oh. Right." James shrugged. "Worst she can do is break us up, right?"

"Right." Carlotta leaned back in her desk again, smiling. However, the mirth faded from her expression a moment later, and James frowned.

"What's wrong?"

She did not reply, but James followed her stare, over his shoulder to the approaching person of Michelle Mumps. Shelley tucked a recently lightened strand of blond hair behind one ear and walked directly up to the front of the desks at which James and Carlotta sat.

"Not looking for a partner, are you?" asked Carlotta coolly, and James decided it was best if he just stayed out of this.

"I _was_ actually," said Shelley, almost sweetly. "But not you, Car."

For half a second, Carlotta did not understand, and when she _did_, she actually laughed. "You have _got_ to be kidding me, Shelley, if you think..."

"What?" Shelley placed her hands on her hips. "As you so kindly pointed out, James and I don't know each other very well, and I believe that _is_ the purpose of this assignment, isn't it?"

"What exactly do you hope to accomplish?" demanded Carlotta.

"What exactly are you afraid I'll accomplish?" retorted Shelley.

"_Afraid?" _scoffed Carlotta. "I'm not _afraid_ of you."

"Then let me work with him." Shelley's eyes gleamed with the knowledge of certain victory, and a long, tense, and silent moment followed.

It was broken by James. "I feel the need to point out that I am sitting _right _here, and..."

"Fine," said Carlotta. "You can work with him. I don't care."

"Car..." began James tersely.

"James, please..." And the look she sent him was not commanding but pleading. This was a personal battle for her, between herself and Shelley, and she needed to prove… well... she needed to prove _something_, though James hadn't a clue what that might be, and so, with a sigh, he relented. His mind flickered back to his conversation with Lily the day before, and he reflected glumly that this would, at least, be an unsought opportunity to talk over anything that might stand talking over with Shelley.

Carlotta slid out of her desk and joined the majority of mingling students in the middle of the room, while Shelley replaced her former friend in the desk beside James. She beamed at him, but James scarcely noticed. Across the room, Lily Evans was shooting him a highly skeptical look. He shook his head dramatically, and she averted her eyes in an attempt to defer a smile.

* * *

Mary MacDonald made absolutely no effort towards finding a partner. She was rather operating under the assumption that eventually, someone would be left without a partner, and they would find _her_. As a result, she sat at her desk and took another bite from the bar of Honeyduke's Fines that she had unwrapped at the beginning of the meeting just a few minutes prior.

"Mary," said a familiar voice. "I was hoping we could..."

She looked up to see Stebbins standing over her, an anxious expression on his thin face. He twisted his fingers together as he spoke, until his voice dropped off pathetically in response to the look Mary shot him.

"Fuck you," she said simply and took another bite of the chocolate.

"Mare..."

"Do I look like I care what you have to say at all?" snapped Mary. "Go away, okay?"

"But..."

"Leave her alone, Stebbins," Lily spoke up, two desks away. Donna had gone off to partner up with Adam McKinnon, and Marlene had been asked by Hufflepuff Liam Lyle, so the two chairs between Lily and Mary were now vacant. The Head Girl glared furiously up at the Ravenclaw for several seconds, until, at last he obeyed and meandered across the room to a group of hopeful looking girls.

Mary said nothing. She unwrapped the chocolate bar a little more, however, and held it up, across the divide between herself and Lily: an offering. Lily smiled and broke off a piece.

Eventually, Benjy Fenwick wandered over to their section of the room, and though he obviously intended to ask Lily to partner up, she nodded her head vigorously in Mary's direction, and he acquiesced.

"Fine," relented Mary, in response to his offer of partnership. "But I fucking hate men right now, so... fair warning."

"Lovely. Thank you, Evans..."

"Any time."

Slowly, Lily drew herself up, fully intending on joining the ever-diminishing number of individuals trying to find partners in the middle of the room. Almost everyone had paired up: following James's inexplicable partnership with Shelley, Carlotta had found company with Sabrina Barbery; Remus Lupin was chatting with Kellen Burgess, and Peter Pettigrew with Devang Patel. The Slytherins were almost entirely partnered amongst themselves. Lily started towards a few Hufflepuffs that remained, but as it turned out, she was spared the effort.

"L-Lily?"

She started at the sound of her name, uttered—she learned a second later, as she turned to see the wizard who addressed her—by Reginald Cattermole.

The Hufflepuff had gained a fair amount of height over the summer, and though no less awkward in appearance, he at least had the advantage of finally being taller than most of the girls in the room. Lily smiled.

"Hi, Reginald. Um—partners?"

He nodded enthusiastically.

* * *

"Okay. Shelley." James turned in his desk to face her. He ran his hands through his hair, and then placed one palm down on the desk top, the other tapping the seat back energetically. "Before we do this—this interview thing, we need to talk about Carlotta."

"No, we really don't," said Shelley, and she had lost the cool, challenging, vaguely flirtatious tone of earlier. She sounded almost embarrassed, an affectation James had not yet seen this new version of Michelle Mumps attempt and therefore was plausibly not an affectation at all. That was encouraging.

"Yes, we do. You're Carlotta's best mate, and I care about her, and I know that you must, too..."

"I..."

"You _have_ to, Shelley. I know, because I've had... I've had fights with my best mate, too. And I didn't want to forgive him—I didn't _ever_ want to make up with him... and I mean, what he did was... much, _much_ worse than anything Carlotta's ever done..."

Shelley snorted bitterly.

"..._Trust me_," James went on. "It _was_. But eventually—I mean, I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but it would be a bloody waste for you and Carlotta to lose six bloody years of friendship over something stupid..."

"James," interrupted Shelley softly; "this isn't about _you_. This is about Carlotta."

"Then why are you sitting here with _me_?" asked James dryly.

Shelley smiled. "Because it's bothering Carlotta."

James sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily, closing his eyes as he did so. When he opened them again, Shelley was smiling at him.

"Maybe it's a little bit about you, too," she said. The warmth in her smile disappeared immediately, then, and all that remained was the shallow impersonation of humor. "Now: that's enough of that..." She scooted infinitesimally closer, her voice dropping an octave or two. "...Aren't we supposed to be getting to know one another?"

The prospect had never seemed less promising.

* * *

"Okay, so if you could spend twenty-four hours as any creature that flies, what creature would you pick?"

Reginald looked at Lily with evident confusion. "That's your question?"

"Oh, sure. I can find out ever single thing about you from your answer."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"Well, I feel rather dull for asking your birthday, then."

"Oh, that's all right. You can find out all sorts of things from that, too. For example, you now know I am an Aquarius, which means that I, like all people born under a zodiac, have a number of positive characteristics and one or two negative ones that aren't actually negative at all."

"Aren't all people born under a zodiac?"

"Exactly."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

Reginald frowned thoughtfully. "Longhorn beetle," he said eventually, and off Lily's confused look, elaborated: "Twenty-four hours as any flying creature, I would be a longhorn beetle."

Lily laughed.

* * *

The call for volunteers went out again, and this time, Marlene, shrugging at her partner Liam Lyle, raised her hand.

"Yes, dear," said Madam Keepdown, by way of calling upon Marlene. "What's your name?"

"Marlene Price."

"Liam Lyle," added the Hufflepuff boy, and Madam Keepdown nodded. She had taken one of the few vacant seats in the room—amusingly located between an uncomfortable Colista Black and Kellen Burgess—and from there, watched with unceasing nods of approval for all of the introductions, which, so far, had been brief and, at best, mildly enthusiastic.

Marlene stood, as she prepared to speak, and Liam Lyle remained seated.

"So, this is Liam," began the blonde, "and he's a Hufflepuff. He provides commentary at some of our Quidditch matches, which is how a lot of you might know him, and a lot of you might know him just because we've been in the same class for six years, so if you _don't_ know who he is—shame on you. He's in the Charms club, and claims to like long walks on the beach at sunset, but I think that might have been a line, so if anyone's interested, he's single and can be found in the Hufflepuff Common Room any time from..."

When Marlene finished her introduction, she sat down and Liam Lyle stood up for his own, also amusing, introduction of Marlene, which included a list of her favorite songs, her skin care regiment, and least favorite kind of cheese. When he had finished, most of the class clapped politely, and Liam took his seat again.

Madam Keepdown thanked them and called for another pair of volunteers. The typical thirty seconds or so of silence followed, and then Sabrina Barbery—exchanging a shrug with her partner, Carlotta—raised her hand.

"Sabrina, dear," said Madam Keepdown, "thank-you."

Apparently, Sabrina had already experienced her first one-on-one with the older witch.

She stood up, flashing a lipstick-framed smile around the room and then glancing down at a slip of parchment, onto which she had apparently scribbled notes of her interview with Carlotta.

"I'm introducing Carlotta Meloni," began Sabrina. "All of us know her, so I'm not going to waste your time with telling you her house and favorite class." Carlotta—and several others—smiled appreciatively. Alexa Kyle emitted a low giggle, although, it became clear a moment later that this was rather due to something Sirius Black had whispered to her than Sabrina's introduction. "So, a lot of people may _think_ they know all about Carlotta, because there've been a lot of rumors going around..."

Lily raised her eyebrows, and she was surprised to see that Carlotta looked no less surprised by this particular sentence. The Head Girl turned to Mary for confirmation, but Mary only shrugged and took another bite of her chocolate bar. Apparently, with Mary paying little attention to anything she couldn't eat or shout at, Lily had been rather out of the loop with regards to "what people were saying."

"...And who am I to say which ones are true...?"

Lily looked at James, who appeared as confused as his girlfriend.

"Except," and here, Sabrina spoke more casually, as though deviating from her original plan for an extemporaneous tangent, "the one about Leslie Fairview can't be true, because when I was a fifth year, Leslie used to tutor me, and there's no _way_ she would snog a girl..."

"_What?"_ cut in Carlotta's voice shrilly, and the rest of the room fell silent. Sirius paused, mid-flirtation; Mary held the Honeyduke's centimeters from her lips; everyone stared at either Carlotta or Sabrina.

Madam Keepdown let out a nervous chuckle. "Perhaps we should..."

"Right," said Sabrina, blushing furiously and looking at her shoes. "Right. Um... Carlotta's a vegetarian..."

"No, wait a minute," interrupted Carlotta, smacking her desk with the palm of her hand. "I never snogged Leslie Fairview. I've never even spoken to Leslie Fairview..."

"Ladies, if..."

"That's what I _said!_" insisted Sabrina, bewildered as to where she had erred. "I just said you never snogged Leslie Fairview!"

"Who the hell told you I did?" She turned to Shelley almost automatically, but it was Valerie Turpin who spoke up, from several desks down.

"_I_ did. Leslie's sister told me."

"_Bullshit_," snapped Carlotta ("Now, girls..."). "Why the hell are you talking about me in the first place?"

Everyone who was not Carlotta or Valerie seemed to sit in shocked embarrassment. It was, however, like the accident that one simply could not help but watch.

"Oh, _honestly_, Meloni. You can't complain about people talking about you the way that you behave..."

"Oh, you're just bitter because your first boyfriend was completely mad about me."

"He was _not_, he just..."

"Really?" interrupted Carlotta coldly. "Because he bought _me_ a much nicer Birthday present than he got you. Not that I would've touched him... I do have standards, unlike some people..."

"Alright, now everyone should..."

"_Standards_?" shrieked Valerie. "You mean, like Derrix Pomfrey and Miles Stimpson at the same time at Connor Plex's New Years Party?"

"Wait, _what_?" chorused both Marlene Price and Miles Stimpson. Derrix Pomfrey, being a sixth year, was mercifully absent. "You said you only _snogged_ Carlotta!" Marlene accused.

"I..."

"Now, everyone needs to just settle down for..."

"Wait a minute—Derrix _Pomfrey_?" spoke up a Hufflepuff girl. "At Connor Plex's New Years Party? He was my _date_..."

Lily exchanged wide-eyed looks with Sirius.

"I didn't shag Derrix Pomfrey!" said Carlotta firmly, getting to her feet. Sabrina Barbery, who had been standing awkwardly by throughout, took a step back, as though she feared that Carlotta might hit her.

"Yes, yes you did!" said Shelley, jumping up.

Madam Keepdown's attempts to calm everyone down continued to go unnoticed.

"You lying little _bitch_!"

"Don't speak to Shelley that way!" Valerie very nearly shouted, as she too rose from the desk and started towards the forming crowd.

"Don't speak to _Carlotta_ that way," countered James, also joining the group.

"_Shelley_ is the victim here!" continued Valerie. "_Carlotta _is a backstabbing slut!"

"Is it still considered wrong to tell girls to _shut the fuck up?"_ asked James.

"_You had _sex_ with her? _And _Derrix Pomfrey?"_

"_I_ _didn't! I have absolutely no recollection of..."_

"_You're a pathetic little bint, Shelley Mumps!"_

"_Well at least I don't have to sleep with anything that moves to validate myself!"_

"Oh _really?_" Mary got up and joined in. "Name _one_ other reason why you would snog Stebbins?"

"_No, I can't even _look_ at you, Miles; you're disgust..."_

"_But I _swear_..."_

"_Ladies and gentlemen, _PLEASE!" Madam Keepdown's voice cut through the symphony of shouts, but to little or no avail. On the contrary, several others rose and joined in the fight.

"_Why do you even care, Valerie?"_

"_And, by the way, wearing your skirt that short _still _doesn't make you pretty, Shelley!"_

"_I _said_ I was sorry for Stebbins, Mary, I don't know..._"

"_You told them we shagged? We _didn't_ shag! I think I would remember if..._"

"_Would you stay out of this, Stimpson?"_

"_Shut up, Potter!"_

"_Hey, leave James out of this, he didn't do anything to you!"_

"_You're a disgusting whore, and everyone knows it! That's the sad part!"_

"_Do you honestly think I care _one_ bit what you think of me, Valerie?"_

_"Well, maybe if you worried a little more about what people thought about you, you wouldn't be in this situation now!"_

"_More likely I'd be a vapid bore like you!"_

"_Better vapid than emaciated and hated!"_

"_Oh, and I'm supposed to take a lecture from a half-wit cow like _you_?"_

Apparently, half-wit cow was where Valerie drew the line. She'd actually grabbed her wand and might very well have aimed it, when...

BAM.

And suddenly, there were sparks, and half the room was engulfed in a cloud of smoke so thick that Lily couldn't see any of the debaters, whose number had nearly doubled in the last twenty seconds. All the simultaneous, shouting voices were also swallowed up by the smoke, and Lily automatically jumped out of her desk, drawing her wand.

For half a second, Lily thought that someone had been hexed, and then she thought that Madam Keepdown had done something to regain control. Neither was the case, as it turned out.

The smoke cleared, and several people were coughing.

Remus Lupin put his wand away and cleared his throat loudly, so that, in the now quiet room, it became obvious who was responsible for the smoke. Everyone turned to look at him.

"Madam Keepdown," said the Marauder. "I believe you have the floor?"

He sat down. So did Carlotta, but the others—and nearly everyone was out of their seat now that the smoke had cleared—remained standing. All eyes returned to the adult. She must have been in shock, because, for several seconds, she remained stock still. Then...

"Well..." Madam Keepdown coughed. "Well, I suppose—that we've... had enough for one day." She hesitated, and then, in almost a squeak, quite different from the ethereal tone she had projected up until this point added: "Class dismissed?"

"Just when it was getting good," remarked Sirius Black.

* * *

Once again, Mary was already in Lily's room when Lily returned to her dormitory that evening. Tonight, what looked like the entire contents of Honeyduke's Sweet Shop were spread across the bed, and Mary held a bottle of firewhiskey in one hand and a handful of crisps in the other.

Lily closed the door behind her, eyebrows raised.

"Fun day, huh?" said Mary brightly.

"You skipped your afternoon class," Lily pointed out, toeing off her shoes and stepping towards the bed. She had to clear off about a dozen Honeyduke's Finest and Strawberry Soft wrappers just to get a corner of the bed to sit down upon.

"I'll go on Monday," Mary replied, unperturbed. She held out the crisp-bearing hand to Lily, but the Head Girl shook her head.

"I just had supper."

"So did I. Doesn't stop me." She popped one of the crisps into her mouth. "So..." She swallowed the crisp and took a swig of firewhiskey, which made her wince. "So, today, in our meeting with Madam Keepdown, we learned that Carlota is a huge slut, and Valerie Turpin is a sociopath. Fun, fun, _fun_ times."

Lily rolled her eyes and took the firewhiskey from her. "You know that you're welcome to stay here as long as you like..." (A swallow of the liquor), "But eventually, you're going to have to go back to your own dormitory."

"Yes, I know," said Mary, and for a moment, she seemed sober. Then she smiled again, "But I also know you won't kick me out, so it might be a while before you're rid of me." The brunette took the firewhiskey. "In the mean time, you're welcome to eat anything that I don't."

"Would that be the wrappers?"

"We're going to have so much fun this year, Roomie."

* * *

James threw off the Invisibility Cloak, and what would have been startling to anyone else—the sudden appearance of a seventeen-year-old boy in front of the now closed door of the unused classroom on the sixth floor—was taken entirely in stride by the other occupants of the room: Remus, Sirius, and Peter.

"Where's Carlotta?" asked Sirius idly, not even looking up from the Marauders' Map, which was flattened out on a desk top. The three Marauders had each selected dusty desks and arranged them in a circle; a fourth awaited James. He collapsed wearily into it, running one hand through his hair and closing his eyes as he did so.

"Meditating," the Head Boy. "I guess it calms her down. Not that she claims to be anything except utterly calm about this whole thing."

"Second guessing the Quaffle decision?" asked Sirius.

"Second guessing the future of the human race, is more like it."

"I'm going to have to side with Prongs on this one," said Remus. "That wasn't Carlotta's fault."

"I don't know _whose_ fault it was," Peter added. "But before today, I would have imagined that a cat fight would be a lot more..."

"Hot?" suggested Sirius.

Peter nodded.

With a sigh, they all reflected on the sad truth of this for several seconds.

"Anyway," continued James, coming to, "I've got about half an hour, so let's make this quick."

"Half an hour?" Sirius demanded. "You expect us to plan the entire Full Moon Night in _half an hour_?"

"You should be used to quickies, Padfoot."

"_Funny_, Prongs."

"It _is_ cutting it a bit short," Peter remarked frowning.

"Well, we can meet again tomorrow night."

"No, I can't do tomorrow night," said Sirius. "I've got a date with Alexa Kyle."

The others shot him dubious looks.

"No, honestly. Keepdown's meeting wasn't _entirely_ in vain... I got to practice being sensitive. They might end up being quite beneficial, you know."

"_Acting _sensitive," corrected Remus. "Not _being _sensitive."

"Okay, so... Sunday night?" suggested Peter.

"No, I have to tutor this fourth year Sunday night," said Remus.

"You're tutoring a fourth year?" Sirius asked, appalled. "God, sometimes it's like you're not a Marauder at all."

"Well he asked me! What was I supposed to say?"

"_No_," chorused James and Sirius. Remus rolled his eyes.

"Monday night?" he asked.

"No, we've got that meeting," said James.

"What meeting?"

"You know..." James gestured vaguely. "The... the meeting with the... the... _you know_..."

"Prefects?" Remus substituted, amused.

Sirius smirked. "Can we take another moment now to mock the fact that James is Head Boy?"

Sirius, Remus, and Peter chuckled. James rolled his eyes.

"Snap out of it, gits. Tuesday? Wait, no I'm meeting with Keepdown Tuesday night. Wednesday?"

"I've got patrols on Wednesday," said Remus.

James arched his eyebrow. "How do you know? I thought we weren't giving out the schedule till Monday..."

"Lily told me," explained Remus.

"She's already finished the schedule?"

"No... I don't know. She was supposed to patrol with this Ravenclaw girl, but then she asked me to, and... I don't know. Anyway..."

"Okay, this is stupid," said Sirius, annoyed. "We have the fucking cloak and map. We can go wherever we want, whenever we want. We'll meet after James's get-together with Keepdown on Tuesday. It'll be fine. Unless..." He looked seriously to James, "Our Head Boy has moral qualms with breaking curfew..."

Sirius, Remus, and Peter chuckled again.

"Shut up. Tuesday night. Fine."

"Fantastic," said Remus dryly.

"Wonderful," agreed Sirius. "So... how much longer till you have to get back to the old ball and chain, Prongs?"

"Screw you."

"That's what I'm hinting at, yes..."

"Padfoot."

"Alright, alright..."

(Carlotta and Friends)

Sunday was the worst.

At breakfast, Elaine Pleasance informed Carlotta that she was a "Disgusting Twat," just as Carlotta sat down.

In the library after luncheon, a few sixth year boys began snickering the moment Carlotta entered their aisle.

In the loo later that afternoon, a group of girls—which included Valerie Turpin and her friends—switched the subject of their discussion from the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to Shelley Mumps as soon as they spotted Carlotta (and pretended not to).

_ "She's so cute these days... and such a sweetheart... blokes much prefer _her_ type of pretty to those too-skinny-hippie types. I know one boy has noticed in particular; shame he's tied down for now, but everyone loves a Cinderella story..."_

At supper, however, Carlotta was with James. People left her alone, and even Sirius was almost nice.

Hogwarts always seemed to quiet down on the weekends, though, and it was with trepidation that Carlotta dressed Monday morning—the only part of the entire day that she could honestly say she was looking forward to was her meeting with Madam Keepdown that afternoon.

After breakfast, James departed to Potions, which Carlotta was not taking, and she started towards the Gryffindor Common Room. There, she could hope for at least a minimal amount of solitude and even a degree of support. Though she would tell anyone who asked that such support was utterly unnecessary, it was nice knowing that many of her housemates, at least, did not share what seemed to be an otherwise universal enchantment with the new Shelley Mumps.

She walked slowly towards Gryffindor, lost in her own thoughts, when a voice calling her name stirred her attention.

"Okay, listen, I don't care if you think..." Carlotta broke off; it was not Valerie Turpin or Sabrina Barbery or any of that lot, but Donovan Atwater, a Ravenclaw bloke and one of her _actual_ mates approaching. He jogged to catch up with her, and Carlotta smiled.

"Hullo, Donovan!"

"Hi, Car."

"I'm sorry, I thought you were... never mind. How are you? I haven't seen much of you since term started..."

"Oh, I'm okay," replied the Ravenclaw, a good-natured smile on his face. "More importantly, how are _you_?"

"Oh, well..." Her smile faltered. "So-so, I suppose. I've certainly been better."

Donovan patted her comfortingly on the shoulder.

"Merlin, I know, that meeting on Saturday was... _mad_. And I've heard the other talk, too. It's rubbish. Shelley always was a..." He searched for the words...

"Spiteful little gnome?" suggested Carlotta bitterly, and Donovan laughed. He was such a nice bloke, she reflected, grateful for this one non-James friend at the moment. "Well, she wasn't _always_ spiteful. The spite is a recent development."

"All the same," Donovan continued, "Congratulations."

"Congratulations on what?"

"Settling down at last," said the Ravenclaw, as though it were obvious. "I mean, aside from the fact that it's apparently turned Shelley into a gnome, surely you're at least a bit pleased about _that_?"

It wasn't something that Carlotta had thought too much about over the last few days, to be honest. She hadn't had the time... but it was nice, in its way... it was nice that he was always there at night, and that he was always on _her_ side, and that he kissed her when they met in corridors...

"Yeah," she said, her smile returning. "Yeah, I guess so."

"And Potter's not a bad bloke," Donovan went on.

"No, he's not," agreed Carlotta.

The wizard smiled as well. "Well anyway, I _did_ have something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Right, go on..."

"I was just wondering if we were still on for Wednesday?" said Donovan casually.

Carlotta frowned, confused. "Wednesday?"

"I mean, we missed last week, obviously—first evening back at the castle, it's always a bit hectic, but, y'know, I was thinking about it, and I think keeping Wednesday would probably work best, so..."

"Wait, Don," Carlotta interrupted. "Wednesday. You're not talking about...?"

"The arrangement," elaborated the other. "Haven't forgotten me, have you? I know it's been hectic, but I think after two years, you'd remember a weekly engagement, wouldn't you?"

Donovan chuckled lightly.

"Er—Donovan..." She took a slight step back. "I'm—I'm seeing James. The arrangement doesn't apply anymore, I thought you understood that when I wrote about..."

"Carlotta, c'mon... it's tradition. We've been together ever Wednesday since fifth year. And I've had girlfriends—it's not like it's _cheating_ or anything..."

But that's exactly what it was.

"Donovan, no, I'm..."

"Car, don't be thick. Potter'll never find out."

"But..."

"No, no." Donovan continued to grin cheerfully. "I won't hear it. Not meeting on Wednesday night would be a crime after all this time. Meet you in the Astronomy tower at eight, just like always, yeah?"

"Donovan, I won't be there."

"Sure you will, Car. You always are... anyway, it's like you say—it doesn't mean anything. We're just mates... it's no different then if we—went on a run together."

"Donovan..."

He winked however, patted her shoulder once again, and then turned and strolled off.

Carlotta did not quite know what to say.

* * *

(Carlotta)

"Oh Merlin, it is just so wonderful being able to talk to you about this," Carlotta gushed, and Madam Keepdown leaned forward in her chair, taking Carlotta's hand in her own and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

"That's what I'm here for, though, dear! What happened the other day..."

"Oh, it was so mortifying! I mean, I don't care what the others think, obviously. But _you_, my hero, and to have Shelley just..."

"Carlotta, honey, what you have to remember, is that as much as it might seem like the case, Shelley is _not_ your enemy. She _shouldn't_ be your enemy. You are young girls, and girls have to stick together."

"That is _such _good advice," Carlotta sighed.

Madam Keepdown beamed. "The most important thing you have to remember is that, as girls, you shouldn't be out to get each other. I mean, it's bad enough that the blokes already are, right?" Her smile grew that much broader; Carlotta's floundered a little.

"Well... not _all _of them..."

"Oh, no. All of them."

"All of them?"

"All of them."

"That seems extreme."

"_All of them_."

"O—kay."

"Trust me, Carlotta. All of them."

* * *

"So," began James, as he sat perched atop the desk in the Head Office, "are there any questions?"

Bertram Aubrey's hand shot up at once.

Both the Head Girl and Boy sighed audibly. James was more than willing to ignore the raised hand, but Lily was not, and she, albeit reluctantly, called on the prefect to ask his question.

"Is it dangerous?" asked Aubrey seriously.

"Is what dangerous?" James and Lily chorused, bemused.

"The patrolling. I mean, what are we patrolling _for_? It can't all be a matter of amorous couples, can it?"

James raised his eyebrows. "You'd be surprised."

"Amorous couples are actually something of an epidemic at the moment," agreed Lily. "And _other_ questions? Specifically pertaining to the schedule, that is...?"

There weren't.

"Lovely. You all can go now, then, I suppose."

The prefects filed out, Snape with his usual half-scowl directed at Lily and complete disregard for James. Remus remained, but only to mutter something to James, who nodded in reply. Then, Remus had gone too, and only the Head boy and Girl remained.

"Walk you to the Common Room?" James offered, while Lily gathered together her papers—whatever those were—from the meeting. She paused and sent him a suspicious look.

"Where are _you_ going?"

James realized his mistake. "_Also_ to the Common Room, which would mean that _not _walking with you would be inane."

"Nice save."

"Thank-you."

Lily smiled and rolled her eyes. "You don't have to wait for me," she said, once again resuming her cleaning up of the office.

"Might as well, though. Don't want an amorous couple to attack you, do we?"

"God forbid," Lily allowed. She gathered up the rest of her things fairly quickly, straightened a few items on the shelves, and then James hopped off the top of the desk and walked with her out into the corridor.

They were quiet for almost the entire length of the floor, and Lily seemed to have no interest in changing this, so the responsibility fell to James. "Have you had your one-on-one with Madam Keepdown yet?"

"No, not until Thursday," said Lily. "You?"

"Tomorrow. Carlotta's was this evening... bloody loved it. She's a fan of Keepdown already though... apparently she wrote some kind of book..."

"_Spiritual Magic_, yeah," said Lily.

"You've read it?"

"Part of it. When I had the flu in fifth year."

"Was it any good?" He smirked. "I'm trying not to base my whole evaluation of the woman on Friday."

Lily just shrugged.

"What?"

"Nothing—but... Friday, while a supervising fiasco, wasn't Madam Keepdown's fault."

"Right, but I feel bad blaming Sabrina Barbery for anything too serious. Not very bright, is she?"

Lily said nothing.

"Wait... you're saying it's _Carlotta's_ fault?"

"No."

Then, James caught on. "You're saying it's _my_ fault," he realized.

Again, Lily said nothing, but kept walking, eyes directly on the stone floor ahead of the pair.

"How is it _my_ fault?"

"It's not. Just—forget it..."

"No, don't do that. How is it my fault? Explain that!"

Lily sighed. "I _would_, but I don't want to be accused of trying to guilt you for every single thing you do."

"Oh come _on_," groaned James. "You're not _seriously_ angry about that? It was a _joke!_"

"Well, I wasn't joking when I told you to talk to Shelley..."

"I _did_ talk to Shelley!"

"Not soon enough!"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean that if you talked to Shelley right away, if you had any consideration for anything I said, the whole thing on Friday wouldn't have happened, and everybody wouldn't be walking around calling your girlfriend a whore right now. _That_ is what it's supposed to mean."

James actually stopped walking; Lily did not, and, as a result, when he regained himself a little, he hastened to catch up. "How on earth do you figure that?"

"Basic reasoning skills."

"_Evans_."

"Shelley _said_ she knew everything there was to know about Carlotta on the first night here... the fight in the dormitory. Two words to Valerie Turpin or Sabrina Barbery of any of those girls could have any piece of information spread around this school in five minutes."

"Yeah, but I didn't have any way of knowing that might happen!"

"I _told_ you it would happen!"

"No you didn't!" James protested.

"I told you it would get worse if you didn't talk to Shelley!"

"Yeah, but—but—but... well..." He searched for _something_ that would help his cause. "Why didn't _you_ talk to Shelley?"

"I _did_. On Wednesday. Yelling. Shouting. Fire and brimstone. Ringing any bells? Besides, she's bloody _in love_ with you! Anything you say would go over much better than anything I might say. Why couldn't you just take five minutes and ask her nicely to calm the hell down before she went gabbing to the school gossips?"

"You're seriously blaming this on me right now," muttered James disbelievingly. "It's inconceivable!"

"Well, conceive it."

"Why do you even care?" the Head Boy demanded. "It's none of your concern!"

"Of course it's my concern! You're all my house-mates! You're everywhere! And as if that weren't enough, _you're_ Head Boy, which means I get to spend pretty much every second I'm _not_ in class or doing homework _with you_!"

"Wow, thanks, Evans," James snapped. "Hate to be such a nuisance to you..."

"That's not what I meant."

"And also, it's nice that you're being so supportive and wonderful about this whole thing."

Lily glared. "No problem, any time." They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Bicorn," said Lily, and the frame drifted away from the wall. "Are you coming in?" she added stiffly to James.

"I don't think so," the Head Boy bit back. "I think I'm just going to storm away now, so that you can really grasp how unfathomably furious I am with you at the moment."

"Have fun with that."

He turned and did as he had said he would.

"_Git_!" she called after him.

"_Prig_!" he retorted.

"Now, dear," began the Fat Lady, but Lily pointed a warning finger at her.

"I don't want to hear it," she said, before quickly entering the Common Room.

* * *

(James)

"But I didn't _know!"_ James protested for what felt like the hundredth time, and he scooted closer to the edge of Madam Keepdown's sofa. If he moved any further, he would be sitting on the ground. "I didn't know I was going to start the next Wizarding War just by dating Carlotta Meloni!"

"But you do know the problems it's causing _now_?"

"So I'm just supposed to break up with Carlotta because suddenly everyone thinks I should be dating Shelley?"

"No, no, of course not, James," said Madam Keepdown, and her smile was becoming infuriating. "I think that you should seriously consider your options though—and what would really make Carlotta happiest?"

"Fine, okay, but no where in recent history is there an account where someone is happy about being dumped, so..."

"James," said Madam Keepdown calmly, "you're using sarcasm as a barrier—not just a barrier that prevents me communicating with you, but a barrier that prevents your true self from communicating its emotions."

"I like barriers," replied James. "Barriers are nice. Like distance. _Big_ fan of distance. Speaking of which, can I go?"

"We still have twenty minutes, James," cooed the witch.

James sighed. He leaned back on the couch and folded his arms. "Can we talk about something else then?"

"Besides your relationships with women?"

"It's not like all my relationships with women are shit," he felt the need to point out. "I get along great with most women. It's just that at this particular juncture, things are kind of..." He shrugged, uncomfortable: "complicated."

"I understand," she replied, and for the first time in the course of this meeting, James thought she might actually understand. He breathed a little easier. "Well, that's alright, because there are other things to discuss. You're Head Boy, aren't you? How are things with the Head Girl?"

James frowned.

"Okay, bad example..."

* * *

If he was completely silent—if he listened very carefully—he could hear that soft crinkling of the paper, consumed by the orange glow at the end of the cigarette. He drew the cigarette away from his lips and breathed out.

The cloud of white smoke that poured forth floated toward the ceiling—the entire lavatory already smelled of the smoke—and Sirius thought back with amusement to a time when that might have bothered him. A few years ago, he and James might actually have hesitated before lighting up in the boys' lavatory: it was the sort of thing that troubled a bloke when he was fourteen or fifteen... no, that wasn't it. It was only worrying because they'd never done it before... they'd never been in trouble for it, never been caught at it, had no idea what the reaction would be. But that made it thrilling.

A small degree of that thrill had remained, though Sirius did not have James to share it with at the moment. He didn't worry about being caught anymore—hadn't since the second or third time he'd smoked in the castle—but there was always a _chance_ that he could be apprehended, and that made it that much more appealing.

Drag, exhale, drag, exhale. The feeling of the smoke gliding across his throat, then out; the gentle pressure of the cigarette against the top of his ring finger, as he tapped the ash into the sink beside him.

All too soon, the cigarette was finished. Once upon a time, he might have banished the scent from the air by magic, but now he knew better than to care.

He tossed the dead cigarette butt into the rubbish bin, rinsed his hands under the tap, and started for the door. It was opened before his hand touched the handle. Sirius stepped back, but when he saw who it was that had entered the lavatory, he rather wished he hadn't stopped for a smoke after all.

"_Black_," greeted Mulciber.

Sirius only sighed. He attempted to sidestep the Slytherin, but was thwarted as Mulciber moved to impede his path.

"Awfully rude, that," said Mulciber, smirking. "You ought to say 'hello,' back, really."

Sirius's lips tightened into a thin line; he was taller than Mulciber, but they were almost eye-to-eye, and the calm relaxation of the Slytherin only increased Sirius's anger.

"You know, Nick," the Gryffindor began, "I can appreciate what you're doing—you and your little friends... trying to taunt me... get me to betray myself, land in trouble. I can appreciate that. It's not a bad scheme. But right now, you and I are alone, and there are no teachers, and I could very easily smash your skull into the sink and no one would be any the wiser. You can't be so stupid as to not know I can best you in just about anything... I always could..." Sirius smiled nostalgically; "Remember, when we were kids...? You were really quite thick then, and Bella could always convince you to do anything..."

The smirk slid reluctantly from Mulciber's lips. He did not step aside at once, however.

"I'll say hello to Bella next time I see her," he murmured icily. "And Regulus, too."

Then, he moved out of Sirius's path, and the Gryffindor pushed past. He walked very briskly, not pausing until he had reached his destination—the Come-and-Go Room—where Remus, Peter, and James waited for him, prepared for a late evening of Full Moon planning.

"You okay, mate?" asked James on Sirius's arrival, evidently noticing his friend's discomposure.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sirius replied briskly. "Let's go in, shall we?"

Sirius thought James and Remus must be idiots for believing that he didn't notice their unsubtle exchange of looks, but he, like they, opted not to comment.

* * *

(Donna)

"...Recent studies involving the herb _aconite_ have yielded few results and thus have been subject to much criticism by those who believe that potion masters would do better to focus their attentions on more tried ingredients, such as wormwood and fluxweed, whose full potential, they claim, is not yet known to magic-kind."

Donna's eyes flickered away from the scroll in her hands for just a moment, but Madam Keepdown's expression remained interested, as though she wanted nothing more than to hear the rest of Donna's potions essay.

_Nothing could faze this damn woman_.

Still, it was better than _actually_ talking to her.

"...However, critics and advocates of aconite alike agree that development in the potion-brewing has by no means met its end..."

* * *

Wednesday evening, Remus arrived at the Head Offices with very little excitement for the impending evening of patrols with a near perfect stranger—the Ravenclaw prefect. He arrived early, neatly adorned in his uniform, but with a touch of a headache that upset his equilibrium just enough to be thoroughly obnoxious. He hoped this Ravenclaw bird wouldn't be late.

She wasn't. She arrived five minutes early.

"Hello, Remus."

"Hello—Clancy, right?"

"That's right."

She smiled.

Clancy Goshawk was immediately pretty. There was very little contemplation required to arrive at this conclusion; she was cute. She had shoulder length dark brown hair and eyes just a shade lighter. Her uniform—like Remus's—was in an exceptional state, neatly ironed and worn in the highest degree of orderliness. She wore no perceivable make up, but didn't need it, and the few freckles that danced precociously across her quaint nose only heightened her inherent cuteness. Remus suddenly wished the patrol were over: by then, he would, hopefully, be comfortable around her, as he was around Lily or Marlene or Mary.

"So..." Clancy smiled politely and gestured towards the office door. "Shall we?"

"Of course." Remus let her pass first, and he quickly censured himself. Honestly, it was just a girl.

In the corridor, Clancy seemed less certain of herself. "So... we're supposed to do _what _exactly? Check all the broom cupboards?"

"Something like that, I suppose..."

"Do people really snog in broom cupboards?" she inquired as they walked. "I thought that was a myth."

Remus thought of Sirius. "Yeah, they definitely do. If we're lucky, that's _all_ they'll be doing."

Clancy's eyes grew wide. "They don't actually... in _broom _cupboards?"

"Oh, they do." Remus shuddered, and Clancy sent him a look. "Oh, _I_ haven't..." he added hastily. "I just—I mean, I have interesting mates..."

"You mean Sirius Black and James Potter?" She paused in front of hte first broom closet in their path.

"That's right. How'd you know?"

Clancy looked surprised. "You're the Marauders. Everyone knows you four."

"Oh—er... right."

They both eyed he cupboard warily for a moment.

"So, shall you do the honors or shall I?" Clancy asked, hand poised over the door handle. Remus bit back the Sirius-like, "_Ladies first,"_ that rose to his tongue and said: "I'll do it."

Remus stepped tentatively forward. He raised his eyebrows and pretended to take a prepping deep breath, furthering Clancy's amusement. "Keep back," he warned somberly. "This could get messy."

Restraining a smile, Clancy matched Remus's serious expression and nodded, taking two steps back as she did. She patted her hip to indicate that her wand was ready, and Remus grabbed the handle. He pulled the door open with flourish, so that it struck the wall behind it loudly.

The cupboard was, of course, empty.

"Oh, thank Merlin," sighed Clancy. "I'm not going to lie. I was a little nervous there for a second."

"Me too," Remus admitted. Clancy beamed.

"Only two dozen to go, I reckon."

"Mmm, thanks for reminding me."

"Hopefully we'll be as fortunate in the future."

"Yeah, or there'll be a boggart in one..."

"Merlin, I hope not..."

* * *

"So, last stop," said Remus, eying the door in front of himself and Clancy. "The worst of all."

"You mean people actually snog _here_ too? I thought that was a myth as well."

"Oh, no," said Remus. "People snog in the Astronomy Tower, too. Honestly, where do you _think_ people snog, seeing as you think they're all myths."

"I don't know... Common Rooms... dormitories... We'd better head up, hadn't we?"

"I suppose so." Remus opened the door that gave them entrance to the stairwell, which they ascended side-by-side, chatting about nothing in particular.

"Charms has always been my favorite subject..." Clancy remarked idly, in response to something Remus had said. "I think I just get along best with Flitwick. I mean, Slughorn and I get on alright, but... he's got so much love for Lily Evans, it's difficult for him to notice anyone else. Not that I hold it against him—and he always invites me to the Slug Club get togethers..."

"Really? I never go, myself."

"Of course..." Clancy smiled. "Your lot always throws the anti-party. What is it? The Toadies?"

"Much less exclusive."

"No, they just exclude a different lot," said Clancy. "_I_ never get invited, after all." She smirked challengingly.

"Well I guess I'll have to make sure you get an invitation next time."

"Hmm—although, I don't actually know how I'd get on with the Toadies crowd. I'm sure they're much more fun than the Slug Club types, but I don't drink or smoke or anything."

"Well, they're not like that... I mean, okay, they sort of are..."

Clancy laughed, and they reached the top of the staircase. Remus opened the door without a thought, and they peered out onto the dark Astronomy Tower landing. A chilly wind whipped through, and the waxing moon cast the stone in a pale white light.

For Remus, the moon was always something rather depressing—a cruel reminder of reality, of things he could and could not do, of rules he'd constructed for himself and rules constructed _for_ him...

"Oi, you there!" Clancy's voice called Remus out of his unhappy reverie, and he realized that there was, in fact, someone standing on the landing. "Hey, what are you doing up here?" Clancy went on, hands on her hips.

The wizard stepped forward.

"Donovan, is that you?" asked the Ravenclaw witch, for it was, indeed, her housemate, now visible in the moonlight and scowling.

"Are you _alone_?" asked Remus, confused, for he saw no one else.

"Yes," said Donovan, rather bitterly.

"What were you doing up here?" Clancy wanted to know.

"_Nothing_."

He glared at them, but neither Clancy nor Remus held any grudge against him. Actually, they weren't really certain what to do now that they had found someone.

"So—do we... give him detention?" asked Clancy.

"Dock points?" suggested Remus. "Or are we allowed to dock points? I can never actually remember."

"Me neither!"

"Can I go?" demanded Donovan.

"Wait—you didn't tell us what you were doing here."

"Honestly, Don," Clancy agreed. "It's ten o'clock."

"I was looking at the stars, alright?" grumbled the wizard. "Now can I go?"

"Should we let him off with a warning?" asked Remus, who had every intention of doing so.

"I suppose this _one_ time."

"But if we catch you again..."

"You'll be in for it."

"Big time."

Donovan rolled his eyes and moved hastily by, and only when he had nearly reached the bottom of the staircase did Clancy make to leave. Remus, however, stepped further onto the landing, peering around every corner of the place curiously.

"What is it?" asked his partner.

"I was just wondering what he was doing here," said Remus shrugging. "But there's no one else up here..."

"Maybe he was supposed to meet someone," Clancy suggested.

"That's a little dramatic."

"You're the one who's telling me all these Hogwarts clichés actually have basis in fact."

"Well, they're clichés for a reason." Remus shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets and following Clancy to the door. "If he _was_ meeting someone up here, it doesn't look like they showed."

* * *

"Okay, I am _guilt free_," James declared, dropping his quill onto the top of the desk in his dormitory and throwing his hands up victoriously. Carlotta sat on his bed, magazine in hand, but she glanced up, eyebrows raised, at the statement from her boyfriend.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm guilt free," James repeated. He rose from the desk chair. "I finished my homework."

"Who are you and what have you done with James Potter?"

"I know. It's weird. I'm scaring myself."

Carlotta smiled, as James sat down on the corner of the bed and loosened his tie. She was quiet for a moment, and then she set down her magazine and leaned forward. "James," she began slowly, "I want to talk to you about something."

"Sure, what?" He was untying his shoes and not looking at her, though.

"About... about me."

"O...kay?"

She breathed deeply and then plunged in: "I haven't told this to you or anyone... not even Madam Keepdown, because to tell the truth, as wonderful as she is, I think she hates men, so her opinion might be biased." James snorted. "I just... I've been kind of afraid that you were going to sleep with... someone else."

"Car..."

"No, please let me finish saying this. I've been afraid of that, but... but I've been afraid of that because I've been on the other side of that—on multiple occasions. And I—I never really thought about how I would act if _I_ was the person in the relationship... if _I_ was the one with the opportunity to—to cheat. I never thought about it, but I think, deep down, I assumed that I would do it if I wanted to. I wouldn't... hesitate."

James was watching her carefully, and he looked vaguely worried now.

"But the funny thing is," Carlotta continued. "I don't want to. At all. _No_ desire, whatsoever. I like being with you... which is funny, because the last few days have been... completely awful. Everyone hates me, and..."

"Everyone doesn't..."

"No, they do. James. And they're right." She shrugged. "I've always been a slut. And I'm probably still a slut at heart, whatever that means. I have a sordid past... though, they've gotten just about all the facts wrong, but... that's neither here nor there. Alright, I'm rambling... I do have a point."

"Which is?"

"Everyone wants you to date Shelley."

"That's your point?"

"There's more to it."

"Okay."

"Everyone wants you to date Shelley. Shelley is nice. She _might _still be a virgin, and she's never snogged a girl."

"So you _have_ snogged a girl?"

"Yes... just not Leslie Fairview."

"Maya DeMarco?"

Carlotta's eyebrows shot up. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Never mind," said James, with a highly self satisfied grin on his face. "Sirius owes me five galleons though. Sorry. Go on—you were saying?"

"I was—er... oh, right. I was saying that everyone wants you to date Shelley, but I—would really like for you to date me. And this may seem like a stupid thing to ask, but given my history, I think it's fair to add that I'd also really like for you not to cheat on me."

James looked at her. "That's it?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"I mean it."

"So do I."

"Oh… really?"

"Yep. I actually thought that sort of went without saying, though..."

"It does, but... I wanted it to go _with _saying."

"Consider it said."

"Okay."

James grinned, still a little bewildered. Carlotta pulled out her feet from under her and scooted to sit beside him at the edge of the bed. Still smiling at him (_so very handsome_), she removed his glasses and kissed him.

* * *

"_You_ ought to have been in Ravenclaw, Remus Lupin," Clancy teased him, as they slowly approached Ravenclaw tower, where Remus was to deposit her for the evening. "I don't know any Gryffindors who have read the entire Hasselback Collection. _Twice_."

"That's where you're wrong," Remus replied. "Hasselback himself was a Gryffindor."

"No kidding. I thought to have paid better attention in History of Magic, I suppose. Here I was thinking all Gryffindors were wild drinkers and Quidditch players."

"Ah, I'm rubbish at Quidditch."

"Me too... and I really shouldn't even like it, because I'm not the type of girl who likes that sort of thing. But it _is_ a wonderful game to watch, isn't it? It's Charlie's only short-coming that he doesn't play."

They reached the entrance to Ravenclaw Common Room.

"Charlie?" inquired Remus.

"Mhm." Clancy nodded, visibly brightening. "My boyfriend. Charlie Plex. Anyway... this is me... Goodnight. Thanks for handling all the truly _scary_ broom cupboards."

"Right. Of course. Goodnight."

He turned to go, as Clancy answered the riddle for her Common Room, but Remus did not hear a word she said.

Charlie Plex?

She was dating _Charlie Plex?_

Of all people, _Charlie Plex?_

Remus _hated_ Charlie Plex.

Justice was a dead art.

* * *

(Lily)

Lily took a seat on the sofa, suddenly nervous and incredibly conscious of every move she made.

"So you're our Head Girl," began Madam Keepdown. "That's lovely. I was a prefect myself in my day."

"Oh? What house?"

"Hufflepuff."

"That's cool." She tried to think of something else to say. "Hufflepuffs are very..." (What the hell were Hufflepuffs again?) "...loyal." (That was right, right? Loyal? How did that Sorting Hat song go...?)

"So they say, yes," agreed Madam Keepdown, the same ingratiating smile in place. She looked much calmer than the last time Lily had gotten a good look at her (the previous Friday, in the disastrous class session), and yet Lily's anxiety grew. She didn't know _why_ she should be so nervous... except, of course, that Madam Keepdown's sole job was to get Lily to talk about her feelings, and the very last thing in the world that Lily wanted to talk about (with _anyone_) was her feelings. "And what's _your_ house, Lily? It's alright if I call you 'Lily,' isn't it?"

"Well my friends call me 'George,' but..."

Madam Keepdown laughed appreciatively at the joke.

"No, of course, it's fine," Lily added.

"And you may call me 'Fiona,' if you like. I prefer less... formal handles. You and I are equals."

"Except you get paid to be here and I don't," said Lily, before she could stop herself. "Sorry. That was rude. Sometimes I say things. Anyway... er... what were we talking about?"

Madam Keepdown (Lily had already acknowledge in her own brain that she would never call her "Fiona") had stiffened a little in posture, but her smile remained. "We were saying that you've been called a...?"

"Er..."

"What _house_?"

"Oh. Gryffindor."

"That's lovely. You know, I'm sure your house is very important to you..."

"Er... sure. I suppose."

"But to me, you are _Lily_. It doesn't matter to me what color necktie you wear, or who others choose to define you. How do _you_ define you, Lily?"

"Um... well... off the top of my head... the word 'marvelous' comes to mind?" She smiled hopefully, but her jokes were wearing Madam Keepdown's patience thin; apparently, she was hoping for something a little deeper.

"That's wonderful, dear," she said. "I'm sure you are marvelous. Now, what would you like to talk about?"

"What?"

"Is there anything _you_ want to say? Anything you like to ask me? Discuss?"

"Oh, well... um... no."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nope. Nothing comes to mind."

"Really? _Nothing_?" Madam Keepdown leaned forward in her chair. Lily leaned back on her sofa.

Why was Keepdown surprised? Had everyone else had a plethora of information they wanted to share? Lily couldn't imagine Sirius Black coming in and baring his soul to this woman.

"I don't... I mean... I rather thought _you'd_ have some questions..."

"Oh, Lily but this is about you. For this hour, everything in this room is about you. What _you_ think and feel is important to me. That's why I'm here. To listen. Now..." She smiled her widest, most revealing smile yet, "is there _anything_ you'd like to ask?"

But the additional prompt only made Lily's mind go utterly blank. The only question that she could imagine was "What's your favorite color?" and she rather thought Madam Keepdown would think she was making fun. She shook her head, and the older witch seemed disappointed, but she kept her ever present smile in place and pushed on: "Very well. Then, do you mind if I ask _you_ a few questions?"

"Er—no. Go ahead."

"Wonderful. Do you enjoy school, Lily?"

"You mean... the classes? Or just Hogwarts in general?"

"Whichever," said Keepdown with a shrug.

"Well... I like it a lot. It's—fantastic."

"Which? The classes or just Hogwarts in general?"

Lily smiled. "Whichever."

This time, Lily was absolutely _certain_ that Madam Keepdown's simper was false. "Now, dear, let's not be impolite."

"Oh, I didn't mean..."

"It's in the past; let's move on," cooed Madam serenely, waving one hand in the air as if miming the act of moving on. "Now, Lily... would you say you're ever _lonely_?"

* * *

"So you just sat there and read your essay?" demanded Lily. "And that _worked_?"

"Mhm," said Donna. The two girls sat in Lily's dormitory Thursday evening, following the Head Girl's one-on-one with Madam Keepdown. Mary was with them, at least physically, although she paid little attention, as she was humming along to the Carole King album on the turntable while painting her toenails (black) and diligently working her way through a super-sized bag of Caramel Cauldrons.

"She didn't argue?" Lily pressed on.

"Nope." Donna shook her head, evidently quite pleased with herself. "I reckon she thought she could get some kind of insight into my brain because of what words I chose, and that's annoying, but at least I didn't have to talk to her, right?"

"It doesn't make sense. That was... that was the... worst hour of my life in... the last week, and she just—she must just _hate _me! She said I was rude, and kept asking me if I was lonely and... it was awful. I'm not going back to that... there is _no_ way..."

"It wasn't that bad for me," said Donna, shrugging. "Anyway, you get ten house points just for going, so at least you went."

"Who are you, and how did Donna let you get close enough to steal her hair for the Polyjuice Potion?"

"Well, you might as well earn the house the points, as long as your _legally obliged to go_ anyway."

"Oh, please, you rescheduled twice."

"Better late than never."

"Seriously, Donna? I'm beginning to worry about your health."

"I'm in a good mood," admitted the other witch with a shrug. "I finished all my homework early. Madam Keepdown helped me with my paragraph structure."

"Oh _God_."

(Friday)

The funny thing was that despite the fact that news of the seventh years' first meeting with Madam Keepdown on the first Friday of the year had spread around the school so rapidly that first years were retelling it by lunch time, the second Friday meeting was utterly sedate: uneventful in the best sense.

Everyone was divided into little groups again, but Carlotta stayed away from Shelley and Shelley away from James, and, for the time being, all was calm.

Towards the end, Madam Keepdown handed out little cards, which each students was meat to fill out and return to their head of house in order to review Madam Keepdown's performance for the first week. These were a source of great amusement to the students, despite Madam's requests that they take them very seriously.

After the meeting, James offered to return Carlotta's book bag to the dormitory, and so she made her way down to lunch alone, the other Marauders already having gone ahead. It was her very great misfortune that Donovan Atwater should be waiting for her at the end of the corridor.

"What is your problem anyway?" he demanded, and the hallway was crowded, so Carlotta almost didn't realize he was speaking to her at first. When she did realize, she stepped out of the traffic of students as best she could so as to speak with the unhappy Ravenclaw.

"Donovan," she began, as though lecturing a small, dim child, "I told you I wasn't going to go."

"You can't just... just _not_ show up..."

"Oh, so now I _owe _you sex?" asked the witch, rolling her eyes. "That's idiotic."

"Well that was the arrangement!" insisted Donovan, annoyed. "I mean, we're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, exactly," said Carlotta. "We're friends. But we're not _that_ type of 'friends' anymore."

Donovan made a scoffing sound. "Carlotta, what—what do you think...?" He trailed off, chuckling bitterly.

"What? What are you trying to say?" she wanted to know.

"I'm trying to say that... that all the girls in this school _hate_ you, Carlotta. And if you're going to be a frigid bitch, none of the blokes are going to be on your side, either."

With that, Donovan stepped past her and proceeded down the staircase.

_Frigid_.

It was possibly the only negative adjective that Carlotta had never heard in reference to herself.

(The Rest)

Immediately following a rather tense meeting with the Ravenclaw and Slytherin Quidditch Captains Friday afternoon, James adjourned to his favorite nook off the fourth floor and withdrew the Marauders' Map. Remus, Sirius, and Peter were in the library studying, Carlotta was meditating in the dormitory, and the figure that James sought could be found departing her muggle studies class two floors below.

At a fast jog, James reached her before she hit the staircase to the third floor.

"Shelley."

Shelley Mumps beamed at him, and James sighed.

"We really do need to have a conversation now," he said. "Is that okay?"

"Of course." She stepped away from her friends—who apparently existed now—and James waited for the giggling group to depart before he spoke again.

"Listen, Shelley," James began, slowly and deliberately and full of dread. "I—I'm not exactly sure what is going on between you and Carlotta... if this is some kind of game you're playing, but... I'm not going to come between you. It's not a game to me... I like Carlotta, and I know the things that you've been saying about her, and I _can't_ pretend to know what any of this 'Cinderella' business is, but it's my—responsibility to say something for her sake, okay? Whatever your relationship with Carlotta is now, you were best mates before, and there are certain—certain obligations that even ex-best-mates have to each other. And _I_ have an obligation to you—even if I don't know you that well. I should be honest with you, and the truth is, that the rumors going around about Carlotta don't make any difference to me. I'm not going to break up with her because a lot of people are gossiping about her, and I'm not going to date you just because some people seem to want me to. I know that sounds mean, but I'm just trying to be honest."

James kept his composure throughout, and when he had finished his speech, he exhaled, proud of the job he'd done.

Firm, but polite.

Shelley burst into tears, and his composure evaporated.

"Oh-my-God, don't cry," the Head Boy begged, but Shelley continued to cry loudly and into the sleeves of her jumper. "Please. No, I don't... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." She wept on, her shoulders moving with each noisy sob. James deliberated patting her head or giving her a hug or something, but all of that seemed awfully misleading, so he ended up just patting her shoulder in the absolute most awkward fashion possible.

"Y-y-y-you _h-h-h-hate _me n-n-now, don't..." _hiccup_, "don't you_?"_ Shelley bawled dramatically.

"No. No I don't hate you," said James, wide-eyed. "I don't. Really. I just..."

"And I've l-l-lost m-m-my b-b-best m-m-mate too!" moaned the blonde. "I d-d-didn't e-e-even s-s-start those—those—those rumors ab-ab-ab-about Carlotta! V-V-V-Valerie Turpin made m-m-most of it up-p-p because she's s-s-so jeal-jealous of Carlotta..."

"Okay, that's... that's awful. Um... maybe—maybe you should stop crying, though?"

Shelley's wails slowly ended, and she sniffed into the sleeves of her jumper. James sighed.

"Okay, Shelley, um... I just—want all of this pettiness to stop, you know?"

Shelley nodded. "Me too. Honestly? Honestly I just miss my best mate..."

(Library)

Sirius had no idea _why_ he was spending a perfectly lovely Friday afternoon in the library, when he ought to have been literally _anywhere _else.

James was off arguing with the Ravenclaw and Slytherin Quidditch Captains over scheduling the pitch, however, and Remus had dragged Peter with him to the library, which meant that Sirius could either amuse himself or attempt to distract Remus from doing work. Naturally, the latter was a far more appealing option, except that today, Remus was un-distract-able, and Sirius was bored.

"You could do your homework," Remus pointed out. "Rather than wait until Sunday night."

"Monday morning," corrected Sirius dryly. "Anyway, I don't like the library. It smells like... books and... people who read books."

"People who _know how _to read," Remus corrected, and Sirius acceded the humor of that. "People like _me_, you mean?

"Oh, not like you... or Evans or anyone like that..." Sirius shrugged, and then dropped his head amongst his arms, which rested upon the table. "More like... the kid with the hair that looks like cotton balls... what's his name?"

"You're an awful human being," sighed Remus.

"That's true. I'm working on it though."

The librarian sent the boys a quick scowl from her desk, and Remus lowered his voice. "Well, if you're not doing anything useful, you could at least go and fetch a book for me."

"Yay, a mission," replied Sirius dryly. "What book?"

Remus gave him the title, and Sirius nodded, getting lazily to his feet and starting towards the stacks. Remus fell, reabsorbed, back into his studying, but Peter noted a handful of Slytherins—including Nicolai Mulciber—emerging from the shelves just a minute or two before Sirius also returned.

"Hey, can we get out of here?" Sirius asked, dropping the book on the table.

"No, I told you, I'm doing my homework," sighed Remus. "I'll be finished in half an hour, and then we can go into town or do whatever it is that..."

"I just don't want to be in here anymore," Sirius interrupted. "It's boring and that fucking librarian is staring at me. Can we leave?"

"Leave yourself if you want to go," retorted an irritated Remus. "_I'm_ finishing my homework."

Sirius rolled his grey eyes. "Fine. I'll see you in Common Room." He turned and, with little regard for the dangerous glare that the librarian shot him, Sirius stomped out of the library.

"_He's_ in a mood," Remus remarked, and Peter snorted.

"It's probably the Slytherins," replied the other Marauder sagely. Remus frowned.

"What do you mean? Regulus?"

"No, Mulciber." In response to Remus's continued puzzlement, Peter elaborated: "He's been a git to Sirius the last week, because Sirius is on probation for the prank on Snivellus last year."

"Sirius is on probation?"

Peter sighed. "I'm not supposed to tell you."

"A little late for that. Why didn't he tell me? Does Prongs know?"

"No, I don't think so."

"How does Mulciber know?"

"I don't know, but everyone knows Sirius is off the Quidditch team, so it's not surprising. Anyway, from what I can tell, they've been trying to provoke him into trouble."

Remus frowned. "How do you mean 'provoke?' And why am I just hearing about this now?"

"Padfoot hasn't said _anything_?"

"_No_."

Peter shrugged. He explained briefly about the tripping hex on the first day and the other little taunts he had noticed in the interim, and when he finished, Remus looked a bit upset.

"I don't think he'll do anything," Peter added hastily. "He's been holding up quite well. I suppose he didn't want to tell you, because... I mean... he wouldn't want to bring it all up again with you..."

"He thinks I'd be angry?"

"Well..." Wormtail searched for a delicate way to phrase it. "You and Prongs were awfully upset with him last year—and we've only _just_ all made up... only a bit over a month ago, really. I'm sure he doesn't want you thinking he's... complaining."

"That's not right," muttered Remus, distracted. "That's not how we... how we do things."

"What do you mean?"

Remus shook his head. "We're the Marauders, aren't we?"

"Sure."

"We wouldn't let Mulciber get away with this for—for Prongs or for you. He wouldn't let Mulciber get away with taunting _me_ like that..."

"Yeah, but he's _Padfoot_. He's not going to ask for help, is he?"

"No," agreed Remus softly. "Alright, tell me again—what exactly did Mulciber do?"

* * *

"Don't be angry with me," said James, sitting down beside Carlotta on the sofa in Gryffindor Common Room. Carlotta looked up at her boyfriend, eyebrows raised.

"Okay. Why am I not supposed to be angry with you?"

"I talked to Shelley."

"You talked to Shelley... when?"

"About an hour ago."

"About an hour ago? Why?"

"Because—I know you don't care... or you don't think you should care, but... I don't know... Madam Keepdown sort of got to me."

"Madam Keepdown?"

"Not in a major way. I still think she's completely batty and annoying, but... I wanted—I thought if there was any way that I could get Shelley to stop spreading rumors about you, there might be a chance, that... somewhere down the line, the two of you could actually be..."

"Oh, James, that's really sweet, but..."

"No, no, no, see, it's a good thing!" interrupted James enthusiastically. "I talked to her, and she was really, really upset. Not all bitter and stuff, like at the meeting last week... she was genuinely upset about everything that's been going on. All that Cinderella stuff..."

"Yeah, what does that mean, anyway?"

"I have no idea. Anyway... she was upset. There was crying—I don't want to talk about it; it was scarring. But she didn't even say those things that Valerie Turpin has been telling everyone apparently... that's just Valerie being Valerie. I honestly think that you and Shelley could make up... she seemed like she was... at least _open_ to the idea. She said she missed you. That's good, right?"

Carlotta sighed. She pushed her thick hair away from her face, and brought her feet onto the sofa beside her, her knees reaching just below her chin. "James," she began, "It's... it's really _cute_ that you believe that."

James frowned. "What do you mean?"

Carlotta took a moment to collect her thoughts. "I didn't shag Miles Stimpson," she began presently.

"I didn't ask."

"I know, but let me explain. I didn't shag Miles Stimpson, and I certainly didn't have a three-way with him and Derrix Pomfrey."

"Still didn't ask."

"Right. But that night, at Connor Plex's New Years Eve party, I snogged Miles Stimpson... everyone knows that. I also slept with Derrix Pomfrey, and it's not my finest moment. We were both completely drunk... he doesn't even remember it, to tell the truth. So, until about a week ago, _no_ one knew about it, except me. And Shelley. I told Shelley. I _only_ told Shelley, so there is no way that the weird, twisted and false version of the story would reach Valerie Turpin or anyone else unless some version of it came from Shelley. She told. And she doesn't want to be my mate again. She wants me to be completely alone and friendless, and she wants you. And on the first part, I think she's succeeded."

James looked surprised. "What? What do you mean? You have friends..."

Carlotta shook her head. "Not anymore. My female friends were non-existent and my male friends, apparently, aren't actually interested in being friends, so..."

"Wait _what?"_

And somehow, the rest of the story of Donovan Atwater came pouring out, until, at last, James sat, facing the dead fireplace with a look of utter exasperation on his face.

"Well there you have it," said Carlotta. "You're dating the most popular least popular bird in school. What do you think?"

"Well, frankly, _fuck _them," said James impatiently. "That's what I'm thinking."

Carlotta smiled. "James..."

"Mhm?"

"Do you want to skip your stupid meeting tonight?"

James smirked. "Yes, but—I can't. I've got meeting _and_ patrols... I can't skip two things. They'd revoke my inexplicable title."

"Yeah..." Carlotta nodded slowly. "Well... I'll wait up."

* * *

"Hey, Black!"

Mulciber's voice was unmistakable, and Sirius did not stop. He continued down the corridor, quickly as he could, trying to close out the voice that continued to invade his head. "What? No jokes for us today?" called Mulciber. "And where's your boyfriend? Off with his girl? _That_ must hurt..."

"Is that the best you can do, Mulciber?" Sirius called back dryly, still walking away. "Rather sad, that."

"Care to have a chat about your brother then, would you?" retorted Mulciber. "Been spending some time with him lately. Not a bad chap, you know."

_Let it go, let it go, let it go..._

"...Of course, there's a reason he's where he is, and you're where _you_ are. Regulus—he's got a good head on his shoulders..."

_Keep walking. Don't react. Keep walking_.

"...He knows how to prepare for his future..."

_Idle threats. He's just baiting you. He wants to get you kicked out_.

"...When the time comes, he'll be safe. Not like you..."

_Keep walking. Keep walking._

"...All of you. You'll _all_ get what's coming to you, Black." And something in Mulciber's voice had changed. His taunts had shifted purpose; there was an earnestness in the insults now. "Just like your uncle..."

Sirius stopped walking. He turned to see a snide smirk grow on Mulciber's lips.

"You're predictable," spat the Slytherin. "Pathetic and predictable."

"I'm not going to hex you," Sirius retorted. "You think you can force me to incriminate myself, but I won't do it."

"What do you think is going to happen to you out there?" Mulciber continued, as though he had not heard Sirius's reply. He slowly approached the Gryffindor, his amusement mounting with every step. "What do you think is going to happen to all of your blood traitor friends? Do you think that you're _safe_?"

_Leave. Leave now_.

But he couldn't. He was frozen to the spot.

"...Do you think any of them are safe?"

_Leave now. Leave now._

"None of you are." Mulciber was now standing only a few insignificant paces away from Sirius. "Lupin... Mary MacDonald... Lily Evans... what do you think is going to happen to _them_?" He took one more step. "I'll tell you. I'll tell you _exactly_ what is going to happen to them... you know—the girls—I hope get to handle them myself..."

"You're psychotic," Sirius interrupted. He had never realized before... Snape he knew to be a git, Avery was disgusting, and Hester was truly frightening, but Nicolai Mulciber, for all of his calm cunning and swagger, was madder than the rest of them. He didn't say these things only to taunt Sirius; he _meant_ them.

"Afraid, are you?" murmured the other.

"Terrified," admitted Sirius coldly. His hand ached to draw his wand... to curse Mulciber like he deserved... surely no one would question that this was what he deserved... surely, if they heard... and, maybe, some things were more important than staying out of trouble...

"I'll take my time with Evans," Mulciber whispered.

Sirius reached for his wand, but he hadn't begun to draw before a jet of blue light struck Mulciber square in the shoulder, throwing him, skidding back, onto the ground.

It was a moment before Sirius realized what had happened.

Remus strode up, past his fellow Marauder, and right up to where Mulciber lay on the floor, groaning in pain. He leaned over, hands propped up on his knees. "I'm sorry. Had a spill, did you?"

Then, he turned and began back towards Sirius.

"Moony, I wasn't going to... what he said..."

Remus paused when he was on level with Sirius.

"You don't have to explain," he said. "You don't have to explain about Mulciber or any of them. And if they give you any trouble... any kind of trouble whatsoever..." His voice shook with anger, but Sirius realized that it was not towards himself that his friend's fury was directed. "...If they do, you had better tell me, because Prongs will kill them. C'mon..."

* * *

"Okay, listen."

Lily grabbed James's arm, as they were mere paces from Professor Dumbledore's office, effectively bringing him to a halt there.

"Listen, you and I may not on the best of terms at the moment," Lily went on, "and I don't really want to get into that now. We can... fight that one out later, okay? Right now, I think you and I should be able to agree on one thing."

"What?"

"Madam Keepdown. We're supposed to be giving our reports... everyone handed in the little cards... I just wanted to make sure we're on the same page."

James arched an eyebrow. "Getting rid Keepdown at all costs?"

"Yes. Exactly." Lily sighed in relief, and James found something amusing about that, because he smirked. "I'm serious," she pressed. "Keepdown must be destroyed. And we will have to put on a united front in there. Okay? I mean—I know, we can't be the only ones who feel that way. Surely, the comment cards will speak for themselves, but... just in case."

"Oh, don't worry," James assured her. "Cathago Delenda Est. All the way."

Lily grinned. "_Thank-you_."

They closed the distance between themselves and the door to Dumbledore's office, chorusing the password of "Pumpkin Pasties," with determination.

* * *

"Well," began Dumbledore slowly, as Lily and James sat in front of him, Fawkes the Phoenix flapping silently at his side, gently fanning the untidy stack of comment cards sprawled out across one corner of his desk, "if that concludes our business with the patrols, I think we may turn to the subject of Madam Keepdown. There is a very clear consensus about our guest from the Ministry of Magic."

Perhaps vindictively, Lily could not wait to hear how Dumbledore would phrase the witch's utter failure delicately.

"The consensus appears to be," Dumbledore went on, "that the counseling sessions are going quite well and are of a benefit to all."

Lily and James stared at him.

"_What?_" they asked in unison.

"Indeed," their headmaster continued, "Amongst all of the comments, there were only a few complaints." He indicated to the stack of parchment in front of him.

"How is that possible?" demanded Lily, leaning forward earnestly. "How many people complained?"

Dumbledore raised his thick, snowy white eyebrows, and Lily realized exactly how many. "_Two_? Just us? That can't be possible. Other people besides James and I _had_ to have complained! Surely... _Donna_..."

"Or Remus!" James chimed in. "_We_ can't be the only two!"

"I'm afraid that you are," said Dumbledore, amused.

"That's not possible," Lily repeated, "_Someone _else must have realized that she's a mean-spirited sociopath."

"And a man hater!" James added enthusiastically.

Dumbledore pursed his lips contemplatively. "Perhaps if you told me exactly what you feel went wrong in your meetings with Madam Keepdown."

Lily was prepared at once: "She said I was impolite!"

"She said I was stringing someone along!" added James.

"She jumps on every little thing you say and doesn't let you explain it!"

"She attacks you!"

"Without warning!"

"Completely unjustly!"

"And it smells like dying rodents in that office!"

James nodded emphatically. Dumbledore seemed to be attempting to repress a smile, which Lily did not find helpful at all.

"And did the two of you feel the same in your group session, with the rest of your year?"

They both calmed.

"No," Lily admitted. "I mean, last weak it was crazy."

"This week was... better, though," James allowed reluctantly. "There are more of us at those things, though. They're not as painful."

"Exactly. She couldn't focus all of her malice on just one of us."

Dumbledore considered the two of them for a few seconds. "So, perhaps, the real problem is that the two of you do not feel comfortable speaking with Madam Keepdown individually... alone."

"Possibly," said Lily slowly.

"And yet it _is_ the Ministry's mandate that each student meet with our honored guest once a month."

He seemed to be getting at _something_, but neither Lily nor James guessed what it was just yet.

"However, perhaps," Dumbledore continued, "since the two of you are Head Boy and Girl this year..."

"We can get out of it?" asked James hopefully, and Lily sent her most pleading look in Professor Dumbledore's direction. He only smiled again.

"No. What I meant to suggest," he said, "is that the two of you might benefit from attending the meetings with someone else. And since you both find the sessions unhelpful individually, agree that they would be more beneficial—or at least tolerable—with company, and, furthermore, share in a partnership, which may—given your very well known history—require a period of adjustment, I can think of no better solution."

Still, they didn't understand.

"No better solution than _what_?" asked Lily.

"Why, than meeting with Madam Keepdown together."

Again, Lily and James both stared. Then—

"_What_?"

* * *

"I'm going to _kill _Donna," grumbled Lily, as she walked with the Head Boy along the second floor corridor. They were about halfway through their corridor patrols, and neither had ceased ranting for very long. "And Remus. And everyone else. How could they do this to us?"

"Those dirty rotten brown-nosing _gits_," agreed James, shaking his head. "This is not the end. I will find a way out of these hippie-nonsense-meetings if it's the last thing I do! They can't _force_ me to talk about my feelings! That's illegal!"

"More than that, it's _evil!_"

"Exactly." James folded his arms stubbornly. He was quite red-faced, and suddenly, it occurred to Lily that Dumbledore might have been right about one thing—it _was_ a little funny. The only two amongst all of those hundreds to comment-the only two with complaints were the pair of them. Lily bit her lip to hide the amusement that threatened to peak through, but James noticed anyway: "What?" he demanded. "Why are you laughing?"

Lily chuckled. "Did she really say you were stringing a girl along?"

"_Yes_," said James sourly. "She thinks I _want _Shelley to chase me. And it's _not_ funny."

Lily could not help herself though and covered her mouth with one hand to mask the inevitable laughter bubbling up inside of her.

"It's _not_," James insisted, but already he was almost smirking himself.

"Does she really hate men?"

"Stop it, Snaps, _seriously_. We're going to have to go to these meetings all damn year! It's going to be the worst part of my month... and this coming from the bloke who deals with Remus's furry little problem every month!"

Lily shook her head.

"I don't know what you're so pleased about," James went on, a touch of resentment in his tone. "It'll only mean _more_ time you and I spend together, and apparently that's nothing short of torture for you." Lily rolled her eyes and stopped walking. James stopped a step or two later and turned back. "Are you going to deny it?" he challenged.

Torture? It was a shockingly apt description, actually, but for none of the reasons that James thought.

Lily chose her response very carefully.

"I'm glad you're Head Boy," she said at length; James opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off: "I _am_. What I said earlier was... an unfair response. I said it because I was angry, because... well, just because." Again, James tried to speak, but was deterred. "All the same," she went on, forcibly calm, "I'm sorry."

"...Really?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Now, Lily folded her arms. "It's your turn, Potter."

"I don't actually feel that I have anything to apologize for," said James defiantly.

"I've heard that one before," Lily pointed out, raising her eyebrows. "Come on. Out with it.".

James sighed. "I should have believed you when you told me to talk to Shelley. Sorry."

"Thank-you."

"You're welcome."

They started once again down the corridor, not paying much attention to any of the cupboards or classrooms that they ought to have been inspecting.

"Oh, and will you _please_ explain to me who this Cinderella bird is and why it is that she's ruining my life?"

Lily laughed.

Much later, they parted in the common room, on the landing between the two dormitories. "I'll see you tomorrow, Snaps," he said, starting up the staircase.

"Bye, Potter."

James hesitated on the third step. He turned back to Lily. "We're not permanently back to 'Potter,' are we?" he asked uncertainly.

"Would you prefer I invent an inexplicable nickname for you?" Lily replied, half exasperated.

"It would certainly feel a little less _circa-fifth-year_."

Lily bit her lip, but the twitching ends of her mouth betrayed humor. "I'll see you tomorrow, James."

He grinned. "Excellent."

(A Chat)

That night, Mary at last returned to her own dormitory. It was their second Friday at the school, and Lily ascended the staircase into her own, private room finding it both empty and likely to remain so for the first time that term. She closed the door behind her, and then leaned against it.

For a long, quiet moment, she dwelt on things—on the grin on James's face, on their habit of bickering and making up, on Shelley on Carlotta, on Madam Keepdown, on her empty, lonely room, and on how maybe she wouldn't have minded if Mary had stayed a little longer...

And then there was a knock.

Confused, Lily turned and opened the door.

To her very great surprise, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew stood before her.

"How come you lot didn't fall to your deaths at the bottom of this staircase?" Lily asked, crossing her arms and cocking her head to one side.

"It's actually a very easy rule to get around," said Remus.

"We'll tell you about it some time," Sirius agreed.

"What are you doing here?" asked Lily curiously.

"Well," said Sirius. "I thought we agreed that we needed to have a chat."

"We did agree. I was supposed to holler at you for neglecting to tell me about Carlotta and James. But I've forgiven you, so that chat is deterred. Anything else, or are you going to let me get to bed?"

Sirius ignored her. "Oi, are those Caramel Cauldrons?"

He headed for the bag on the floor—one Mary had left behind—and Remus sighed.

"You'll never get rid of him now."

About an hour later, the four of them had eaten more Caramel Cauldrons than any of them would admit to in future recounts of this tale, and Lily got up from the desk where she was sitting (Sirius lay on her bed; Remus and Peter sat on the floor) to put a new record on the turntable.

She picked one she liked and set the track, and stood there for a few moments, listening to the first lyrics.

But Remus's voice would intrude.

"Lily," he began quietly and suddenly, and it was clear in the utterance of those two syllables that this was the real reason for their visit that night; he paused before completing the thought: "do you—do you fancy James?"

It ought to have been a shocking question. It ought to have stunned Lily, but it didn't. She'd been expecting it—all along, she'd thought that even though she hadn't told a soul, hadn't said a word, _someone _must notice. And she'd known that that was why Remus was concerned for her, and why Sirius had wanted to have a chat, and all of it.

The simple, awful question that she had so expertly avoided all week in the face of Carlotta and Shelley chaos now appeared again: silly and insignificant and awful and painful as before.

She didn't even really have to answer.

"Please don't tell him," she replied softly.

The three Marauders exchanged looks. In the long silence, the Janis Joplin album played on.

Sirius struggled to reply tactfully: "Is it... when did—did this happen?"

Lily shrugged.

"When did you _realize_?" Remus modified.

"First day back."

"Because..." Peter started hesitantly, "Because of Carlotta?"

Lily shook her head. "About ten seconds earlier." She smiled unconvincingly. "Fitting, right?"

"Lily..."

"It is, though," she interrupted, nodding forcefully and turning to face them at last. "It really is. Anyway..." Another shaky smile, "I'll get over it."

She sat down on the corner of her bed now, and Sirius sat up.

"Hand me the caramels, will you?" she requested of Peter, who complied. They were all looking at her, and Lily began to feel uncomfortable. "It's fine," she repeated. "I'll get over it. I mean..." An awful, chilling thought occurred to her, "_He_ did. _Right_?"

* * *

**A/N: **lol, you guys are going to kill me, aren't you? I meticulously edited everything RIGHT up until the very end... and then this fucking website deleted all my edits, so I need to go through it again. And I will, but in the mean time: here is your chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who reads and reviews, and feel free to check the blog-link in my profile for any other information.

Reviews are puppies alive.

Love,

Jules


	32. Life in the Shelley Boat

**A/N: **Chapter 32 at your service!

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo Ro.

**Before: **Shelley Mumps has a crush on James, who's dating her ex-best friend Carlotta, and Shelley is determined to "ruin" Carlotta as a result. Puppies suffered. Lily has _also_ realized that she likes James, and she tells Sirius, Remus, and Peter about it, but swears them to secrecy. Remus patrols with a Ravenclaw girl named Clancy Goshawk, and he starts to like her maybe a little bit sort of... but she's got a boyfriend named Charlie Plex, who used to hook up with Donna even though he was dating another girl, Cassidy Gamp, at the time. Sam Dearborn is James's cousin and a member of an organization called "M.F.P." ("Magic For Peace") along with Adam McKinnon's sister, Sarah. Sam met Lily at the Ministry protest of Egbert Dearborn back in August, and they got a long well. Adam McKinnon is dating a girl named Prudence (Bloody) Daly, which made Marlene realize that she likes Adam, but she sorta missed the boat on that one. Sirius's uncle Alphard was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher the year before, but then he died and Sirius took that one pretty hard. The new DADA teacher is Professor Ramsay, and there's this strange little girl that sits at the Staff table next to him.

Chapter 32- Life in the Shelley Boat

Or

"Expecting to Fly"

It was the third week of school: a deceptively average Friday afternoon, and Donna Shacklebolt was on her way to Charms class. She'd departed luncheon early, before any of the desserts showed up, because Quidditch practices would be starting soon, and she really ought to cut back.

Cheerful enough, Donna walked along the second floor corridor in the direction of the Charms department. The hallways were always the best kind of empty at hours like this—mealtimes—and Donna could stroll without fear of bumping into anyone, her mind occupied by pleasant things like Ancient Runes translations and the biography of Cornelius Agrippa that Lily had lent to her.

She was just debating _which—_the translations or the biography—she would pursue first after supper, when the unfortunate witch rounded a corner.

What she saw, about twenty feet away, made Donna think she might lose her lunch.

* * *

"You know, Snaps, I understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why it's so difficult for you."

"Why _what _is so difficult for me?"

"Um... bowing down and admitting that this is the best fucking idea you've ever _heard?_"

"_Ha._ _Please_. Of course, it's not your _worst_ idea ever..."

"Oh, very funny."

"Stop trying to distract me."

"How dare you? I would _never_..."

"Shut up; I'm on to you."

"Nervous, Evans?"

"Nope."

"You are, I can tell."

"Why would I be nervous about a rookie like you?"

"I'm doing really well this round..."

"You've got _nothing_."

"You're not even looking."

"You're not getting the title, Potter."

"Don't be so sure of yourself."

"I mean you're coming along pretty well for a beginner..."

"Condescending, but thanks."

"...But you'll need a lot more than a week's training to beat me."

"If you say so, but I'm pretty sure I..."

"_NERTS!"_

"_Damn it_."

Lily punched the air, giggling madly at her victory, while James dropped his last unused playing card onto the stone floor between them. He leaned back against the couch behind him, folding his arms and trying to appear cross, though this effort was somewhat thwarted by the fact that the seated victory dance Lily currently acted out amused him to no end.

They sat, cross-legged, on the floor of the Head Student Office, with two decks of cards spread out in front of them, the remains of a now finished round of the game that Lily called "Nerts."

It was the third week of September, a Friday night, and nearing the end of Lily and James's patrol shift.

"Okay, rematch," said James, leaning forward again, as Lily finally finished her gloating.

"Wait—check the map..." She nodded towards the Marauders' Map, which lay flat on the floor below James's elbow. He complied, picking it up and lazily scanning the illustrated incarnation of the castle.

"No movement," the Head Boy reported, but Lily held out her hand anyway. He rolled his eyes and handed over the map. "You think I'm lying?"

"No," she replied, "I just want to be thorough, since we're already slacking off..."

"We're not slacking off," said James, rolling his eyes. "We're efficiently using our resources. Actually, this is _better_, because we can look at the entire castle all at once. Regular patrols are too easy to evade. And _I_ would know."

Lily snorted. "I suppose you _are_ uniquely qualified in that sense." She handed the map back to her partner. "You're right. All clear."

James, however, was frowning as he took the map back and set it on the floor beside him. "What do you mean by that?" he asked curiously. Lily had already begun to tidy up the cards again, and she raised an eyebrow at his question.

"I meant... the corridors were clear...?"

"No, the other part. _Uniquely qualified_. What did you mean by that?"

He was watching her intently.

"Er... I don't know. You have the map, don't you? And I doubt anyone knows as much about the castle as you and your friends."

"Oh." James's gaze dropped. "Right."

He was quiet.

"What?" asked Lily. "I don't get it. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied briskly. "Nothing. Just curious." He began to gather up the cards again. "Rematch?"

The "patrol," such as it was, ended about ten minutes later, with Lily still proclaimed champion of Nerts and James ardently disputing the title in light of the last game, which had been extremely close.

"Give it a rest, Potter," she said, as they made their way back towards the Common Room. She tucked her two decks of muggle playing cards into her messenger bag and sent the Head Boy a teasing smile. "I suppose, some day in the distant future, there's a chance that you might have some chance of beating me, but at this point, the best you can hope for is second place."

"There are only two players."

"Mhm, but 'second place' sounds so much nicer than 'last.'"

"You're _hilarious_, Evans."

"And you're just jealous. _Pumpkin Pasties_."

The last was the Tower password, which triggered the opening of the Fat Lady's portrait as usual and admitted the Head Students into their busy Common Room. Sirius Black at once waved to them from the spot in front of the fire, where he had made himself the center of attention _somehow_, though Lily couldn't guess the specifics at once. Remus and Peter weren't far away, of course, and a dozen or so avid onlookers—including Shelley Mumps—had gathered around him.

"Alright, Evans?" called Sirius, as Lily, shaking her head, rolled her eyes.

"Better sober up or I'll dock points, Black!" the Head Girl retorted, and Sirius pretended to look appalled.

"Sweetheart, I don't know what you _mean!_ Anyway, there's no way you could've guessed _that_ quickly!"

Meanwhile, Carlotta—who had been at the other end of the Common Room—hastily made her way to her boyfriend, kissing him on the lips and looping her arms around his middle.

"Hello, Lily," she greeted cordially enough.

"Hullo."

"Have a good patrol?" the brunette added to her boyfriend.

"As far as patrols go, sure."

Lily took that as her cue. She waved to Marlene and Mary and started towards the dormitory staircase, almost reaching it before James's voice called her surname.

"Hmm?"

"Don't forget to check your pockets, yeah?"

Lily frowned. "What?"

But he only grinned enigmatically and led Carlotta towards the other Marauders by the fire. Lily turned and ascended the stair, digging into the pockets of her school robes.

A familiar vinyl feeling substance brushed against her fingertips just as she reached the landing between the two dorm flights. She knew at once what it must be, and did not withdraw it until she had disappeared from Common Room visibility.

A playing card.

Jack of Diamonds.

Lily reached the door to her room and sighed heavily.

Fancying Potter was extraordinarily annoying.

Her stomach didn't do somersaults when she saw him, and she didn't always blush, either. It was much, much worse than that.

She felt just always felt strange—jittery and with this weird, tingly feeling in the back of her neck. And seeing him with Carlotta was just cruel, what it did to her nerves. She grew hot all over and loathed everything: her freckles, Carlotta's perfect hair, people who smiled...

At random moments, she found herself thinking about the next time she would see him, or else replaying in her head bits of meaningless conversation they'd shared earlier.

Extraordinarily annoying.

And dangerous.

Especially these patrols. This was her third time patrolling with him, and Lily was always left feeling guilty.

_He had a girlfriend_.

Couldn't she just… just... _forget_ that she fancied him? Then, spending time with him wouldn't make her feel like—well, honestly, like the Carlotta to James's Frank Longbottom.

Or—and maybe this was worse—like Shelley.

_Damn it all. _

Perhaps she'd better steer clear of James Potter for a few days.

(Laces)

"I don't see why it should bother you," said Sirius, exhaling a pillar of smoke and folding his arms, careful to keep his lit cigarette away from the sleeve of his robes. "You're a painting. You can't even smell."

The Fat Lady—for that is whom he addressed—huffed. "It's a matter of aesthetics, boy. _Decorum_. The dignity of these hallowed halls, through which your own forefathers, distant and recent, walked themselves, I'm certain..."

"My distant forefathers," Sirius interrupted, "were, in all likelihood, muggle-hating chauvinists, if my more recent ones and the general habits of their contemporaries are anything to judge by. So I'll smoke where I damn well please."

"Well really, I _never_..."

Sirius rolled his eyes and took another drag, ignoring the continued lectures from the portrait of the Fat Lady and staring aimlessly down the corridor. It was Saturday evening; he _ought_ to have been up to something interesting—or at the very least dangerous—but James was off "walking with Carlotta," and Remus was studying, and this evening, the world seemed tragically dull.

At least, it did until footsteps broke the Fat Lady's stream of reprimands, and Sirius turned to see a witch approaching the portrait. She was impeccably dressed, her uniform un-mussed, tie straight and stockings unwrinkled, despite the late hour. Her shiny brown hair fell on her shoulders in neat little spools, like silk, and she was carrying a large book. If pressed, Sirius might have remembered that her name was Clancy.

The steps of her polished mary-janes faltered as she approached the Fat Lady, and she didn't look at Sirius (who stood quite nearby) at all, causing the Marauder no small amount of amusement. He took another drag from his cigarette and regarded this girl—Ravenclaw, according to her necktie—for a few moments. When she continued to say nothing, to do little at all except look as though she _wanted_ to do something, Sirius decided to break the silence.

"Can I help you, Laces?" he said.

The witch looked at him. "What?"

"What-what?"

"Why did you just call me 'Laces?'"

"Because yours are uncommonly straight."

The Ravenclaw seemed to fight a smile. "Fair enough," she said.

"What? No denial?" asked Sirius, faux shocked. "No desperate confession of a dangerous past? No insistence that I don't know anything about you and ought not to make snap judgments just because, by the looks of it, you iron your _socks_?"

She shrugged. "My laces _are_ uncommonly straight."

Sirius grinned. "Alright, you pass. What's your name again?"

"Clancy Goshawk."

"And I'm..."

"Sirius Black," she finished for him.

"I _love_ when people do that," said Sirius. "I feel famous. Alright—so why are you stalking Gryffindor Common Room? No Ravenclaws allowed, I'm afraid, Love."

"Well..." She clutched the leather bound book she carried tighter to her chest. "I was actually looking for a friend of yours."

"Who?"

"Er... Remus Lupin?"

Sirius stared. "You're looking for Remus Lupin?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes."

"Remus John Lupin?"

"Er... yes..."

"Is he... tutoring you or something?"

"Oh, no." Clancy laughed a little nervously and loosened her grip on the book, holding it out demonstratively; "He lent this to me on Thursday... you know—Prefect Patrols. Anyway, I thought I had better return it to him, so I came up here hoping I would run into someone who could give it to him in your Common Room."

Sirius continued to stare. "_Did_ you now?" he asked, intrigued.

"Yes."

"Well that's... thoughtful." Sirius dropped his cigarette on the floor and stepped on it. The Fat Lady made a sorrowful noise, which he utterly ignored. "And how did you know where Gryffindor Tower is?"

"Oh... Remus told me last time we patrolled together."

"He did, huh?"

"Yes... oh, don't worry," Clancy added hastily. "He didn't tell me the password or anything. Anyway, I just—the book..."

"No worries," said Sirius slowly, stepping forward and holding out his hand. "Very kind, indeed, Laces. I'll give it to him..."

Clancy hesitated. "Of course," she went on, not quite meeting Sirius's eye, "I didn't think of it before, but—perhaps it would be better to give the book to him myself. Some people can be quite particular about their books; I know _I_ am, and I really would like to say thank-you, too, and there's—there's actually a question I wanted to ask him about something in chapter thirty two, and..."

"Three," Sirius cut her off.

"What?"

"Three," he repeated. "Three reasons. I think that's quite enough, Laces. I'll fetch Remus..."

"Oh. Thank-you."

"Of course. Cover your ears though, will you?"

"Why?" Clancy asked.

"Password."

"Oh, right."

She stepped away, holding the book under her arm and using her hands to cover her ears, as Sirius muttered the password to the disapproving Fat Lady.

In the Common Room, Sirius found Remus almost at once. He was sharing his Defense Against the Dark Arts notes with Marlene Price at a table near one of the windows, and Sirius strolled over to them.

"Moony, there's someone waiting outside to see you," he said solemnly, dropping his hands into his pockets and holding his chin high.

Remus looked up from a stack of parchment he had been sorting through, confusion etched on his brow. "Who?"

"A Ravenclaw," said Sirius enigmatically.

"Well that narrows it down," said Marlene. "Do you have anything else about dementors, Remus? I was thinking of writing my essay on those..."

"Yeah, I've got..."

"_Moony,"_ Sirius interrupted impatiently. "Will you _please_ not ignore me when I'm trying to be mysterious? There's a girl outside to see you."

Remus once again looked up. "A girl?"

"Anatomically, at least."

Remus frowned. "Why is it that you know words like 'anatomically' but spent twenty minutes yesterday trying to convince me that 'intrical' was a word?"

"Intrical _is_ a word."

"It's _not_. You're just combining 'integral' and 'intricate...'"

"Wait, 'intrical' isn't a word?" asked Marlene.

"_No, it's not_," said Remus, at the exact same moment as Sirius insisted, "_Yes, it is!_"

The two Marauders scowled at each other for a moment, and then Sirius announced: "Clancy Goshawk is waiting for you in the corridor."

Remus stared for a few seconds. "_What_?"

"Clancy Goshawk is..."

"Well why didn't you tell me in the first place?" he interrupted, standing up and knocking three or four pages of parchment off the table in the process. He bent over to pick them up, and when he had straightened up again, added in a tone of forced collectedness: "I just mean—it's very rude to keep someone waiting."

"Right, that's what you meant."

"Shut up."

But Remus made short work of the Common Room, disappearing through the portrait hole a few seconds later. Marlene set about searching through the rest of the notes, and Sirius sat down in his now vacant chair, staring thoughtfully after his departed friend.

"Who is this Clancy Goshawk bird anyway?"

"No," said Marlene, not looking up.

"No what?"

"No, you may not try to shag her, because she's got a boyfriend."

Sirius glared at her. "Why do you assume I'm trying to shag her, Price?"

Marlene looked up from her papers for a moment. "Seriously?"

"I'm not trying to shag her," said Sirius coolly. "I think Remus fancies her."

"Remus?" This piqued her interest. "Really? Oh my Merlin—that's adorable. They would be _really_ cute..."

"Wait, why is it adorable that Remus fancies her, but a second ago it was 'Hands off, Black! She's committed in a loving union!'"

"Committed in a union with Charlie Plex," said Marlene, chin in the palm of her hand now, as she twirled a quill between the fingers of her other hand. "I don't actually consider him a moral actor at this point. And it's different with Remus, that's all. He _never_ fancies girls! Or boys, that I can tell. I thought he was asexual, to be honest."

"So did we all," Sirius agreed sagely. "Anyway, all I know is that Moony has apparently told this Clancy bird where our Common Room is, _and_ he almost wet himself thirty seconds ago when I said she was outside."

"We'll have to see how long he takes to get back in here," Marlene agreed. "It's a shame, though," she added with a sigh.

"What's a shame?" asked Sirius. "This is the best news I've had all day. Getting laid might lighten Remus up a bit."

"But she has a boyfriend," Marlene pointed out.

"Who could very easily take a long walk off a short Astronomy Tower." Sirius paused. "Too soon?"

Marlene glared. "Yes, definitely. Anyway, by all accounts, aside from a bout of disgustingness on the train, Charlie Plex is actually following through in his whole reformed routine."

"Well that throws a bit of a bludger in Operation Get Remus Shagging," Sirius admitted glumly.

Marlene arched an eyebrow. "Please come up with a new name for that."

"Operation... Shag," Sirius suggested. "Operation... Remus and Clancy. Operation Moony and Clancy! Operation Mancy!"

Giggling and shaking her head, Marlene began to separate her notes from Remus's, gathering her own up and sliding them into her book bag.

"Where are you going?" Sirius wanted to know.

"Upstairs. Clearly I'm not going to get any more work done down _here_."

"Well who wants to work?"

"The girl with homework."

"That's dull. Who's going to entertain me?"

"Peter's over there," said Marlene, nodding across the Common Room to where the other Marauder sat, chatting with Adam McKinnon. "And _don't_ do anything to try and ruin Clancy Goshawk's relationship," she added, slinging her bag over one shoulder. "It's none of our business."

"Thank-you, _Lily_."

Marlene stuck out her tongue and departed for the girls' dormitories. Sirius sighed, leaning back; he was seated sideways in the chair, so that he could comfortably recline against the wall and maintain a fairly expansive view of the Common Room. He sat there for a few seconds, waiting, and when Remus did not return, called out: "Oi, Wormtail!"

(Mail)

Sunday breakfasts were leisurely experiences, by and large, and ones that Lily enjoyed. She sat with her friends at Gryffindor table, concentration divided between the others' conversation, her own breakfast (toast, fruit, sausages, and tea), and a mental run-through of what she wanted to accomplish today, until the owl post began to arrive and disrupted everything.

"But at the same time..." Marlene was saying, as Lily instinctively looked up in search of her own owl, "...I've got so little experience, and I don't want to make a complete idiot of myself. What do _you_ think, Lily?"

Niko, Lily's bird, dropped a letter onto her plate, and she quickly rescued it from the juices of her fruit. Another letter fell seconds later, dropped by an unfamiliar brown owl.

"_Lily?"_

"What? Oh—what do _I_ think? About what again?"

"About her going up for Quidditch," Mary replied. "The notice was posted this morning—tryouts are this week."

"Oh." Lily inspected the two letters inattentively. "I think you should do it. I mean, of course you should do it." She looked up. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I don't want to look like... okay, you haven't been listening at all," Marlene accused.

"No, I have, I just..."

"Read your mail. I'll ask Donna. Oi—Donna!"

But Donna wasn't paying any more attention than Lily had been. She was staring down the table, a look of extreme concentration on her face, as if she were trying to read some oblivious Gryffindor's mind.

"_Donna_." Marlene poked her shoulder, and Donna started.

"What?" she asked loudly. "What? What do you want?"

"Is there a particular reason why you're staring at Shelley Mumps like that?" asked Marlene, amused. Mary raised her eyebrows.

"Are you trying to make her explode with wandless magic?" she asked brightly. "Because I would fully support that decision."

"I wasn't staring at _anyone_," insisted Donna. "I was just trying to ignore you. What was the question?"

Meanwhile, Lily finished reading the letter brought by her own owl—it was from her mother—and turned her attention to the second letter. She did not recognize the handwriting that had scrawled her name and address across the front, and there was no other name on the front of the envelope. So, while Marlene and Donna discussed the potentiality of Marlene trying out for Quidditch, Lily opened her second letter. What it said was this:

_To the estimable Lily Evans,_

_I rather prefer not putting my name on the front of envelopes, as it often means that the recipient will disregard the letter altogether, and all of my extensive time spent writing and re-writing and fretting over the exact wording of my carefully plotted letter shall be in vain (joking. I don't do any of that)._

_But now you've read this far, you've already spent this much time reading, and are therefore invested in the outcome of this note, so I shall reveal my identity._

_It's Sam. Sam Dearborn. Egbert the Incompetent's brother. You remember me, right? Handsome bloke, tall, fantastic hair, kills in a fedora..._

_Right, that's me._

_And you're Lily Evans. _

_What-ho._

_And you're probably wondering why in the name of all that is magical I've decided to write to you, approximately one month after our brief and tumultuous affair. The truth of the matter is that I'm bored _stiff_ at the moment, for my best mate and partner-in-crime, the incomparable Sarah McKinnon, has landed herself in one of those new fangled thing-a-ma-bobs, a _relationship_._

_Complete nonsense, if you ask me. (Not really: the bloke's a dream, and he dotes on her, but that's neither here nor there)._

_They've been seeing each other for months, but now Sarah up and decides that she's in love with this Devil's Spawn, and she spends five evenings a week with him, and she's just oh so rapturous that poor Sam gets shoved to the side, along with all our plans to someday be old spinsters together, sitting around on a porch somewhere with our eighty-seven cats, playing sedate card games and making rude remarks at passersby, because old people may say whatever judgmental things they like without fear of punishment._

_Obviously, this is a problem, because what if Sarah _marries_ this bloke? What if she has a dozen children with him? I wouldn't mind, except he'll be something of a time suck, and it might actually mean I have to _meet_ people! Talk to people I don't know! Make new friends! SOCIALIZE! It's utter rubbish._

_Actually, I'm just dead bored right now. I've written to James twice in the last week, and he's only responded once, and I choose to blame this on the fact that he is also relationshippy at the moment. I suppose you've heard all about that—well, I know you have—since, apparently your little school has done everything short of lynching this poor bird. Are you a member of this torch-carrying, "Burn the witch!" screaming majority? Personally, I think you'd make a lousy leader of a lynch mob._

_I thought you'd be interested to know that I have had my first encounter with my brother since the end of his tenure as head of DMLE. It was unpleasant, to be sure, especially since the family rather sided with Eggie, and things at home have been rather tense. But life goes on, doesn't it? _

_I'm reaching the end of my slight firewhiskey buzz and therefore the end of this letter, and I feel the overwhelming compulsion to be honest with you, Ginger, so here it is. _

_The truth of the matter is not that I am neither lonely nor bored, but that I am writing to you because I am avoiding writing a letter that I _should_ be writing. You are a vehicle for my procrastination, if you will. Because, you see, while it is true that Sarah is in the raptures of a new relationshit, I find myself precariously close to the same. And there it is... I've met someone, and feel that if I do not wait out this firewhiskey buzz, I may actually do something extremely unwise and arrange a date._

_You see, Ginger, in my brief tenure as a Hogwarts student, I was a Hufflepuff—as you know—and Hufflepuffs, for all of their virtues, are not particularly brave._

_At any rate, feel free to respond poste-haste, and _do not _feel free to ignore this letter, or I will be thoroughly upset with you. Unless you, too, have fallen into the relationship trap, in which case, I shall have to lose faith with all of this highly sentimental humanity and jump off a tall bridge without a broomstick._

_You understand my meaning, yeah?_

_With high regards from,_

_Sam Dearborn_

Smiling bemusedly, Lily folded up the letter and slipped it into her pocket. Her friends continued their discussion, but most of it was lost on the Head Girl, as she was mentally composing her reply.

* * *

"Remus."

It was Saturday afternoon, and Lily at last located the desired Marauder in the library. He looked up from his Transfiguration essay, and the evidence that he had only returned from "visiting his Mum" last Tuesday was in the bags under and the exhaustion in his eyes. Nonetheless, he smiled at the entrance of Lily and moved aside some books to make room for her.

"Lily—hullo."

The Head Girl sat down at the Marauder's library table, leaning close to avoid the watchful eyes and vengeful spirit of the librarian, Ms. Sevoy.

"I just wanted to talk to you about the patrol schedule this week," Lily whispered.

"I just had last week off... it's not my turn again, is it?"

"What? No." She shook her head. "It's Maggie Snow's week... but never mind that. You're patrolling with James this week; is that okay?"

"With James? But I was scheduled for Thursday with Clancy Goshawk again..."

"Right, I'll cover that."

Remus did not look pleased. "You're avoiding him again," he accused.

"_No_," said Lily firmly. "I have... another engagement."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep."

"What?"

"None of your business."

"Lily."

Lily sighed. "I don't have another engagement."

"That was very obvious."

"I just..." She ran one hand through her hair. "I feel _guilty_. And I know it's stupid," she added, speaking over him. "But I can't help it! It's like I'm trying to cheat with him, which I'm not, _obviously_, but I feel as though I am anyway!"

"But you're not," Remus insisted. "It's not wrong to fancy him just because she's... he's seeing someone else."

"Yeah, but what if it _is_?" Lily whined.

"It's not."

"But what if..."

"It's _not!_" And he spoke above even a normal tone, much less the whisper required in the library, so that Ms. Sevoy looked with wide, appalled eyes in their direction, and Remus, blushing, apologized, before turning back to Lily. The Head Girl stared at him with raised eyebrows.

"You clearly have strong feelings about this."

"No," whispered Remus. "I just... think that you shouldn't... blame yourself for things that are beyond your control."

Lily nodded slowly. "You're probably right," she agreed. "But it's still alright that we trade patrols, right?"

"Lily..."

"Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please..."

He sighed, and Lily interpreted that as resignation.

"Thank-you," she said, jumping up from her seat again. "You're the best. Friday at eight."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"_Thank-you_."

* * *

_Sam Dearborn,_

_You're in trouble, you know. I am not pleased with you at all, and I believe that I owe you a significant scolding for withholding two vital piece of information from me during the course of our "tumultuous affair:" first, that James had a girlfriend, and second, that this fact bothers me quite a bit._

_Don't act coy, either; I know that you knew. I didn't know myself, but I'm quite certain that all of your obnoxious hinting was designed to finagle a confession I didn't even know was warranted out of me. As a result, I'm sure you're getting exactly what you deserve with this Sarah McKinnon business._

_Alright, there's your scolding. Now for your consoling:_

_I am ever so sorry that you are thus forced to find new companionship, but there are worse things in the world. Actually, mate, this is a good thing. And seeing as you forced your friendship upon me almost the moment we met, I don't know how you can act as though you're rubbish at socializing. Clearly, it is your forte. I would know, because I'm not so bad at it myself, which makes me that much more sympathetic to the idea that you may be good at socializing but not SOCIALIZING, if you know what I mean. And I think you do._

_I hope you've written your letter by now and arranged your date, and I want to hear all about that, because you shouldn't be lonely simply because your platonic soulmate has assumed the chains of monogamy. Look at me: I am gloriously single and perfectly happy._

_That's bullshit, I'm bloody melancholic at the moment, but not because I'm single—just because the bloke that I fancy is busy being un-single with someone else. But, hey, once again, thanks for the heads up on that one. _

_The thing is, houses don't really mean as much as people might think. Bloody hell, I sound like I'm quoting Fiona Keepdown (long story, never mind), but you can't use the excuse that you weren't a Gryffindor to say that you haven't got any nerve. I am a Gryffindor, but I like to think I'm reasonably intelligent and loyal and ambitious, which would technically land me in all four houses. _

_So buck up and get yourself a lay._

_At least you're (hopefully) in a situation where that's within the realm of possibility._

_Onto other things—how is everyone in M.F.P.? Tilly and the lot? What are you all working on these days—more protests? I'm insanely jealous that you can actually _do_ something in all of this mess, you know. I love Hogwarts dearly, but sometimes I feel incredibly trapped and useless here. There are more death eater attacks every day, and I'm sure you heard that git at the Ministry the other day who said that 'You-Know-Who had the right idea but the wrong methods.' Bloody hell, that sort of thing makes me livid._

_Anyway, I've got Potions homework, so I ought to go. I'm going to send this right away, because if I don't, I'll almost certainly regret saying about two thirds of it, but keep in mind that everything I've written and you've read is STRICTLY between the two of us, and if I get even the slightest indication that a bit of it has been related to a certain Head Boy (or anyone else), I shall personally insure that everything you love is taken from you and given to your enemies. _

_You've been warned. _

_Yours ever so sincerely,_

_Lily Evans _

_P.S. "Tall?" You are _not_ tall. But I'll grant the fantastic hair, yes._

* * *

Donna caught the quaffle firmly in front of her chest, looking up at the thrower with eyebrows raised.

"You're not half bad, you know," she said. "Surprisingly strong."

"Thank-you?" replied Marlene. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No. Why?"

Marlene rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Throw it back."

They stood out on the Quidditch pitch at half past six on Monday evening; much to Marlene's shock, Donna had agreed to help her prepare for the Quidditch tryouts, and this was their second evening in a row practicing after supper. The evening before had focused primarily on flying technique, but even Donna found little to criticize there, and now she turned towards dealing with the Quaffle itself.

Careful to keep her form perfect, Donna threw the Quaffle back to Marlene, who caught it fairly easily, but in what Donna considered—and, more importantly, James Potter would consider—improper form.

"Okay," said Donna, "Freeze for a moment, yeah?"

Marlene obeyed. Donna walked over to where the blonde stood. "When you catch the quaffle with two hands, you need to hold it so that your hands form—like a 'W.' See?" Donna took the Quaffle and demonstrated, and Marlene nodded, taking back the ball and imitating her coach.

"Right, only you have to catch it that way... at least if you're going to catch it with two hands, which you are for the time being, because you're new to the game." Donna stepped back and jogged a few feet away, so that Marlene could throw the ball back.

They finished up about an hour later, and as Donna packed up her own gear, Marlene pulled off the leather gloves that Sirius had lent to her.

"Thank-you for the help," said the blonde. "I was honestly a little surprised that you agreed to do it at all."

"Why?" asked Donna, and Marlene arched an eyebrow in response. "Oh, because I hate helping people?"

"Basically, yes."

"Right. Well..." Donna shrugged. "Quidditch tryouts are a bore. If there's someone halfway decent flying, it might speed up the process."

"And I'm halfway decent?"

"No, but I've done my best."

Marlene rolled her eyes and got to her feet. "Well thanks anyway." She picked up the stray Quaffle that James had so acquiescently allowed them to borrow and waited for Donna to finish packing up. "I suppose I owe you one."

"Yeah, no problem."

Marlene stared at her roommate, puzzled, and Donna noticed.

"What?"

"Are you _ill_, Donna? You're almost acting nice. It's giving me the creeps."

"No, shut up, I'm not _ill_," said Donna quickly. She slung her bag over her shoulder and picked up her broom before starting across the pitch towards the castle. Marlene followed. "Although..." This, begrudgingly: "I have been feeling a little off lately. I'm sort of... I have a—a—a kind of moral dilemma."

Marlene smirked. "Whether you prefer Ancient Runes or Arithmancy isn't a moral dilemma, Donna. They're just classes; they don't get jealous..."

"Fuck off, Price, this is an _actual_ dilemma."

"What is it?" asked Marlene, half amused. "Oi! Questioning whether it's moral to sleep with an older man, are you?"

Donna looked at her sharply. "_What?"_

"What-what?" asked Marlene innocently.

Donna's eyes narrowed, and then she folded her arms and looked away again. "_No_. It has nothing—I mean... no. What happened is that... well, I _saw_ something..." She spoke delicately; "and what I saw was... scarring. But more importantly, it is rather potentially damaging information..."

"Oh my Merlin, you have dirt on Shelley, don't you?" said Marlene, pausing and grabbing Donna's arm, an ecstatic smile growing on her lips. "You _do_, don't you? That's why you've been scowling at her for the last few days!"

"I have not been _scowling_..."

"You have been scowling. You have an E in scowling, Donna. Well, let's hear it. What did you catch Shelley at?" She beamed expectantly.

"I can't _tell_ you. That's my moral dilemma." Donna rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you're thick sometimes..."

"Since when do you even care?" asked Marlene, jogging after the other, who had now resumed a quick pace. "I thought your philosophy was to mind your own business and ignore gossip... and I don't see why you should be troubling yourself over spilling something about Shelley Mumps of all people. Have you told Lily?"

"No, I haven't told anyone of course."

"Well why _not_?"

Donna puzzled over that one for a few seconds. "Well," she began stiffly, "I suppose—rubbish as it is—I'm sympathetic."

"To Shelley?"

"No, not to Shelley. She's a stupid bint. But... to other involved parties."

"Other involved parties?" Marlene echoed. "Donna Shacklebolt, _what_ is going on?"

"I can't tell you!"

"But why _not?_" groaned Marlene.

Donna rolled her eyes again. "Haven't you ever been tempted to do the right thing for the wrong reasons?"

"Er... yes... that's the best, isn't it? Because then you can do what you want, even if it's petty and immature, but still claim the moral high ground."

"Well, it's not as simple as that," Donna maintained.

"Tell me what it is!" Marlene insisted, but Donna quickened her steps across the lawn.

"_No_."

"_Donna!_"

"_NO!_"

Marlene scowled and crossed her arms, continuing at her own pace towards the castle. "_Fine_!" she called after Donna. "But I _will_ get it out of you!"

"Fuck off, Price!"

* * *

After a great deal of deliberation, Donna entered her dormitory; Carlotta was downstairs in the Common Room with Potter, and Marlene—having cleaned up after the mini-practice—was now studying downstairs with Mary, which meant that Shelley was alone in the girls' dorm. The blonde sat at the vanity, doing her hair or something, when Donna stepped inside.

"Mumps," she began firmly, not so much as a greeting, but as the beginning of an extremely unappealing task.

Shelley paused in the combing of her platinum fringe and looked at Donna in the reflection of the mirror.

"Yes?"

Never in recent memory had Donna dreaded an action quite as much as she dreaded this one. The witch sat down on the bed closest to Shelley, fidgeting with her curly hair and maintaining a complete lack of eye contact with the blonde.

"I have to talk to you."

Shelley raised her eyebrows. "You what?"

"I have to talk to you," Donna repeated forcibly.

Frowning, the blonde turned in her chair to face Donna. "_Why_?"

"Yes, I know, it's bizarre," said Donna, rolling her eyes. "But I just do. I'm trying to evolve or some such rubbish, which is why I'm coming to you first, all right?"

"O... kay."

Closing her eyes, Donna gathered her strength and then forged on: "I saw you in the second floor corridor last week." She opened her eyes, but Shelley continued to look bewildered. "The second floor corridor. _Last Friday_. Lunchtime."

At last, Shelley reacted. Her eyes grew wide, and, for a moment, a faint blush grew in her cheeks. And then, very quickly, the shock faded to be replaced by amusement.

"Alright, good for you. What's your point?"

"What do you mean _what's my point_?" demanded Donna. "Isn't my point pretty obvious?"

"Er... no. Sorry for the show, I guess, but you're a big girl, Shacklebolt. It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"First of all," said Donna grimly. "_Gross. _Second of all, I can only hope that you two had the courtesy of moving it into a classroom before things developed any further."

"We did..."

"...And third of all, you'd better cut it out."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"I said _cut it out_."

"Why?"

"Because you're being an idiot."

"It's none of your business!" said Shelley, rising from the chair. "And you can't tell me what to do, just because you..."

"Have been in a shockingly parallel situation?" finished Donna, also rising. "Listen, Mumps, I know what you're doing. It's a nice little boost to your self-esteem, I reckon, that he wants _you_ despite his... tiny excessively feminine girlfriend, but here's a hint about how this ends: _not well_."

"Why do you even care?" demanded Shelley. "Are you... jealous or something?"

"Don't be an idiot."

"Well then did one of your mates put you up to this? Lily or... oh, I bet it was Marlene; she _would_..."

"I haven't told anyone," interrupted Donna. "But I very easily could. And if everyone found out, do you think they'd still side with you in the Great Meloni versus Mumps debate?"

"They didn't care about Stebbins..."

"Eventually they start caring," said Donna coolly. "And it's not fun when they do."

"So you're just looking after me, are you?" Shelley half mocked.

"I'm _warning_ you," Donna corrected. She started towards the dormitory door. "And keep in mind, I'm not exactly disinterested."

"Do what you like, I don't care," retorted Shelley, and with a final rolling of her eyes, Donna left the dormitory.

(Tryouts)

"Okay, James," began Carlotta, as they walked, hand in hand, across the Hogwarts lawns in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. James had his broom slung over his outside shoulder and his bag on the shoulder between himself and Carlotta, which made the hand holding a little difficult, but not impossible. "Remind me why you're having Quidditch practice on a _Wednesday_ night. Why don't you just have it on the weekend. More people will show up, won't they?"

"More people I don't want," replied James. "Everyone's tired Wednesday night, so I won't have random Hufflepuffs and first years showing up, because they won't be as willing to waste their time. Only the people who know they have a chance at actually making the team will come out if the tryouts are on a school night."

"Oh," said Carlotta. "That's actually quite clever."

James smirked. "And here you thought I was just a pretty face."

The pitch was deserted when they arrived, but tryouts weren't scheduled to begin for another forty-five minutes, so it was of no great concern to James. He set down his broom and his bag and drew his wand; Carlotta sat down in the grass and watched as the Quidditch Captain set about conjuring a series of glowing orbs, which he levitated around the perimeter of the pitch. The sun was sinking in the blue and rapidly oranging sky.

"So why do you dread tryouts so much?" Carlotta asked presently, stretching out on the grass. A chilly breeze whipped across the pitch, and she pulled her jumper a little tighter around her middle. James was now withdrawing the playing equipment from his bag, but, when she turned her head, Carlotta could still see him. "They can't be _that_ bad."

"Oh, no, they can be," James assured her, and Carlotta giggled. "I don't know," he continued more seriously. "It's mixed. Some of it is a lot of fun, and some if it is just rubbish. No one listens to the Captain—there's loads of shouting and even more chaos." He grinned and shrugged, and Carlotta waved him over to join her. With a sigh, he walked over and dropped onto the ground beside her, laying down directly next to her.

"I thought you enjoyed a little chaos," Carlotta reminded him playfully.

"I do," James allowed, "But not when I'm the one trying to control it."

"I see," said his girlfriend. "Well that explains why you're the perfect Head Boy, I suppose." She sat up and smiled down at her boyfriend.

James did not quite meet her eye, though. He appeared thoughtful, as he put one arm behind his head, and, with the other hand, began to pick at the grass.

"What's wrong?" asked Carlotta.

James shook himself. "What? Nothing. Sorry, lost in thought for a second."

Carlotta leaned back again, propping herself up on one elbow, with the side of her head in the palm of her hand. She ran the other hand over James's chest, biting her lip. "There's no fun in _that_. Thinking..."

James grinned, but distractedly, and asked in a would-be casual tone: "Why _do_ you suppose Dumbledore picked me for Head Boy?"

"What?"

He angled his head towards her. "Why do _you_ think I'm Head Boy?"

Carlotta frowned. "Well... you're clever. Top of the year. Quidditch Captain..."

James looked skeptical.

"And," she went on frankly, "I mean—you're James Potter. You host the Toadies. You're the only one who can control Sirius..."

"I can't con..."

"Of course, you can. I mean—it makes sense, doesn't it? Take the king of the troublemakers and make him Head Boy." Carlotta sat up again. "It's not a _bad _thing exactly. Dumbledore's a smart bloke. Plus, you get the benefit of adding 'Head Boy' to your résumé. It's not a bad thing at all. Now..." She smiled. "I seriously hope you're not telling me that you lured your insanely beautiful girlfriend out onto the dark empty Quidditch pitch with utterly pure intentions."

James's expression returned to normal, and he grinned, also sitting up. "Lured? I only invited you 'cause Sirius said he wouldn't help me out until after supper..."

"You prat."

She punched his arm, but almost immediately leaned forward and kissed him, pushing him back to the grass once more.

(Almost)

It was only a moment of hesitation, and yet Marlene was unfortunate enough to be caught in it.

She stood in the Entrance Hall, near the open wooden doors that led out to the darkening grounds. Her hands were folded across her chest, and for a few seconds, she waited in indecision.

"Are you going?" asked a voice, and Marlene started. The Hall was busy enough, as students filtered through on their way back to their Common Rooms after supper (or else outside for the tryouts), and yet the familiar tone demanded Marlene's attention at once.

It was Prudence Daly.

"I think so," said Marlene, with a breathy, uncertain smile.

"Adam went out ten minutes ago," Prudence replied, approaching the Gryffindor. "He's hoping you'll tryout, you know." She now stood parallel to Marlene in the wide doorway.

"How do you know that?" Marlene asked.

"Because he told me so," replied Prudence. "He thinks you'll be brilliant." Marlene smiled weakly. For a moment, both girls were quiet, and then Prudence continued: "He doesn't fancy you anymore."

Marlene's eyes grew wide.

"Oh, I didn't mean that to sound mean," Prudence added quickly. "I just meant—I know that he used to. He didn't say so, but—I guess we could all guess as much. And I know that _you_ must have known..."

"I..."

"A girl always knows," Prudence interrupted softly, and Marlene broke off. "But he doesn't fancy you that way anymore. I know that, too. But I'm not telling you this to be mean, really, I—I'm not doing it right at all, I know that." Prudence turned away, looking out across the lawn. "What I mean to say," the Ravenclaw went on, "is that it's very easy for a bloke to believe in a girl that he fancies. There are... there are ulterior motives, you know?" Prudence met her eye again. "But Adam doesn't fancy you anymore, and he still thinks you'll be brilliant."

Marlene wondered if Prudence could tell that she was choking on the air in her throat, when she nodded slowly.

"Thank-you, Prudence," she murmured.

Prudence smiled a wide, bright smile.

Because hearing that was almost enough.

(_Almost_).

But Adam was right about one thing, and of that Marlene was certain. She _would_ be brilliant.

* * *

The sky was flushed with pink and orange tones, as the sun sunk lower and lower on the horizon; very soon, the glowing orbs that Captain Potter had bewitched to hang about the entire Quidditch pitch would be fully necessary. Various Gryffindors mounted brooms and took off into the air, and there was some pattern to their selection, Lily assumed, but—from where she sat high up in the stands with several other onlookers—she paid little attention to the rhyme and reason behind it all. She was just waiting for Marlene.

They had been outside for about half an hour, and Marlene had yet to fly, when Carlotta Meloni came and sat down on the bench beside Lily.

"Lily," she greeted, eyes fixed on the flying figures in the sky.

"Hullo," Lily replied.

"You here to tryout?" asked the brunette dryly, and Lily snorted.

"Merlin, no. I'm just here for Marlene. You?"

"Merlin, no," Carlotta echoed. "I'm just here for James."

"Right."

"As is Shelley, it appears," she added, glancing down to where Shelley sat in the front row.

"Oh, that's fantastic."

"Just brilliant," Carlotta agreed.

Lily sort of smiled—perhaps comfortingly—at Carlotta, and then once again turned to look at the fliers. She watched them dart about the darkening sky, and Carlotta wondered vaguely if her attention was meant to be focused on any player in particular.

She wondered if Lily too picked him out amongst the almost indistinguishable blurs when they flew faster... if her green eyes sought him out amongst the little dots when they soared high.

Lily's eyes were prettier than Carlotta's, the brunette thought. On most accounts, _she_ would typically win, but Lily had nicer eyes. Lily had unusually nice eyes.

"Good _evening_, housemates," Shelley's voice cut through the brisk air. She had turned in her seat and, as though just noticing Lily and Carlotta, smiled broadly at them

"Hello," sighed Lily, probably anticipating an altercation.

"Hello, Shelley," said Carlotta. "What a pleasant surprise: I didn't realize you could leave your coffin before sunset."

Shelley rolled her eyes, rising from her bench and climbing up to the higher level where her two housemates sat. Lily was immediately next to the wooden wall at the edge of the stand, meaning that the only available seat was beside Carlotta, who scooted closer to the redhead when Shelley sat down.

"Here to watch Jamie, are we?" asked the blonde, ignoring Carlotta's quip. She too kept her eyes on the sky. "He's so handsome in his Quidditch uniform, isn't he?"

"_Jamie?"_ Carlotta repeated. "You call him _Jamie_ now? You should know he _hates_ that."

"He never minds when _I_ call him it."

"Are you supposed to be trying to imply something?"

"Subtlety always was a bit beyond you."

"Says the girl with orange skin."

"Oh don't act like you're perfectly natural, Meloni. I know for a _fact_ that you wax."

"I suppose I ought to lend you some for your mustache."

"Oh, funny."

"Shelley, what exactly are you hoping to accomplish?" asked Carlotta, annoyance growing. "You _must_ realize that people may like you now, but soon enough, they're going to get bored with you. Valerie Turpin and her cackling mates are going to lose interest, and where exactly will you be then?"

"_Please_, stop it," Lily, exasperated, interjected, turning to both of them. "What possible good does it do to bicker like this?"

"It's really none of your concern, Lily," said Shelley solemnly.

"I'm sitting here listening to you two. It's my concern."

"No one's forcing you to sit there," Shelley pointed out.

Lily looked incredulous. "I was sitting here _first_. _You_ people came and sat next to _me_. My _God_..."

She got up and stepped over the next two pews, walking to the opposite end of the stands . Carlotta and Shelley watched her go, and then the latter added: "You should just be grateful she's never fancied James Potter. Then, _he'd_ be losing interest with _you_ awfully quick."

Carlotta rolled her eyes. "You're not pretty, Shelley; I'd think you would _at least_ try to be clever." Then, she too rose to find somewhere else to sit.

* * *

"Thank-you, everyone for coming out tonight," said James, as he pulled off his arm guards, addressing the small crowd of students forming a semi-circle around him. It was well after dark now, and the tryouts had ended. "Really, you were all—well... mostly brilliant tonight." He shrugged. "Anyway, I'll make the announcement tomorrow about who I've chosen, so... thanks, I suppose. Have a good night."

And the crowd dissipated, except for those members of the team whom James had enlisted to help him clean up. Marlene Price also hung back.

"So," she began, approaching the Quidditch Captain nervously; "I don't suppose you have any early feedback for me?" She smiled hopefully, hands in the pockets of her trousers, and James sighed.

"You were good," James admitted, somewhat reluctantly. "You fly well with Shack and me, and you've got a strong arm. You'd be my first choice if..." He trailed off.

"If... what?" asked Marlene. "If you were drunk? If you were picking based on who has the best rack...? What?"

"If you weren't a seventh year," said James. "I'm Gryffindor Captain," he went on; "I've got to do what's best for the house... and I'm going to be training a young player no matter what, which means I can either train a young player who's going to be around next year to help the team out after I've left or one who's… not."

Marlene nodded slowly. "I understand."

"I haven't decided," James added quickly. "I still have to think about it, y'know?"

"Right."

"Honestly. You're on the short list."

"Okay. Thank-you." Marlene started to go.

"Price..." She paused. "I wish you'd tried out last year."

Marlene snorted. "I wish I'd done a lot of things differently last year."

James glanced across the pitch, to where Adam McKinnon sat, taking off his Quidditch gear.

"How _are_ you doing?" he added to Marlene; she followed his stare, and then blushed.

"I told you about that, didn't I? I'd forgotten." She sighed and shrugged. "I'm okay. Everything happens for a reason, right?"

James nodded encouragingly, despite his own misgivings on the cliché, and with a final farewell, Marlene went on back towards the castle. Slowly, the rest of the team finished cleaning up; Donna and Adam were the last to go, carrying the equipment back to the sheds, but James did not follow. He sat down in the grass and waited.

About a quarter of an hour after the tryouts had ended, Sirius arrived.

"Wonderful, you're only two hours late."

He was situated so that Sirius only appeared in his peripheral vision, and yet he caught the glimmer of shame on his friend's face.

"Sorry," Sirius apologized. "I thought it might be a little awkward to watch you picking my replacement."

James looked over his shoulder at him. "Why?" he asked, bewildered. "You were supposed to help me. I had to use Shack. Do you know how much not fun that was?"

"Right." Sirius kicked the grass with the toe of his trainer. "Sorry. But, um—I can make it up to you."

"How?" asked James skeptically.

"I was hoping you'd ask." From his pocket, Sirius withdrew a small silver flask. "Ogden's Finest?"

"Where'd you get?"

"Hogsmeade last weekend."

"Right." James mulled it over for a few seconds, before getting to his feet. "Alright, then." He took the offered flask. "Let's go."

"Go where?" asked Sirius.

"Up." He pointed to the Gryffindor stands and picked up his broomstick.

"I didn't bring my broom," said Sirius.

"Then I guess you'll have to take the stairs."

"Oi, hang on..."

"Too late; I have the flask."

"You git."

James mounted his broom and took off for the stands.

"I _hate you_!" Sirius called after him.

* * *

Sirius lay on the top level of the stand, one leg dangling over the edge, the other stretched out on the bench. He had a cigarette between his fingers, and he stared up at the black sky. James mimicked his posture—sans cigarette—on the next row.

They were both a little buzzed.

"So why didn't you want to come to tryouts?" asked James, taking another swig from the flask.

"'Didn't feel like it, that's all," said Sirius.

"Then why did you agree to help me in the first place?"

Sirius held out his hand, and James filled it with the flask.

"I... I meant to. It was just..." He broke off and took a swig.

"Just what?"

Sirius took a long, steady breath; the taste of firewhiskey lingered on his tongue. "I was _going_ to come," he said. "I was. And then I went to get my broom."

He stopped, but James understood. "Your uncle gave the Nimbus to you for your birthday," he concluded, and though Sirius did not move, his silence was affirmation enough.

"And then it was all just _there_," he said, his voice somewhat choked. "Everything that happened last year. Uncle Alphard, Snape... I mean, that's the whole reason you're holding tryouts—the whole reason I'm off the team... banned from Quidditch. A year ago, he was—telling me I should make up with Reg, and talking about letters from Andromeda, and he _knew_ the whole time..."

"And you didn't."

"Exactly."

James was quiet for a bit. Finally, "A year ago, we trapped Roland Urquhart in the trick step for the posters."

Sirius smiled bitterly. "He didn't come back this year, you know, Urquhart. His cousin says he's finishing his education at home, but..."

"But he's probably joining the death eaters," James finished for him. He held out his hand, and Sirius game him the alcohol.

Several minutes passed with absolute quiet between the two. The wind whistled, making the wood of the stands creak just a bit. Far away across the grounds, the Whomping Willow seemed to shake with a chill, orange tinted leaves rustling. It occurred to James that there were only nine more full moons before the end of the term: nine more trips to the Whomping Willow and the Shrieking Shack. Nine more transformations in the dusty house. Nine more all nighters pulled for the sake of their friend. And then it would be over.

"Are you happy?" asked Sirius suddenly.

James had only to turn his head a few inches to see Sirius's profile, caught in the dim white light of the moon and stars upon which his eyes were fixed. He exhaled a pillar of chalky cigarette smoke, which danced and swirled against the night sky, familiar but long absent from James's routine.

"I suppose so," he replied at length. "I'm not ecstatic at the moment, but..."

"I don't mean right now," Sirius interrupted, bringing the cigarette to his lips again. His throat moved with the inhalation and then again as he breathed out. "I mean always. Just—are you happy?"

James was silent for a second. "Yeah, I think so."

"Really?" Sirius turned his head to look down at James.

"Yeah. I mean—I guess. I know I'm not _un_happy."

"Really?" asked Sirius again. James nodded, and his friend looked heavenward again. "_I_ am."

James swallowed. Almost without meaning to say it, he muttered: "I know."

"Always," Sirius went on. "All the time. It's just—there." He took a quick, impatient drag. "Do you think some people are just built wrong?"

"No—but I'm not sure we're built at all. Sometimes, I think it's all just... random combinations."

Sirius was quiet for a few seconds. "And you don't feel like it's all going somewhere?" He turned his head to look at James. "You don't think there's a point to you being you?"

James also took a moment to reply; "I dunno," he said—confessed—at last. He looked over at Sirius and held out his hand. "Gimme a drag, yeah."

"I thought you quit," mocked Sirius, handing over the cigarette anyway.

"I did. It's just a drag, and you're depressing me." Sirius smirked, and James inhaled deeply, then exhaled and returned the cig. "God, I miss that."

"You could always pick it up again," said Sirius dryly.

"Yeah, Carlotta would _love_ that."

"What? Your hippie vegetarian girlfriend might object? I'm _shocked_."

"Unbelievable, right?"

Sirius grinned and ashed the cigarette on the wooden bleacher below his own. "So what are you going to do, Prongs? About the chaser, I mean..."

James sighed. He was watching the stars again. "Price is the best flier; Hopkirk has better aim—less strength, but better aim. And he's younger."

"I thought you said Marlene had the best chemistry," Sirius observed.

"She does," James agreed. "She has the best natural chemistry with Shack and me as the other chasers, but... well, Hopkirk's _younger_."

"Young fliers are rubbish."

"Yeah, but I can't do that to the team. They'd be skeletal next year."

"No they wouldn't," reasoned Sirius. "They'll have three experienced players. _We _won the cup with less."

"Yeah, well we had _me_."

"Nice."

"It's true," said James, without a trace of defensiveness. He was merely stating a fact: "I'm unusually good."

Sirius smiled. Then, with a sigh, he sat up, elbows on his knees. "This conversation is pointless, I think," he remarked knowingly. "You've already decided what you're going to do, haven't you?"

James sat up as well, turning on the bench to face Sirius. "What do you mean?"

"Indecisiveness isn't one of your natural flaws," replied his friend with a shrug. James grinned.

"No, it's not. And you're right. I've already decided what I'm going to do."

"And?"

James arched his eyebrows. "You're the Occlumens, apparently. What do _you_ think I'm going to do, if you're so smart?"

"Well." Sirius turned so that his feet hit the plank below. "You never liked your ultimatums. I think you're going to choose both."

And then James grinned too. "Ten points to Padfoot."

(Beautiful)

Donna Shacklebolt had beautifully angry eyes. Clear and brown—well, not exactly brown... orange-ish, really, almost like amber—they could traverse the distance between burning rage and cold spite in the time between blinks, and there was something fascinating about that.

Currently, these eyes were focused on her Ancient Runes notes, as she sat in the library, two tables away from where Charlie Plex observed her, his own homework all but forgotten in front of him. A crease of concentration had formed on her brow, and white teeth were just barely visible as she bit on her lower lip. One ringlet of black hair fell free from the bonds that pulled the rest back at the top of her head; it bounced near her right ear. She wore earrings today, but often she didn't; she didn't wear make up either (not usually), which only made the fact of the strange appeal of her dark skin and hard, angular face, _that_ much more surprising.

She shifted in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee, so that her skirt—worn several inches longer than most of the other girls' (remarkable in and of itself due to her height)—moved just a little bit further up her muscular thigh...

"What do you want?" Donna's voice suddenly cut through the quiet of the library. Had Ms. Sevoy not been otherwise occupied in the stacks, she might have sent the Gryffindor an angry warning. Charlie smirked; Donna hadn't even looked up from her notes.

"Just enjoying the view," he countered.

"_Leave_."

But Charlie did rather the opposite, getting up from his chair and joining Donna at her own table. She finally looked up from her Ancient Runes notes, radiating annoyance.

"What do you want?" she asked pointedly again.

"We used to have fun, didn't we?" asked Charlie, ignoring her question.

"No. We used to have angry sex."

"That's what I meant. What happened to that anyway?"

"You started to fancy me and tentacles are a turn off. You have a girlfriend Plex. Go away." Donna returned to her schoolwork. Charlie did _not_ go away.

"My having a girlfriend didn't bother you before."

"Well it bothers me now."

"So it bothers you that I have a girlfriend?"

"_Everything_ about you bothers me."

Charlie smirked. _Beautifully angry eyes_.

"I don't see what you're so flustered about," he said. Donna looked up from her parchment again.

"And _I_ don't see why you're bothering with me at all," she retorted. "I'm not going to sleep with you; I find you completely vile, and you're threatening to make life difficult for my sister didn't exactly help change that. Now get away from me before I catch something airborne."

It took a lot to annoy Charlie, but being called _vile_ by Donna Shacklebolt was one of the things that really did it. Bloody whore always thought she was too good for him...

His eyes darkened.

"You really ought to be more polite to me," he said.

Donna's lips wrinkled as she pursed them in momentary deliberation. "And _you_ really ought not to try and make me angry. Especially right now. It won't be nice for you."

Fuming, Charlie rose from her table and returned to his own, only long enough to gather up his books and notes.

_But he could knock her off her high horse._

(The Last Nice Thing)

"What do you mean we _both_ made the team?" asked Marlene, confused. "Is one of us meant to be back up, or...?"

James shook his head. Marlene and Hopkirk, a fourth year, stood in front of him in the Common Room, present by his request and currently looking a bit puzzled. Donna, Adam, and Damacus Weasley—the only other available team members—stood at his side for the announcement.

"No. You're both technically on the first string right now," the Captain explained. "And you'll both practice as such. I'll decide who plays in each game based on performance in practices. You're both talented players, and it'd be a shame not to have either one of you."

"And that," said Adam, "is the last nice thing he'll say to either of you as your Captain."

"That's true," James agreed. "Thank you, McKinnon. Write it down, you two. Last nice thing. Got it?"

Marlene and Hopkirk were both too pleased to eradicate the grins that plastered their respective faces however, and they only nodded enthusiastically.

"Brilliant," said James. "Now, Shack—come on. You're going to work on new plays with me."

"But I've got things to do..." Donna began to complain. "Can't it wait till tomorrow?"

"No, I'm patrolling tomorrow."

"But..."

"Wow, interesting story. In other news: _Quidditch_."

Donna scowled. "See?" she said to Marlene and Hopkirk, following James as he moved to one of the sofas; "_Last nice thing_."

* * *

_My dearest Ginger,_

_Ten thousand and one apologies for not enlightening you on your true infatuation with my delectable cousin! I would have told you less subtly if I hadn't thought you would cut off all my limbs for suggesting it!_

_Well, this certainly represents an interesting turn of events. I hadn't imagined you to be so forthcoming—I rather expected firm denial and a dozen, "It doesn't bother me's," rather than a flat out admittance of the fact that you want to do unspeakable things to Jamie. _

_Which reminds me—I think I'm in love with you for authoring the sentence, "Buck up and get yourself a lay." You don't even realize, but you've shaken some of my firmly held beliefs about my identity with those words. However, you're much too young for me. Also, you're apparently in love with my cousin._

_But, Ginge, what are you going to do about it? The bloke's been obsessed with you since you lot were prepubescent, and now that you no longer regard him as something akin to a flobberworm, it really seems as though he ought to know, right? Oh, don't worry your ginger little head: I'm not going to go off gabbing to him about it—I do have other things going on in my life, you know (no I don't)—but really, mate:_

_Buck up and get yourself a lay._

_M.F.P. is grand as always. We're heading up the petition to have Dashell Higgs (the Ministry bloke who said the things about You-Know-Who) sacked, and we've recruited a few aurors into membership, so our spirits are slowly rising. We've got the big meet-up coming up, and it'll be my second one to attend, and Sarah will be there without her lover-boy, so that should be a laugh._

_Regarding my so-called cowardice in SOCIALIZING: the thing that you have to understand about me, Ginge, is that I'm absolutely rubbish around people I would potentially like to shag. Seriously—I'm absolutely awful. I act like I've smoked something highly illicit and words come tumbling from my mouth like salad dressing when it comes out too fast and drowns the lettuce. _

_I'm worse at relationships. It's embarrassing. It's so embarrassing that I'm writing to a seventeen-year-old girl about it, and that should give you an idea about how awful I am. _

_Anyway, let's focus on you, so we don't have to talk about my train wreck, shall we?_

_So, everyone in Hogwarts hates his girlfriend. That should bode well for you, right? I rather think so. At any rate, you can't just ignore this._

_Well, now I have to give an excuse to go. I don't know why letters always carry that excuse—you and your potions essay, for instance—when it seems we could just as easily say, 'Well, I've said all I have to say and am going to tie this to a bird and throw it out the window now. Cheerio.' That would be equally effective, I think, and much less artificial._

_In any case, arrivederci!_

_Ever thine humble servant,_

_Sam Dearborn_

_P.S. His name is David. Thoughts?_

* * *

"Lily," greeted Clancy Goshawk, surprised, as the Head Girl entered the little office on the fourth floor. "Hello. I was expecting..."

"Remus, yeah," Lily acknowledged, smiling politely. "We traded nights."

"Oh." Clancy looked a little concerned. "Is he alright? He didn't have to go home to visit his mum again, did he?"

"Oh, no that's not... no. He's just... patrolling with James this week. Is it warm in here? Should we get started?"

"What? Oh... er... alright."

Lily was already hastening back into the corridor, and a very confused Clancy followed.

"So..." The Ravenclaw jogged to catch up with the somewhat flustered Head Girl. "How do you and Potter generally fair?"

A little too hastily: "What?"

"Patrolling... is it usually pretty smooth? You haven't seen anything scary in a broom cupboard yet, have you?"

"Oh. Er... no. Pretty smooth, yeah." Lily raised an eyebrow. "Do you and Remus check _every_ broom cupboard?"

"Most of them, yes."

"That seems... time consuming."

"Well what have you and Potter been doing?" asked Clancy curiously.

_Playing cards in the Head office_.

"Just... walking around mostly."

"Oh." Clancy frowned thoughtfully. "And that's allowed? I'll have to tell Remus..."

Something in her tone, and the way her lips twitched almost into a smile when she uttered the boy's name, caught Lily's attention.

"And... what about you?" asked the Head Girl, as they walked. "Have patrols been going very smoothly for the two of you?"

"Oh yes, very," Clancy replied quickly. "Remus is an excellent partner. But you've been his partner prefect for two years, so I suppose you knew that. Are you two close?"

"Yeah, Remus is wonderful," said Lily. "And I'm sorry you haven't had the chance to patrol with your actual partner yet... if you'd like, I can try to fix the schedule, so..."

"Oh, it's fine," interjected the other. "That is, I'm sure you have plenty to do as it is without rearranging the schedule for _my_ benefit. And I like patrolling with Remus. He's very... knowledgeable."

"Knowledgeable. Yes. Very."

And suddenly Lily thought she might have made something of a mistake.

* * *

Clancy chattered good-naturedly, mostly about classes and being a prefect, and then a bit about the patrols, and she had a kind of smile on her face that made Lilly curious. Her brown eyes were alight, her tone so engaged and vivacious that Lily wondered how she had ever considered this girl shy. She was so lively in this conversation, almost passionate. Remus Lupin's name had been heard a dozen times in the discourse before Lily realized why this might be—Clancy was interested in the subject matter.

Very interested.

"So," began the Head Girl, after about an hour of walking the darkened empty corridors of the castle. She and Clancy were making their way across the seventh floor, a conversation about homework having died down a few minutes before and an empty silence providing a perfect opportunity for Lily to venture into a topic that had been bothering her since—some fifty-five minutes prior—she had decided that Clancy Goshawk was a very nice kind of girl: "You're dating Charlie Plex, is that right?"

Clancy nodded, and the smile on her face changed a little. "We started going out over the summer."

"Yeah?" Lily bit her lip. "If you don't mind my asking... _how_?"

"You mean 'why?'" Clancy modified, and Lily couldn't deny it. "Oh I know what people think about him... what happened last year, with Cassidy Gamp and Donna Shacklebolt and what-not. But Charlie's not that way with me. I went to a party at his house over the holiday, and he was... sweet. He's not perfect, I know it, but he's... he's different with me. When it's just the two of us alone, he says—he says such sweet things. I've never..." She blushed a little, "I've never had anyone tell me I'm beautiful before, you know?"

Lily _did_ know. She nodded, and Clancy was too nice a girl (too near a stranger) to say the cynical things that Lily at once wanted to say. Boys—and people in general—could say a lot of things if it meant getting what they wanted. And it was often the case that the nicer the things said, the less admirable the things wanted. Furthermore, some people were willing to believe it—_Lily _had been, with Luke. It was nice to buy into an image: Luke's had been innocent and romantic. Perhaps Charlie's was a bad boy transformed by love. But Lily couldn't and wouldn't say this to Clancy, so she only nodded and smiled politely before—sort of—changing the subject.

"Once again, I'm sorry I sprung the patrol change on you."

"Oh, it's no problem. I don't suppose the patrols are too dangerous anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that it's not too frightening to patrol the halls without—y'know—a bloke. Just us girls."

Under other circumstances, Lily might have been offended by the implications of the statement, but the idea of Remus Lupin playing the role of strong protector was too amusing, and instead, Lily giggled at the mental image.

"What?" asked Clancy.

"Oh—er—nothing. Of course, I'm not saying it's dangerous, but... maybe there's something to be said for the boy-girl paring in patrols. There might be different things to be offered."

"Yes, exactly."

_Very different things, in this case_, Lily thought.

* * *

"So I had patrols yesterday."

Lily dropped into the vacant seat at Remus's library table, and he looked up at her, confused. He nodded slowly.

"With Clancy," Lily added.

"I know. We traded shifts, remember?"

"Right..." Remus returned to his homework, and Lily waited for him to say something, but he did not, and so the Head Girl pressed on: "She's alright, isn't she?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"She's really smart."

Remus's eyes flickered briefly away from his book, and then returned to it again so quickly that anyone staring at him less intently than Lily was might not have noticed.

"Well, she _is_ a Ravenclaw."

"Right, but she's much more intelligent then... say... Valerie Turpin."

"Well obviously."

"She's really nice, too."

"Mmm."

"And pretty..."

Remus set down his book. "Okay, you're not being subtle, Lily."

Lily tried to look innocent. "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work."

"What am I doing?"

"You're... implying."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "What am I implying?"

"Something ridiculous and impossible and not even worth mentioning."

He returned to his book. Lily sighed and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "I _don't_ know, actually, what you imagine I am implying. If, however, you think that I am implying that you and Clancy would be the absolute most adorable thing in history..."

Remus set down his book and leaned forward. "Would you keep your voice down?" he asked in a loud whisper.

"We're in the library on a Friday. Who _exactly_ do you think is doing to overhear?"

Remus opened his mouth to argue but closed it when he realized that Lily was, in fact, correct. Almost all of the other tables were empty.

"All the same, if I did this to _you_..."

"Did _what_ to me?"

"Talked about James that way."

"That's completely different," huffed Lily. "James has a girlfriend... Alright. Fine. It's exactly the same, but still..."

"No, you're right, it _is _completely different," Remus whispered. "Because I don't fancy Clancy."

Lily giggled.

"What?"

"Fancy Clancy."

Remus rolled his eyes. "It's eerie sometimes how much you remind me of Prongs. And Padfoot for that matter..."

Lily sobered up. "Fine. You don't fancy her."

"Thank-you."

He returned to his book. Lily pouted for a moment, and then went on, "And it's just as well."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well..." She shrugged. "Clancy's _cute_. But she's kind of... short, isn't she?"

"Er..." Remus looked uncomfortable. "I hadn't noticed."

"Mmm, very short now that I think of it. Miniature, even." (Remus said nothing.) "And," Lily deliberately went on, "as clever as she is, she's not very..."

"Not very _what_?"

"Smart, I think."

"She's smart!" Remus defended.

"She's dating Charlie Plex."

"Just because someone sees the best in people and believes that they're able to change doesn't mean they're not smart!" said Remus loudly. Ms. Sevoy scowled at the pair. Lily grinned. Remus glared. "You tricked me," he accused.

"You _so _fancy her."

"Oh, _Merlin_." The Marauder sighed, massaging his forehead wearily.

"It's not so bad!" Lily told him comfortingly. "I think she fancies you."

"She doesn't."

"But..."

"She _doesn't_."

"But..."

"And even if she did, she's got a boyfriend."

"But..."

"And even if she _didn't_, I'm not in a position to date anyone."

"But..."

"You know what I am, Lily, you know I couldn't possibly."

"But..."

"It wouldn't be fair to her!"

"But..."

"I could never do that to someone I like."

"But..."

"But _what? _Did she actually _say_ she fancies me?"

"Well, no," Lily admitted. "Not in so many _words_..."

"Three, you mean? Three words? _I fancy Remus_. That's all it would really take."

"Yes, but..."

"She's dating Charlie Plex. There must be a reason for that."

"But..."

"And Plex might be a completely unworthy git, but I think he genuinely likes her."

"But..."

"And I'm the last person in the world who should try to complicate her life like that."

"But..."

"But _what_?"

Lily sighed. "Nothing."

"_Nothing_?"

"Well... just... she smiled at you after counseling today."

"She did, didn't she?" Remus moped. Lily patted his arm.

"I'm sorry, Remus. It's rubbish luck... although..." Hopefully: "if it's any comfort, you're now in the same boat I am."

"Which is what, exactly?"

Lily shook her head glumly. "The Shelley boat."

"The Shelley boat?"

"The Shelley boat."

"I don't like this boat."

"It's a fucking awful boat."

* * *

_Dear Sam,_

_Slow down, my man._

_I am not _in love_ with anyone. _

_I fancy James. _

_I _probably_ would enjoy seeing him without a shirt._

_I am not _in love_._

_Anyway, you're not the first I've told. Remus, Sirius, and Peter know, which is probably a massive mistake, but they caught me off guard, and I accidentally spilled. But you know what? It doesn't matter. All shall be well, because—well, I don't know, but it will. _

_It's nicer just not to think about it._

_I never did answer your question about the Lynch Mob, but I can't even have the satisfaction of being a member of that group, either. The Carlotta matter is... complicated. And James really does seem to genuinely like her, so how atrocious a human being would I have to be to jump in now that he has someone he likes and say, "Well, mate, seems I've changed my mind. Woman's prerogative, yeah?" _

_I've always hated that particular stereotype anyway._

_So, long and short of it, if you're taking applications for someone to fill in on the porch-sitting-becoming-spinsters-with-eighty-seven-cats-and-passing-judgment-over-passersby position in lieu of the happily coupled Sarah McKinnon, I formally submit mine._

_(Unless _you've_ grown a pair and written to the mysterious David)._

_You really ought to, too. _

_Timing is everything._

_Incidentally, my timing is rubbish, which is why by simple if, then logic, everything is rubbish... with regards to your way-too-hasty suppositions concerning James and myself, anyway._

_So that's that for the time being. _

_It's not really something I want to dwell on for now. I have other things to think about too, you know (that's my feminism talking)._

_Marlene Price made the Quidditch team. Remus Lupin has prospects for a girl (well, not _good_ prospects: I'm convinced she fancies him, but she's got an obnoxious and bloody inconvenient boyfriend). For whatever reason, it doesn't feel wrong for Remus to fancy this girl, but the very fact that I enjoy spending time with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-James makes me feel like Shelley Mumps. Not that you have any clue who Shelley Mumps is, but that's a long story. _

_No it's not. Shelley Mumps is the girl who was James's girlfriend's best mate, who's fancied James since first year and is now attempting to sabotage their (James and Carlotta's) relationship._

_I hate teenagers._

_The point is, I feel like Shelley, even if I'm _not_ actually attempting to ruin their relationship (just occasionally wishing it ill goddammit). Also—wait, how did this turn into me talking about James again? Fuck it all, never mind._

_New topic._

_Sarah. How's she doing? And her boyfriend? And M.F.P.?_

_You know, Sarah's a really good person; she's not going to desert you just because she's got a bloke. She may be—occupied differently, but I think that's just part of the relationship game. And I'm sure you know that and are happy for her, because I think working at a relationship is a sign of maturity. And same goes for you and this David character. And James and Carlotta. Whom I won't mention again._

_Damn it._

_Anyway, all my love,_

_Lily_

* * *

James arrived quite early for his patrols with Remus on Friday evening, so that even the ever punctual Moony had not yet turned up while the Head Boy waited outside the Head offices on the second floor, leaning against the stone wall and staring across the corridor at the view provided by one of the windows.

He didn't particularly _want_ to patrol this evening... and not simply because it was taking up a significant block of his Friday evening. He didn't want to patrol with Remus.

_I suppose you are uniquely qualified in that sense_.

It was all a harsh reminder that Remus would have made a far superior, more sensible Head Boy.

Remus always joked that he had only made prefect to keep the other Marauders in line, and as Carlotta had observed, there was a certain logic in taking,_ "the king of the troublemakers" _and making him the Head Boy. It was an old tactic, giving someone a responsibility to keep them out of trouble.

But it should have been Remus.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and James looked up, only to see someone approaching that he wanted to see far less than Remus: Shelley Mumps.

She had already seen him, though, and there was no chance of hiding. The blonde smiled and quickened her pace, reaching him a moment later.

"James," she greeted, smiling coyly at him. "I was just on my way back up to the dormitory. What brings you here?"

James sighed. "Hi, Shelley. I have patrols soon."

Her smile faded slightly. "You don't sound very happy to see me. I thought we were on good terms again."

"We were never on _bad _terms, were we? I don't actually think we were on any terms at all."

"But you're clearly not thrilled to see me."

"I'm..." James broke off and shrugged. "I'm just waiting for Remus, that's all."

"I see." Shelley nodded skeptically. "And I suppose Carlotta's instructed you to keep your distance from me. She likes to be in control of things like that, doesn't she?"

"She hasn't said anything of the kind," James replied. "But that right there is one of the reasons I think it's probably a good idea that we remain... term-less."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean my girlfriend is your current nemesis."

Shelley blushed faintly. "I didn't realize you let your girlfriend determine who you're allowed to be mates with."

James leaned back against the wall behind him, folding his arms. "It would be loads trickier to decide if I didn't still hear a new nasty rumor about her every single morning."

Shelley looked away. "I told you I didn't _intend_ for it to turn out that way."

"But all the same, it did... and to be honest, if you were a bloke, you would probably have some fairly serious Marauder-based wrath directed your way."

The witch looked genuinely hurt by this, and James felt guilty.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, somewhat defensively. "Really. It's an... uncomfortable situation. And I'm probably not handling it with Head-Boy-ish dignity, but I don't know what else to do."

Shelley did not respond at first. She was staring at the ground as if attempting to memorize the stone pattern, a look of deep concentration etched on her face. And then she smiled up at James again, taking a step closer to him and patting him on the shoulder. He instinctively moved to step back, but the wall behind him prevented that, and he had only to scoot awkwardly against it.

"I'm glad you felt you could confide that in me," she said.

James stared. "Wait... what?"

"Progress, I think."

With a final smile, Shelley turned on her heel to go.

"Wait—I—no. No, I think you misinterpreted... okay, you leaving, that's fantastic, wonderful, just keep... all right."

She was gone.

James scowled. "Well that's just lovely," he said to no one in particular.

"What is?" asked a new voice, and before James's brain had properly registered the nuances of the tone, he thought it might be Remus. It was not, however, and as he turned to see the new arrival in the corridor, he realized that it was, in fact, a girl's voice.

A short, pale faced girl with dark hair stood there, her black eyes fixed on James with curiosity.

At first, James thought this girl must be a first year, but a moment later he recollected where he had seen her before: at the staff table most mornings and evenings, always seated directly beside Professor Ramsay.

"Er... nothing," he said awkwardly; there was a great deal of distance between himself and this child—whose dress in a paisley frock rather than the school uniform suggested that she was not, in fact, a student—and yet James was tempted to step further back, as if she, in all her four-foot intimidation, might attack him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Who am _I_? Who are _you_?"

"I'm Valentina."

"I'm James."

"Oh."

She continued to stare at him with her large eyes, and James continued to regard her with the utmost suspicion.

Which was ridiculous, he realized, because she was about ten.

"Are you a student?" he asked after a brief silence, though he had already guessed the answer.

"No. My papa teaches here," said the girl called Valentina, and her voice was quiet and strange: not squeaky, as little children's voices sometimes are, but calm and thoughtful and almost ghostly.

"Professor Ramsay?" James guessed again, and Valentina nodded.

"Yes."

More silence.

"Well..." James swallowed. "What are you doing here?"

"I was exploring," said Valentina. "But I'm not sure which floor I'm on."

"The second."

"The second," Valentina echoed. "West Wing?"

"That's right. Do you—er... live here?"

"No, I'm in the East Wing."

"No, I mean..." _Children were so dense sometimes_. "Do you live in the castle?"

Valentina nodded, not reacting to her mistake. "With papa."

"Oh." James, too, nodded, looking anywhere but into Valentina's curious stare. "Er... why?"

"Why?" she repeated.

"Why do you live here?" Other teachers didn't have their families hanging about, did they? Or didn't they have families? James realized that he'd never really thought about it before. "Where's your mum?"

It was probably a rude question, but tact had never been James's forte.

Valentina, however, seemed neither hurt nor offended, and yet her reply did not precisely answer his question: "I lived with my aunt. But then Papa came to fetch me, and we came here."

"O-oh. Well that's... I don't know. Er—how old are you anyway?"

"Ten. How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

For the first time, this response seemed to provoke a reaction out of little Valentina Ramsay. "Seventeen," she once again repeated his word, now with interest. "You're a seventh year, then."

"Yes." And then to fill the silence (_why wouldn't she go away?_): "Head Boy."

"Oh. Are you the tallest, then?"

James honestly had no idea what that even meant. "_What_?"

"You're the Head Boy, so you're the tallest, aren't you?"

"Er... I don't know. What...?"

"Prongs?"

_Thank Merlin_.

Remus had arrived; it was exactly eight o'clock now, and he jogged to meet James. It was another moment before he realized that his friend was not alone, but in deep conversation with a ten-year-old girl.

"Er... hello."

"Hello," said Valentina.

Remus looked between the two, waiting for someone to clue him in.

"This is Valentina Ramsay," said James. "She's Professor Ramsay's kid, I guess."

"Oh." Remus turned to Valentina. "It's very nice to meet you," he said politely. "I'm Remus Lupin."

"It's very nice to meet you, too," Valentina mimicked.

"For _you_, she gives full sentences," James grumbled.

Remus ignored him. "Are you lost?" he asked kindly, and Valentina nodded. "Oh... well, we should probably help you find your way back, then..." He looked confusedly to James, who didn't know how to begin to explain that he hadn't had any idea that this kid was lost. "Where do you live in the castle?"

"In the East Wing, near the statue of the man who looks like a troll."

"Oh... hmmm, I'm not sure..."

"Diggory the Druid," said James. "The statue of Diggory the Druid." Remus arched an eyebrow. "Third floor, East Wing, bloke who looks like a troll... Diggory the Druid looks like a troll. I'm not entirely sure he _wasn't_ at least half."

"You can't be half troll, half human," Remus pointed out. "Genetically incompatible."

"I don't know what that means," said James, rolling his eyes. "Can we just get rid... er... that is..."

Remus too rolled his eyes. "Let's take you back where you belong, then, Valentina," he said, turning to the young witch again. "This way, I think."

"Thank-you," said Valentina softly. "You know, I think you're taller than he is..."

"No one asked you," snapped James.

"_Prongs_," Lupin censured.

When Valentina was deposited at her chambers, Remus and James turned back to begin their patrols properly.

"Thank-you," the Head Boy said to his friend. "Little children scare me."

"Evidently," Remus replied, smirking.

"Shut up," said James, half laughing himself. "Anyway, she caught me off guard. I just had a near-Shelley experience."

"That's not pretty. I _thought_ I noticed the unmistakable scent of cheap perfume back there..."

"It doesn't take a werewolf to smell it when a bird's wearing _that_ much I suppose."

"Oi, keep it down!"

"No one's around."

"Still..."

James shrugged. "I just don't understand what she can possibly hope to accomplish," he said. "Shelley, that is. Obviously, I fancy Carlotta, and it's not as though I'm going to give her the sack just because she wants me to."

"Right," said Remus, somewhat stiffly. He looked at the floor. "You're with the person you want to be with, and you wouldn't be with them if you didn't want to be, and just because someone else might fancy you doesn't mean you're going to drop everything to be with them, even though they've never been in a proper relationship before, and they've never wanted one until now, and even though the idea of the two of you together is so completely ridiculous and foolhardy, they can't help but think that it might be weirdly perfect, too, and in some impossible, alternate existence they might not be a complete freak, and the two of you could actually be completely happy together." They reached the staircase. James stared.

"You all right, there, Moony?"

"What?" Remus started. "Oh. Yes. Fantastic. Up or down?"

"What?"

"Up to the fourth floor or down to the second?" Remus clarified, waving vaguely at the staircase before them.

James momentarily shook off his confusion and said: "Do we have to actually walk around the entire castle? I'm up for a game of Gobstones myself."

"Of course we have to walk around the castle," said Remus. "How else would you patrol? I'm sure Lily doesn't let you slack off like that."

"Oh, no, we've been using the map," James replied. "It's easier _and_ more comprehensive." He grinned hopefully.

"Oh. That's actually not a half bad idea. 'Course I couldn't if I was patrolling with... anyone else, but if it's just us..."

"Yeah, why _are_ we patrolling together anyway?" asked James.

Remus looked uncomfortable. "Lily had another engagement tonight."

"Oh, I see." They were both quiet for a moment "And that engagement is... what exactly? Painting her fingernails in the common room? Because that's what she was doing when I left..."

"Well..."

"Moony," began James, folding his arms. "Just tell me about her."

"About whom?"

"This bird. The bird you've been patrolling with—this Clancy Goshawk."

"How do you...?"

"Padfoot says you're lending her books, and you don't lend your books to just anyone. Plus..." James's mouth twitched with amusement, "when I told Sirius that Molly Weasley had another kid and Charlie wasn't the youngest anymore, you interrupted with a five minute rant on what an awful name 'Charlie' is, and how anyone cursed enough to be so named—and I quote—'_deserves what he gets_.'" Remus flushed a little, and James added: "So as someone who probably had similar feelings about the name 'Luke' not too long ago... I understand."

"It doesn't matter," said Remus after a few moments hesitation. "She's..."

"Perfect, out of your league, got a boyfriend?"

Remus shrugged. "I don't want to be Shelley," he said.

"Shelley?" laughed James. "How are you Shelley? You're not Shelley." Remus looked at him skeptically, and James considered it. "Well, fine, technically, you're in the Shelley _role_, but that doesn't mean that you're the Shelley."

"That's exactly what it means."

"No, because you're not doing Shelley things. And if you _were_ to try to... surreptitiously flirt with Goshawk, you still wouldn't be the Shelley, because... because... because you're cool. And a werewolf..."

"_Prongs_..."

"I'm serious! It must be comforting, knowing that despite your folded socks and mild-mannered-ly combed hair, you could still rip Charlie Plex to shreds."

"And you don't think Shelley could break Carlotta in half?" asked Remus dryly.

"Well that's not fair. Carlotta's very small. A twelve-year-old of average strength could probably break her in half."

"I'm the Shelley."

"No you're _not_."

"I _am_. It's pathetic, but it's the truth."

"Moony, listen to me..." They started down the staircase, "You're not the Shelley."

"I _am_ the Shelley."

"You're not the Shelley."

"I'm the Shelley."

"You don't even wear perfume."

"I'm the Shelley."

"You didn't start a huge fight in Counseling."

"I'm the Shelley."

"You're much cuter than she is."

"I'm the Shelley."

"If _you_ were trying to date me, I would absolutely dump Carlotta for you."

"I'm the... oh shut up, Prongs."

* * *

Sunday evening brought the first Quidditch practice of the season for Gryffindor, which, in turn, brought quite a bit of running.

"It builds endurance," James had explained. "It also keeps you all in good enough shape to keep your brooms off the ground. Okay... three more laps."

And that would have been fine, if it were not for the stream of exercises that followed, individually assigned depending on the players' position on the team. Only in the last hour of practice did they get on their brooms at all, and in the last half hour there was a brief scrimmage, which, after everything else, felt like reprieve.

Then, at last, it was all over, and the team packed up their gear.

"So how about it, Price?" asked Adam with a grin, as he helped return the Quaffles to their cart. "First practice—what d'you think?"

Marlene sat on the grass, and she smiled, pushing her short hair from her eyes. "Excellent," she said. "It's intense but... a lot of fun."

"It is." Adam locked up the crate. "I'll bring this to the shed, if ya like," he added to James, who nodded and thanked him. "You coming, Price?"

"I'm just going to wait for Donna."

"Right-o. See you in the Common Room."

"See you."

Then Adam trudged off. Marlene watched him leave the pitch.

"You're waiting for _me_?" asked Donna skeptically, approaching her roommate. "_Why_?"

Marlene looked up. "Because I don't think I can move."

"What?"

"I don't think I can _move,_" Marlene repeated, somewhat frantically. "I am physically stuck in this position. I only sat down for a second, and now I'm frozen. My muscles have literally stopped working."

"Ah," said Donna knowingly. "Yes, that can happen. Common side effect of Potter Practices. But there's a reason we're the best team in the school." She leaned over and grabbed Marlene's upper arm, pulling the blonde to her feet.

"Ow, ow, ow..."

All the same, Marlene managed to stand again, and Donna handed her a water bottle. "I threw up after my first Potter Practice," she said. "And I was in much better shape than you are."

"Thank-you."

"It gets better."

Marlene nodded. Wincing, she picked up her school-owned broom and started back towards the castle with Donna.

"So what about your moral dilemma?" asked the blonde, as they crossed the lawn under the grey sky. "Resolved?"

"Maybe," said Donna. "I don't know."

"I still think you should tell me."

Annoyed: "I'm not going to tell you."

"I know, but I still think you should."

Donna rolled her eyes.

When they reached the Entrance Hall, Marlene proceeded straight toward the marble staircase, and Donna would certainly have followed, but something caught her eye through the open doors into the Great Hall.

"You coming?" asked Marlene, several paces ahead.

"I'll... I'll be along in a minute."

"Okay..."

Marlene continued up the staircase, and Donna moved into the Great Hall. The person who had caught her eye stood over one of the tables, a cloth rag in hand as she wiped down the surface of Hufflepuff table: it was her sister, Bridget.

They were not, however, alone. Professor Flitwick—and Donna hadn't noticed him at first—stood not far off, an air of supervision about him as he crossed his tiny arms over his chest.

"Excuse me, Miss Shacklebolt," said Flitwick, and both Bridget and Donna looked at him: Bridget started in surprise, noticing her elder sister for the first time, and then she quickly resumed her cleaning with increased vigor. Donna looked bewilderedly from her sister to her professor. "I'm afraid you'll have to go," Flitwick squeaked on. "Miss Shackle... that is, the younger Miss Shacklebolt is in detention, and..."

"_Detention_?" Donna interrupted loudly. Bridget flinched, but did not make eye contact with anyone. "What is she in detention for? She's a first year for Agrippa's sake!"

"I am afraid that is not your concern, Miss Shacklebolt!"

"Of course it's my concern! She's my _sister!_"

"Indeed, but as a fellow student, you..."

Donna did not care to hear the excuses, though. She hurried over to where all three feet of Professor Flitwick stood near the wall, and her expression was pleading. "Professor Flitwick," the seventh year began in an undertone, so that Bridget could not hear, "Bridget's my little sister. My mum and dad aren't around, and I'm almost entirely responsible for her... please, just let me have a few minutes to speak with her..."

Flitwick sighed, although even that somehow managed to come across as squeaky, and then he nodded. "Five minutes would not hurt, I suppose."

"Thank-you."

It required all of Donna's self-restraint not to hop over the intervening table between herself and Bridget; Flitwick, quite politely, moved towards the front of the Hall, a safe distance away. Donna came up to her sister, who still scrubbed defiantly at the table, until Donna took her by the shoulder—gently—and turned the young witch to face her.

"You're in detention?" Donna asked. She wasn't sure whether to be furious or concerned, and she was almost convinced that whatever Bridget had allegedly done to merit this punishment was not, in fact, Bridget's fault at all.

"Apparently," said Bridget. She twisted the rag between her fingers nervously. "Please don't make a fuss, Donna, it's not..."

"What _happened?"_ Donna interrupted. "You're the best behaved child I've ever encountered. It's _frightening_ how well behaved you are!"

"Donna, please don't..."

"Just tell me what happened!"

"Don't make a fuss over this, Donna, it's not..."

"_Bridget_."

Bridget took a deep calming breath. Then: "I got in a fight."

"You got in a _fight?" _Donna repeated loudly and incredulously. "With whom? What happened?"

Bridget did not make eye contact. "Abby Marquette."

"Abby Marquette? I thought the two of you were friends..."

"We were..." Bridget stopped abruptly though and fidgeted with the rag in her hand. "She was just... she was being a prig."

"What was she doing?" demanded Donna. "Why did you feel the need to _fight_ her?"

"She... well..."

"Bridget."

And then, with great difficulty: "She was calling you a slut."

Donna could only stare. "Wait... what? _Me_? I don't understand."

And then the rest came spilling out. "It started out the other day," Bridget explained, twisting the rag anxiously between her fingers, "This seventh year... I mean, Charlie Plex was in the Common Room, and he was... saying things about you, and I didn't say anything, and then yesterday Abby—well, she was mostly repeating what Charlie Plex said, and she called you a slut, and so I... I... well..." Bridget swallowed; "Leg Lock is the only hex I know, so... anyway, I got a detention. Obviously. And Abby Marquette's not speaking to me."

When the story concluded, Donna closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. "So..." she began, opening her eyes, "this is my fault."

"No, it's..."

"Bridge, you don't have to stand up for me."

"And you wouldn't have done the same for me?" asked the other defiantly.

"I'm your older sister," Donna countered. "That's my job. But you... Oh _Merlin_..." Donna closed her eyes and ran a frustrated hand through her hair.

Bridget, meanwhile, stared intently down at the ground, but she chewed on her lip as though mulling over something she wanted to say, until at last she looked up at Donna and asked: "Is it true?" Donna opened her eyes. "I mean, is—is what Charlie Plex said true? About... about you and him? When he was seeing that other girl?"

Her dark eyes were almost anxious as they bore into Donna; the elder witch sighed. She put her arm around Bridget's shoulder and guided her towards the nearest table (Hufflepuff), sitting the both of them down on the bench.

"Bridget," she began slowly, "I..." But there was nothing else for it: "Yes."

Bridget nodded.

"I wish I could say that it wasn't true, but—well, it is. I'm not... I'm not the best example for you, and I know that—I wasn't trying to hide it from you; I just wanted to protect you for a little while longer..."

Then, for some reason unbeknownst to Donna, Bridget smiled.

"Abby Marquette's older sister got four P's on her O.W.L.s., and you only have to look at her to know she couldn't play Quidditch to save her life. On top of that, she's an awful gossip. I think you're a brilliant example."

"Well... that's because you've got your priorities sorted." Donna frowned. "It's really complicated, Bridge. Everything that happened last year... I'm not _proud_ of it. And I'm sorry that you have to see..."

"I know you're not perfect," Bridget interrupted. "I've always known that. And I don't care what Abby Marquette or anyone has to say about you..."

"Then why did you hex her?"

Bridget had no adequate response for that.

"Bridge," Donna went on slowly; "There are plenty of people that don't like me. I'm not like you, you know? I didn't even have friends until third year..."

"_Third year_?"

"Yes, I know," said Donna shortly. "But that's just how I am. Loads of it is my fault, too, and loads of it is..."

"Charlie Plex's fault?"

Donna snorted. "Not quite. But I'll be gone next year, and hopefully most of this will go with me..."

"Donna, it's not..."

"Nothing I've done is going to make any difference for you, from now on," Donna said firmly. "And you can't let it. You can't hex anyone who doesn't like me... it's very sweet, but it just won't do."

"But..."

"Bridget, promise you're not going to get any more detentions on my account."

"I promise, but..."

"_Bridget_."

"I promise I won't get any more detentions on your account," Bridget said glumly. "But I'm not guaranteeing I won't curse Abby Marquette again."

"But not on my account."

"But not on your account."

"And don't get caught."

Bridget giggled. She leaned against her older sister's shoulder, looping her arm through Donna's.

"I think Charlie Plex is a wormy git," said Bridget softly.

"Me too," Donna had to agree. "I'm sorry, Bridge."

"You don't have to..."

"No, I _do_. I'm sorry."

They sat there quietly for a long time.

"Bridget had really better get back to work," Flitwick's squeaky voice effectively ended the moment, and Bridget started.

"Oh. Right. I'm in detention."

"Right."

(A Shirt)

Monday mornings were almost always utterly dismal affairs, but this one seemed particularly glum. Marlene and Donna had just finished Quidditch practice, and Marlene seemed to be mourning the loss of her fine motor skills, while Donna was in a worse mood than usual. Mary chatted away as usual, supported only by Lily, whose attention was drawn away when the mail arrived.

Niko the owl arrived with a letter from Sam Dearborn, but she also bore a brown paper parcel attached to it and tied with thin rope.

"What's that?" Mary asked. "From a secret admirer?"

"Hardly. Sam Dearborn, I think."

Lily opened the letter first.

"_Dear Lily,_

_I have enclosed a present from myself and Sara, who—having heard the gist of your advice regarding herself and lover boy—claims that you are a better friend to her than I am, and is therefore quite enamored of you at the mo. I should also add that I am most displeased with you, jealous bloke that I am, but never mind: my ire is short-lived. Anyway, perhaps this gift will give you a little incentive regarding post-Hogwarts plans. Don't open it until I'm done talking, though, Ginge. That's rude._

_This will be a short letter, though, so fear not. I've got M.F.P. in twenty minutes, and Tilly'll have a fit if I'm late. Again. But here's the main point of what I want to write: whatever happens with my dear cousin, you'll be just fine. Truthfully, being happy isn't about having what you want when you want it, is it? Because then we'd have no control over our own happiness, and I don't happen to believe in that._

_Take me for example. I'm exceedingly happy some if the time. But it's not because of David (gorgeous, oh Merlin, Lily, remind me to give you actual details next letter, yeah?) or Sarah or anyo9ne. People make me happy, sure, but only in a way—the purely reactionary way. Which is fine. For me, being happy is about doing what you're meant to be doing at any given time. Being in sync with your purpose._

_Did I make that up or have I been reading Fiona Keepdown books again? _

_No, I think I made it up._

_Wouldja listen to me: twenty something and wise beyond my years._

_But that's an awful lot of feel-good rubbish. I'm not any more sorted out than you are, Ginge. But there it is. Advice from Sam. I ought to write a book._

_I really do have to run now, so pip-pip, kid. Don't forget to open your figt, and wear it with pride (hint, hint)._

_Your un-indentured servant,_

_Sam"_

Curious, Lily set down the letter and picked up the parcel, unwrapping it carefully. There was some white cloth inside, that she unrolled, revealing a t-shirt—a familiar one, with green lettering of "M F P."

It was the shirt that Sam and Sarah and the other Magic-For-Peace members had been wearing in the Ministry the month before.

"_Lucky_," said Marlene from across the table. "It's cute. I want one."

Lily hadn't a moment to reply, however, as James Potter happened to be passing by that particular stretch of Gryffindor table at the moment with Remus, Sirius, and Peter, and he too noticed the article of clothing.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked curiously, and Lily almost jumped at the unexpected sound of his voice.

"Sam Dearborn sent it," she replied, glancing up at the Head Boy and then back at her new shirt.

"Sam?" There was surprise in his tone, but not exactly displeasure. "That's... nice of him. I didn't know you two kept up."

Lily smiled and nodded. "Just recently."

She supposed that Sirius, Remus, and Peter might have exchanged knowing looks, but she did not partake.

(On Shore)

Professor McGonagall was not yet in the Transfiguration classroom when Lily arrived with Marlene, Donna, and Mary. She sat down in the back and pulled out her notes, quills, and ink, and as she did, Remus sat down in the desk beside her own. The Marauder squared himself toward her, rather than the front of the room, as though he did not intend to stay long, for the other Marauders sat at the opposite end of the room.

"Hello, Lily."

"Remus." She turned to face him as well.

"You posted the latest patrol schedule, I noticed," he remarked. The Head Girl nodded.

"Yeah, I've finally got my own schedule sorted out. The _goal_ is to have it up by every Monday morning."

Remus didn't seem interested in this fact, as though it were something else entirely that he was driving at. "I'm on Thursday again. You're back with James."

Lily nodded. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that her friends weren't paying attention (and they weren't) before replying with a noncommittal: "So it would seem."

"And that wouldn't have anything to do with your matchmaking scheme, would it?" Remus asked suspiciously. Lily only smiled softly and shook her head.

"No. If you don't want to patrol with..." her voice dropped lower, "Clancy, you dot have to. I can trade you with whoever you want."

"Then why did you switch back?"

Lily took a moment to answer. "I don't need to avoid _him_," she said at length. "I'm not..." ("Shelley," she almost said). "I'll be okay working with him can't always get what you want when you want it, and... that's alright."

"So what about the Shelley boat?" asked Remus, frowning, but Lily smiled again and shrugged.

"Shelleyism is a choice."

"And you're sure about that?"

"Absolutely."

(Matters of the Head Boy)

It should have been Remus.

This thought overcame all others Monday evening, before the weekly prefects' meeting, as James sat alone on the sofa in the Head Student office. He was early, but Quidditch had been in the morning, and he didn't particularly feel like spending time in the Common Room. Anyway, Carlotta was finishing her Charms homework, and the other Marauders were similarly occupied, so that James, not in the mood for school work either, came to get some time on his own before the meeting. Lily had posted the patrol schedule as they had agreed, and his name was, once again, next to her own on Friday evening. Remus was on Thursday with Clancy again... perhaps Lily had noted the benefits of the latter pairing, too... perhaps Remus had contributed to the assembly of the schedule. It was the sort of thing he would do.

It should have been Remus.

Remus was a prefect. Remus had known how to interact with young Valentina Ramsay. Remus had put an end to the fight in Counseling at the beginning of the month. Remus would know what to do as Head Boy, and maybe, if he had appeared more successful in reining in his friends, he _would_ have the badge. But it was during Remus's prefect-ship that Sirius played his prank on Snivellus, and it was Remus who had been the "threat" of that prank to begin with—and James was Head Boy. Because, as Carlotta had pointed out, James was ostensibly the only person who could claim authority over those rebellious elements of the student body (being one of those elements himself). Deserving or not, he, James, was Head Boy.

But it should have been Remus.

Almost before he realized what he was doing, James rose from the couch. he reached the door and then entered the corridor with no acknowledged destination until he was already halfway there—halfway to Dumbledore's office.

The Head Students were endowed with the privilege of knowing the password through the statue gateway to the headmaster's office: James gave it without a second thought. He climbed the emerging staircase in haste, and did not pause until he reached the second door to Dumbledore's rooms. there, he hesitated for a few seconds, and then knocked.

It was another moment before Dumbledore's voice bid: "Come in." And James did.

"James," greeted the old man, no surprise in his voice. He smiled warmly across his desk at the Head Boy. "Good evening. Won't you have a seat?"

"No, thank-you," said James briskly. "No, I can only stay a minute. The prefect meeting starts soon. I just have something to say."

Dumbledore regarded him with interest in his bright blue eyes. His spectacles rested in their usual place upon his crooked nose, and the way he was situated in the large chair—sprawling purple robes half concealing it—he seemed almost another fixture in this strange office. The portraits of former headmasters slept in odd synchronization, quietly snoring away in harmony with the vague humming of the Headmaster's many instruments and ornaments.

"I've been wracking my brain," James continued, too annoyed to be nervous in the face of even Dumbledore's prestige, "trying to figure out why you would choose _me_ to be Head Boy. It doesn't make any sense, and it's not as though you didn't have other options. And the only reason—the only _possible _reason I can come up with—is that you're hoping it keeps me in line... and that if you can convince me to be a good little boy, I'll do the same to my mates. And I'm not saying sometimes Sirius doesn't go a little crazy, because... well obviously he does. And I wouldn't let that happen if I could help it even if I _weren't_ Head Boy. So I'm not going to... to play along. I don't appreciate being manipulated, and if that means letting you down, I'm sorry, but... but not really, because that's who you picked, for better or for worse, and that's what you're going to have to tolerate. And... well that's all."

James looked defiantly at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore looked right back, the meaning in the twinkle of his eyes utterly inscrutable as usual. For a few seconds, they stood like that, before James added: "And now I have to go to a meeting."

And, turning, he left. The door clicked shut behind him, and James's rapid footfalls could be heard on the stair outside, and Dumbledore chuckled.

* * *

James was late to the prefect meeting, but only by two or three minutes, and Lily had only just begun her talk about Filch's request that all prefects familiarize themselves with the list of banned items when James slipped into the office, standing behind a group of Hufflepuffs. Lily noted his flustered appearance—distracted, she stuttered a bit when he entered, but then she resumed at an easy pace. After the distribution of copies of Filch's list, she asked James if he had anything to add, and he contributed with McGonagall's request that each of the prefects write a brief report of their patrol experiences over the following week. A few more orders of business were attended to, and then, after all of twenty-five minutes, the prefects were dismissed.

"You all right, Prongs?" asked Remus on his way out.

"Fantastic," said James. "And... er... good work today."

Remus raised both eyebrows. "What?"

"Good work," James repeated.

"Good work on _what_?"

James ran one hand through his hair. "Just... just good work."

Remus continued to look at his friend with an expression one might use in staring at a friend he suspects to be replaced by a Polyjuice Potion equipped imposter. "Prongs, are you _stoned?"_

"No, I'm not fucking stoned. Can't a bloke tell his mate 'good work' every now and again without starting a goddamn revolution?"

"Er... I suppose so..."

"Well then good fucking work!" said James impatiently.

"Thank... you?"

"You're welcome."

"Okay." Remus made for the door. "See you in the Common Room?"

"Yeah, I'll be along in a minute," said James, much more genially, and a very confused Remus left, the last of the prefects. Only Lily and James remained.

Lily was cleaning up the desk, but she paused long enough to send James a curious look. "You okay, Potter?"

"Fine," said James, curt again. "Listen, I'll make the patrol schedule for next week."

"What?"

"I'll make the patrol schedule for next week."

"Oh." Lily frowned. "Are you unhappy with this one?

"No, it's fine. But you've been making all of them, and it's not fair that you should have to do it every week. So I'll do it next week." He looked as though he thought Lily was going to challenge him; instead, she folded her arms and cocked her head to one side curiously.

"You're _sure_ you're not stoned?"

"Agrippa's sake, no I am _not_ stoned. Why do you people keep asking me that?"

"You're behaving very strangely."

"I'm not behaving v..."

Lily leaned back against the table, ankles crossed, with an expectant look on her face. "Care to talk about it?" she interrupted him.

"_No_," said James sullenly.

But of course, he ended up doing so anyway.

He began the story with Valentina Ramsay, which, he realized, was an atrocious place to start the story, and he had to backtrack a bit to tie it all together. But the gist of it was clear enough to Lily—the doubts that _she_ had raised, that Carlotta had confirmed, that his own conscience continued to provoke... and then his interaction with Dumbledore just before the meeting, and, at this point, Lily visibly reacted for the first time, her eyes growing just slightly wider.

And then it was over, and Lily remained quiet for almost a minute. "So," she began eventually, her voice low and contemplative, "What you're saying is that... you think he made you Head Boy because he wanted to keep you in line... not because you deserved it or have any discernible talent for it."

James, standing near the doorway, shrugged. "I guess." He didn't think he conveyed nonchalance very convincingly; Lily didn't seem to buy it, at any rate. "I just... he shouldn't have done it. It should have been Remus."

"It couldn't be Remus, James. _You_ know that."

He did. It was bloody unfair, but it couldn't have been Remus. Not for any real or decent reason, but simply because there would be times when he might be asked to do something when he could _not_. A prefect could dodge this, but Head Boy could not... not without a great deal of difficulty. It was bloody unfair, but it couldn't have been Remus.

"Still, it's not like there's no one else. Everyone knows that: you even _said_ it... _Snape_ makes more sense than I do." He snorted. "And when Snape makes more sense, you know you're in the wrong place… no offense..."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Heartfelt, that."

The Head Boy shrugged again. "Whatever. It doesn't really matter."

He had almost turned to leave.

"You're kind of self-centered, you know," Lily remarked, and he hesitated, turning on his heal and leaning one shoulder against the door-case.

"It's my defining characteristic, actually," he corrected. "But why do you say so?"

For reasons unbeknownst to James, Lily fought a smile. She took a moment to assemble the words in her brain before she uttered them (he could tell), and in the process, she breathed deeply and bit her lip, her middle, ring, and little fingers brushing back the dark red hair that was already restrained with a tie. Then, she folded her arms, and her chin rose infinitesimally.

"Do you _really _think Dumbledore would waste the Head Boy position for an entire year just to keep _you_ in line?" She blinked challenging green eyes. "I know you don't think it's anything important, but that badge means something to _some_ people, and Dumbledore wouldn't just throw it at _one_ student to stop _one _student from getting into mischief. You're not nearly enough trouble to make Dumbledore so desperate that he would have to do that. You can fancy yourself the Master of Evil as much as you like, but Dumbledore doesn't _really _care _that_ much."

To be honest, James hadn't thought of it that way at all.

"You can't prove that," was what he said, however.

Lily shook her head, straightening up and pulling away from the desk. She picked up her book bag, slipped it over one shoulder, and walked to the door, so that she was parallel with James when she paused to add: "Maybe he didn't fixate and obsess over how to tame _The Great James Potter _at all. Maybe he just thought, hell... you'd make a good Head Boy. And maybe he's right or maybe he's wrong, but sitting around and whining about how it should have been Remus is a bit like salting a wound that may or may not exist. So if you want to give up the badge, do so, but that's not going to make Remus Head Boy, and it's not going to make you King of the Rebels. It's just going to make you really, really daft." Lily shrugged. She faced the corridor, he the office, and a few seconds passed in that silence. "Dumbledore thinks very highly of you. If you'd get over yourself, mate, you might notice it."

She slipped past him, through the doorway. The bag hanging from her shoulder bounced gently against her hip as she walked away, her head slightly bowed, the loose knot of red hair tied high up on her head swaying with each step, looking as though it might slip but never quite doing so.

James wondered if she was still smiling when she lifted her head again, when she adjusted the strap of her book bag, when she reached the turn in the corridor and disappeared... but he didn't know; he didn't move at all actually, until she was completely gone.

He ran his hand through his hair.

_Get over yourself, mate_.

_Stop looking at me like that, James Potter... like... like you know something about me_.

_We've been drinking!_

Her voice had a strange way of making his ears ring with it. Quite annoying, actually.

But she didn't smell like tequila tonight.

It was green apple.

She smelled like green apple.

Abruptly, James shut down that train of thought. He cleared his throat for the benefit of no one but himself and, once again, ruffled his hair.

Perhaps he'd better steer clear of Lily Evans for a few days.

(Mancy, Again)

"Marlene, wake up!"

Donna shook her roommate's shoulder, until at last, groaning, Marlene rolled over onto her back and opened her eyes just a crack. It was well after eleven o'clock, and the others in the dormitory were asleep, but Donna had spent the last hour debating with herself, and now she needed to speak.

"How are you awake?" moaned Marlene scratchily, pushing away Donna's hand and scowling considerably as she sat up a little in bed. "How are you even _moving_?"

"What are you talking about?"

"That Quidditch practice! I am in very real pain, Shacklebolt."

"That was this _morning_."

"Do _not_ trivialize my agony, Shacklebolt. I will _murder_ you."

"You get used to it," said Donna instead, and then grabbed a handful of her very curly hair as she took a deep, collecting sigh. "I'm going to do the right thing for the wrong reason, and you're going to help me."

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Marlene sat up in her bed. "What's going on?"

Another sigh, then: "Shelley Mumps is shagging Charlie Plex."

Marlene's eyes were all the way open now. "_What?"_

Donna nodded briskly. "I saw them the other day in the second floor corridor going to the Charms department."

"_Merlin_..."

"It was scarring. My brain will never be the same..."

"But Plex is..."

"Dating Clancy Goshawk."

Marlene frowned. "This story sounds vaguely familiar."

"Yes, I _know_," agreed Donna impatiently. "But _I_ have evolved."

"You've evolved."

"Yes."

"Into what?"

"Someone who recognizes that Charlie Plex is not a good person to shag."

Marlene looked skeptical.

"No, honestly. I even confronted Shelley."

"No _way_..."

"I know, it's awful."

"You're practically Lily now."

"I know, and I don't like it, but Plex is an arse, and he deserves to be given more tentacles for what he's doing to Gamp—I mean Goshawk."

"You're scaring me, Donna."

"I'm scaring me, too!" agreed Donna. "But now I'm doing the un-Lily-like thing: I'm getting revenge. I'm _telling_."

"Revenge on..."

"Plex."

"Right. And you're going to tell... who? Clancy?"

"I don't know!" whispered Donna, somewhat frantically. "That's why I need _you_. What does one _do_ in situations like this? Who do you tell? Should I tell Mary?" She glanced briefly to the witch in question's bed. "Half the school would know in ten minutes then..."

"That's true..." Marlene's expression turned thoughtful. "But you don't need Mary."

"I don't?"

"If it's revenge you're after, you could get the master himself."

"The master?" echoed Donna. "Who?"

"Who else?" Marlene shrugged. "Sirius Black."

Donna looked confused. "Black? Why would Black help?"

And then Marlene began to grin. "Operation Mancy."

Donna only stared. "What the fuck is that?"

* * *

**A/N: **And there it is! At long last! Thank you everyone for your patience. Chapter 33 is called "Of Marlene," and will hopefully (and almost certainly) be a quicker update! I'll probably re-edit this soon, so keep in mind this was the speediest editing I've ever done when you judge me =P

Reviews are green apple shampoo.

Love,

Jules


	33. Of Marlene

**A/N: **I have no words. It's taken me forever just to write this damn chapter, and there are a lot of reasons for that, as you may know if you've followed me elsewhere, but finally, I am happy to present to you, Chapter 33. Thank you so much for your patience!

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo-Ro.

**Before: ** Marlene was dating this lovely bloke, Miles; just kidding, Miles was a git. He snogged Carlotta Meloni, and that effectively ended Marlene's relationship with him. Unfortunately, Adam McKinnon—who _really_ liked Marlene—decided that being rejected by her wasn't very fun, so he went off and got himself a girlfriend, the adorable Prudence Bloody Daly. Meanwhile, Charlie Plex—purveyor of all kinds of evil—is dating Clancy Goshawk, whom Remus fancies, but Plex is also sneaking around with Shelley Mumps, who fancies James, and that's all very complicated. Donna is looking for a way to get back at Charlie, and Sirius is looking for a way to get Clancy with Remus, and Marlene decides to help them form an unholy alliance in what is called "Operation Mancy." Also, Marlene has joined the Quidditch team, replacing Sirius, who was kicked off due to his prank on Snape the year before. And that's what you missed on TLAT.

Chapter 33- "Of Marlene"

Or

"Here Comes the Sun"

And there they were, in front of her.

Left, center, right.

Left, center, right.

Left, center, right.

Ravenclaw's three hoops stood like monuments against the grey sky: tall and menacing and magnificent and inviting and intimidating. But they were just wood, and in front of them, hovering on his broom, was a boy. Just one boy.

Miles Stimpson's blue and bronze robes billowed in even the relatively gentle wind. He was looking at Marlene, only at Marlene, his own two eyes joining hundreds of others in their fixation upon this one chaser. Marlene felt dizzy. She'd stopped moving, and she was just floating there, high above the grass, above the stands, above half of the other players in the air at the moment. She gripped the nose of the Nimbus, her knuckles white.

Potter flew up to her, muttering a few instructions that she didn't understand—a deafening ringing sounded out in her ears, echoes of a thousand voices, or maybe just one voice repeating over and over and over and over: it drowned out everything else, except the excessively noisy pounding of her heart, which must have been heard by every single person in that stadium.

Hooch handed her the Quaffle, leathery and rough in her fingers. This time, Marlene _knew_ she was going to be sick.

It wasn't a big deal, really. In the grand scheme of things—even in the grand scheme of this match—it wasn't a big deal. Nothing hinged upon her success.

Except maybe one thing.

And oh _God, _he was right.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't she couldn't she couldn't she couldn't...

She was going to choke. Right there, in front of everyone, she was going to choke.

She almost _did_ choke on the air that flooded her lungs as she took a deep breath and tucked the Quaffle under her arm. She steered her broom away from the Ravenclaw hoops to re-position herself for the shot. Her teammates and opponents alike now assembled the mandatory distance from her—for a moment, the other Chasers and Beaters and Seekers weren't watching her. But _he _was.

Miles Stimpson's dark eyes fixed upon her, unblinking.

Marlene found her space. She turned to face the Ravenclaw goal again.

He was bent over his Cleansweep, and he was smiling. _He knew_. He _knew_ she would choke.

_Pathetic._

It wasn't a big deal, really. It wasn't a defining moment by any standards... except maybe one.

Marlene swallowed. She took the Quaffle in her hands, rolling it between her palms, and she in turn stared at Miles—stared right back into his eyes, into his cocky smile, into the knowing tilt of his chin...

_Ten galleons you don't score one goal..._

Light-years away, the entire school watched her now. They rumbled senselessly, with no coherence to the roar they collectively omitted. The magnified voice of Liam Lyle spoke Greek. Or it might as well have.

Miles stared on.

Marlene closed her eyes.

_Start low_, said another voice, much clearer.

Smooth and warm was the Quaffle in her hands.

_You always are__._

_Start low._

_ It'll be fine_.

And it was going to rain soon.

She opened her eyes again.

(Two Weeks Earlier)

Marlene landed her broom—a Hogwarts Cleansweep—in the middle of the pitch, her feet hitting the grass at almost the same moment as the other seven players on the field. It was warmer on the ground, but still rather chilly, and the sweat that clung to Marlene's skin cooled her in the brisk evening air.

She breathed deeply twice to slow her adrenaline rushed heartbeat, and as she did, James Potter approached her. He was already in the process of removing his arm and hand guards, but he walked with purpose towards her.

"Not bad today, Price," he said. "Keep it up."

Then he walked on past her to the pile of gear near the edge of the pitch, and Marlene grinned, mostly to herself.

"_Not bad today, Price_," Adam McKinnon's voice teasingly mimicked James's, as he too approached Marlene.

"Hey, I'll take what I can get," she replied, sitting down on the grass. She began to unbuckle the straps of her shin-guards.

"So what do you think?" asked Adam, and he joined her on the ground. "You want to play in the next game?"

"Of course _I_ want to," Marlene answered. "It's not really up to me, is it?"

Adam shrugged. "Hopkirk's nervous. The first match is in a couple of weeks, and I don't think _he_ feels prepared."

"Well neither do I at the moment, but in a couple of weeks, Potter will probably have found a way to schedule six hundred more practices, so..."

"And the saddest part is that's only _slight_ hyperbole," said Adam seriously, pulling off his shin-guards and then beginning on his Keepers' gloves. "Tragically slight." He got to his feet and held out his hand to Marlene, helping her to her feet as well. As they walked to the pile of brooms formed at the perimeter of the pitch, Adam added, "I don't suppose you've finished your Potions homework, have you?"

"Not yet, no."

"You got any time to work on it tonight? I could use a hand; skin sealant draughts are a bit of a drag..."

Marlene frowned. "I would really like to," she said sincerely. "But I... sort of promised some people I'd help them with something..."

Adam raised his eyebrows. "You don't sound very enthusiastic," he said, amused. "What is it you're supposed to do?"

* * *

"Okay, I want you to imagine that you're a girl..."

"I am a girl."

"And so am I."

"I believe _one_ of you."

"Black, I'm going to rip out your esophagus."

"And you wonder why I doubt your femininity, Shack."

"Can we _please_ get to the matter at hand?" Marlene interjected, calling the others to order by tapping the library table between them with the palm of her hand. Sirius slouched forward, chin resting against his fist; "So the question is," he went on, "How do we get Chancy..."

"Clancy."

"That's what I said. Clancy. How do we get Clancy Goshawk to understand that her boyfriend, V.D. Plex, is shagging Shelley Mumps in broom closets and corridors, so that Miss Goshawk ditches the git and transfers her affections and pleasuring capabilities to my chronically virginal mate, Remus?"

"Maybe it was a bad idea including Black in this," said Donna.

"Only if you're allergic to success," said Sirius.

"There's more to it than getting your mate a shag," said Donna impatiently. "The question _is_, how do we accomplish all of that while inflicting maximum damage to Charlie Plex's reputation and physical health?"

"The question _is_," Marlene spoke up, "how do we accomplish all of _that_ while not completely breaking poor Clancy Goshawk's heart."

Sirius and Donna looked skeptical. "We're never going to accomplish _all three_ of those goals," remarked Donna. "And since Black's and my goals are the whole reason for all of this, I think ours take priority."

Marlene opened her mouth to protest, but Sirius interrupted. "There's no way to make this pain-free, Marlene," he pointed out. "It's not _nice_, but it's not as though she's going to be permanently damaged by it."

"You don't know that! And we should at least take her feelings into consideration."

"Maybe it was a bad idea including _Price_ in this," remarked Sirius, and Marlene kicked him under the table.

"I'm sorry that I'm the only one here with a _soul_," she replied. "But you can't just play fast and loose with people's feelings. Besides, if Clancy's too wounded by it, she won't be particularly interested in dating _anyone_ any time soon, will she?"

Sirius sighed. "Blondie might have a point," he said to Donna.

"Well then how do we do it?" Donna asked. "How do we spare Goshawk?"

Marlene didn't have an answer for that. Sirius sighed again. "Well, if _you_ were in her situation, how would _you_ want to find out?"

"I think I'd like to catch him at it," mused Donna. "'Get in a few good hexes, y'know?"

"_That_ we could do," said Sirius. "We've got a consistent pattern of behavior from Shelley and the Plex, so if we tracked Goshawk's daily movements, we could set up a course that would steer her towards that part of the castle at the right moment. Flood a few corridors, set some Cornish Pixies on a stairwell or two..."

"Is that possible?" asked Donna uncertainly. "It seems rather unlikely."

"Tell that to the other eight times I've done it."

"_Eight_?" echoed Marlene. "How could you possibly have needed to use that _eight_ times?"

"Well, towards the end, we stopped having reasons. It was just fun making people late for class."

"Wait a minute," said Donna, "was that _you_ in fifth year?"

Sirius cleared his throat. "_Anyway_, about Chancy..."

"_Clancy_."

"That's what I said! Anyhow, in all seriousness, are you agreed that this is the best way to go about it? Have her catch Plex?"

Donna nodded, but Marlene looked doubtful.

"Well how would _you_ like to find out?" asked Donna.

"Well if it were me," said Marlene, "I'd like to find out by having one of my mates scheme to keep it a secret from me while I'm in the next room, but... oh _wait_..."

"Well in that case, you're welcome," said Donna.

Marlene made a face, and then went on: "Honestly, I think I'd like to catch him too. And then take a page out of Cassidy Gamp's Book-of-Revenge and land him in the Hospital Wing..."

"I feel like this experiment is going to be dangerous for Shelley Mumps..." remarked Sirius.

"...But," Marlene went on. "_I'm_ not Clancy Goshawk. I'm—tall and angry. And Donna's taller and angrier..." Donna and Sirius both nodded. "Clancy seems—more sensitive. And she's a Ravenclaw... Merlin only knows how those girls' minds work..."

"So," concluded Donna, "what we have to figure out is the pathetic inner workings of the mind of a tiny, sensitive Ravenclaw girl. Do we know any of those?"

"None who are speaking to me," said Sirius. They both turned to Marlene.

"What? _Me_?"

"_You're_ chummy with one, aren't you?" asked Donna.

"No, I..." She broke off. "Oh, you can_not_ be serious..."

* * *

With an obligatory nod to Ms. Sevoy, Marlene entered the library the next afternoon, fully dreading the task at hand. She spotted the person she had come to see, however, seated by the window and staring blissfully out of it, until her eyes drifted back inside, and she noted Marlene. Then, she smiled and waved. Marlene gathered her courage and approached the table.

"Prudence. Hullo. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"Of course," replied Prudence Daly, characteristically chipper. She smiled at Marlene as the blonde sat down at her library table and then regarded the Gryffindor with pleasant patience. "Nothing's wrong, I hope?"

"No, nothing's wrong," murmured Marlene, keeping her voice low for the benefit of Ms. Sevoy. "And I won't keep you long. I actually just need your opinion."

"_My_ opinion?"

"Yes. Y'see..." But the words did not come easily.

"What is it?" Prudence prompted.

"I... rather... well, perhaps I'd better just ask."

"Go ahead."

"Okay." Marlene took a deep breath. "So if your boyfriend were cheating on you..."

Prudence's tiny hand slammed against the table. "_OH MY GOD, ADAM'S CHEATING ON ME?"_

"_What_?" said Marlene quickly; "No, no, that's not..."

"He's cheating on me? How could he be cheating on me? With _whom?_ Is it a Ravenclaw? Is it _Alexa Kyle_? Is it _that_ girl?" She pointed at a bewildered fourth year at the next table, and Marlene, hushing the now shouting Ravenclaw, pulled Prudence's hand back to the table and shook her head frantically.

"No, no, no, Adam is _definitely_ not cheating on you, Prudence!"

Prudence calmed down a little. "He's not?" she asked in a very small voice. Her eyes were still wide with shock.

"Absolutely not," insisted Marlene, and she glanced over her shoulder to shoot Ms. Sevoy an apologetic look, before leaning over the table and speaking more quietly still. "This has nothing to do with Adam."

"It doesn't?"

"_No_."

"But you said my boyfriend, and Adam's my boyfriend..."

"Yes, and yes, but this is a hypothetical situation," Marlene went on, as patiently as possible. "I'm just... I'm just trying to figure something out."

Prudence nodded, breathing in and out a few times to regain her equilibrium. When at last she had calmed enough to speak more rationally, she said: "Well, okay, what's the question?"

"If you're boyfriend were cheating on you..." (Prudence winced), "how would you want to find out?"

The Ravenclaw stared blankly at her. "That's the question?"

Marlene nodded.

"Well..." She puzzled over it for a few moments. "I—I don't... I'm just not sure I understand. Why is he cheating on me in this scenario? What did I _do_?"

"You didn't do _anything!_ It's not _your_ fault! He's just a daft pillock who... I don't know... doesn't know what he's got till it's gone, but, that's not the point. At all. Regardless of all the other rubbish, what would be the _least_ awful way for you to find out?" Prudence continued to look utterly befuddled, and so Marlene attempted to help her. "I mean, would you want to catch him in the act? Or would it be easier for a friend to tell you, or... What?"

For several more seconds, Prudence considered the question. "But—but wouldn't I _know_?" she asked at length. "Wouldn't I be able to tell? Would I have to be told at all?"

Marlene had already begun to question the wisdom of asking Prudence Bloody Daly's advice about this, and now she was firmly convinced that it was a mistake—more accurately, a waste of time. "I suppose. I don't know. But if he weren't acting differently—if he were just the same, and you _didn't _notice on your own, how would you like to find out?"

This last pause was the longest. Then: "I don't suppose I _would_ like to find out."

Whatever Marlene had been expecting, it wasn't _that_. "You wouldn't?" she echoed disbelievingly. "Why not?"

"Why would I want _that_ on my mind?" Prudence went on, more fervently. "Even when I thought you meant Adam, a minute ago, I only thought it for about ten seconds, and I almost slapped that girl at the next table. And—and—and I couldn't possibly imagine carrying that with me! I couldn't—I wouldn't be able to _look _at him, knowing!"

"Why would you _want_ to?"

As though it were thoroughly obvious: "Because I love him."

Marlene sighed.

"What?" asked Prudence innocently.

* * *

"She said _what_?"

"I know," replied Marlene, shaking her head as she walked with Donna to Counseling on Friday afternoon. "I _told_ you it was a bad idea asking Prudence."

"Yes, well I didn't realize she lived in the seventeenth century," said Donna, rolling her eyes. "Although, bright side and all that—this might technically be permission to shag McKinnon."

"Oh, Merlin, that would do her in," Marlene replied. "Using the word 'cheating' and 'boyfriend' in the same sentence nearly stopped her heart."

"All the better. You dispose of her at the same time..."

Marlene smacked her arm, but not very hard. "Prudence is a nice girl."

"Who would rather be oblivious to a cheating boyfriend than to have the opportunity to hex him? Even Cassidy Gamp had the good sense to give Plex tentacles and put me in the Hospital Wing."

"I'm glad you have such perspective on that."

"I still think she's a whiny twat, but at least she had nerve."

They reached the Counseling room and entered; the desks were, as usual, lined up around the edge of the classroom, and Lily and Mary had already taken seats. Donna and Marlene joined them.

"Where did _you_ two disappear to?" Mary asked. "Quick snog in a broom closet?"

"And _that's_ why I tune the dark-haired one out," announced Donna. She pulled out an Ancient Runes book from her bag, opened up to a marked page, and began reading.

Marlene turned to Lily. "Evans, let me ask _you_ this, then. If your boyfriend were cheating on you, what would be the best way to find out?"

"Why?" asked Lily suspiciously.

"It's—it's just something Donna and I have been debating."

"Oh." Lily thought about it. "I think I would want him to confess," she declared at last.

Donna looked up from her book, eyebrows raised. "And in the real world, where clouds aren't spun sugar, and the moon isn't cheese, how would you like to find out?"

"You asked the best way, and I think that's the best way," Lily defended herself.

"Is it insensitive to ask you, Mary?" Marlene added to her friend. Mary shook her head firmly.

"No, I think I would like to find out without him knowing that I'd found out. Then I could mess with his head for a while before psychologically and physically castrating and destroying him."

"A simple 'yes, it _is_ insensitive,' would have sufficed," Marlene replied, patting Mary comfortingly on the shoulder.

Madam Keepdown arrived shortly after that, carrying with her a wooden crate, which she set down upon the floor, since she had no proper desk.

"Good afternoon, my friends," she greeted.

"Good afternoon," everyone else chorused. There was no consensus among them whether to call her "Fiona," as per her bidding, or "Madam Keepdown," as they were all more comfortable doing, and so, typically, the majority did not give her any handle at all, especially when they addressed her in mass.

"And did we all have a magical week?" she said, smiling at her own pun.

"_Magical_," Donna muttered sarcastically under her breath, and both Lily and Marlene smiled at that.

"We've spoken quite a bit about what is going on here and now at the school," Madam Keepdown continued, beginning her usual pacing, so that her position in the center did not exclude anyone from her wide-eyed gaze. "I was hoping that today, we might discuss the _future_. You're all seventh years here; soon, you will be passing on—_dying_, if you will, to Hogwarts. You'll be experiencing new, exciting, _frightening_ things outside of these ancient, crumbling walls..."

"Hogwarts isn't _crumbling_," Lily whispered, clearly annoyed.

"And we're not _dying_," Mary added. Madam's back was, fortunately, facing them at the moment, however, and she didn't notice.

"...So I would like for each of you to share a little bit about what you would like from those experiences. What are your dreams? Your hopes? Your aspirations? Your deepest, most secret desires." She trailed off dreamily, and then seemed to snap back to reality: "Groups of five, then?"

The class slowly began to break up, forming something of typical groups, with Marlene not even shifting in her seat, as it was quite assumed that she would be a part of the Mary-Donna-Lily group. They probably would have simply sat there and waited for whoever was left group-less to wander over, had Marlene's eyes not fallen upon Clancy Goshawk at the other end of the room. She was struck with an idea.

"You mind if I invite Clancy?" Marlene inquired of her friends. Mary shrugged her indifference, and Lily seemed pleased with the idea; Donna, on the other hand, scowled.

"You don't like Clancy Goshawk?" Lily asked, noting her friend's expression.

"Er... no," said Donna. "But... she's just... just..." She was, evidently trying to send Marlene some sort of telepathic message that Marlene had no idea how to translate, and so the blonde only shrugged. "...She's... short."

"You hate the petite now, too?" asked Mary, vaguely offended. "Invite her, Marlene."

"Lovely."

"_Price_."

Donna followed Marlene, who was making her way over to Clancy, until they were a safe distance from their two bewildered housemates.

"Don't _invite_ her," whispered Donna, annoyed. "I don't want to _speak _with her."

"Why not? It might help us understand her better!"

"I don't want to understand her!"

"You don't want to think of her as a real _person_, you mean," Marlene interpreted. "You want to think of her as some random Ravenclaw, so you don't have to face your own guilt."

"_Exactly_!"

"I didn't intend that as a _good_ thing, Donna."

"Don't invite her."

Marlene frowned. "How are we supposed to help her if we don't even know her?"

"My goal is not to _help_ Clancy. My goal is to _harm_ her boyfriend." Donna looked at her as though Marlene were being very dense... although Donna usually looked at everyone as though they were being very dense.

"I'm inviting her," Marlene resolved. "Go sit down."

Donna folded her arms. "You can't tell me what to do; _you're_ not Lily."

"Donna. _Sit_."

"I don't think I care for short-haired Price," retorted Donna, but she nonetheless turned to join Lily and Mary again, who surely proceeded to interrogate her considerably.

Marlene rolled her eyes and started once again to Clancy. The Ravenclaw had not yet joined a group, for the class on the whole was being very slow-moving about the ordeal. Madam Keepdown, meanwhile, issued further instructions, which now included sitting in circles on the floor.

"Clancy?" began Marlene, when she had reached the witch. The brunette looked at her, smiling with the utmost politeness. "Would you—er—like to join our group?"

Clancy's smile faltered in her surprise. "Your—group?"

"Lily, Mary MacDonald, Donna Shacklebolt..." Marlene pointed indicatively, and Clancy's surprise only increased. "You don't already have a group, do you?" Marlene added, realizing that this must be even more uncomfortable for Clancy than it was for her. The two only knew each other in a very general way, in that they had attended the same school for six years, and though their relations had never been anything but amicable, they were by no means "friends."

"I—I suppose so, yes," Clancy determined at last. And now her smile seemed more genuine. "Thank-you. Yes."

And that was good, because, Marlene appreciated, it would have been very awkward if she'd rejected the offer.

The Ravenclaw followed Marlene back to the group of Gryffindors. Donna refused to sit on the floor, so they angled her desk into something of a circle, and the others sat down on the stone floor. Madam Keepdown, meanwhile, was walking around with the crate that she had carried in, which, it turned out, contained candles. She gave one to each group and told them to place it between them. Reluctantly, Lily placed the orange candle they were given in the center of their circle. Madame Keepdown did not comment on Donna's seating arrangement, only smiling and nodding to her, and Marlene recognized the wisdom of this. Keepdown must have known better than to try Miss Shacklebolt's patience.

The candles were lit by magic, the lights of the classroom dimmed, and Madam Keepdown began to explain.

"I want you to think of the flame as your life," she cooed, and in the firelight, Marlene saw Lily roll her eyes. "Bright and beautiful now, but short-lived. Eventually..." She approached a group of Hufflepuffs and stared at their violet candle, "...the wick runs out."

"Again with the dying," muttered Mary.

"So are we the flame or the wick?" asked Lily.

"...Whenever you're ready," Keepdown went on, "you may begin your discussions."

The students around them began buzzing: with idle interest, Marlene glanced across the room to where Adam sat with the Marauders, and they were laughing—probably not doing the assignment at all. Typical...

"I'll go first, shall I?" asked Mary. Before anyone could reply, she set off: everything—where she wanted to live in London, the exact size and shape of her perspective flat, the age she wanted to have children, starting wages at Madam Malkin's... she spoke for ten minutes, and then Madam Keepdown reminded them they had fifteen minutes left of discussion time, and Donna went next.

"I'm going to get all Os on my N.E.W.T.s," she declared. "And when I'm finished here, I intend on going to Egypt—the museum in Cairo has a position for wizards who look over the artifacts and make sure the muggles don't muck things up, or get themselves cursed with all that old magic... and they always are, so it's a fairly intense job." Donna spoke with such certainty—these were not dreams; they were plans. But it was one of the few topics that revealed in Donna an actual interest in something, and it was funny—almost to the degree of endearing—to see Donna Shacklebolt passionate about anything. "...And I'd also like to go to Mexico, because the Aztecs had some truly interesting magic... and Easter Island. I have to go to Easter Island, to work with the wizards trying to translate Rongorongo..."

After Donna had finished speaking, it was Lily's turn.

"Well, recently," she began, "I've been thinking more about investigative journalism, rather than foreign correspondence, which was what I was thinking about before. But I think there's plenty going on here, you know, and _The Prophet_..."

Suddenly, Marlene became very anxious. She had been planning on just listing a few places she wanted to visit before she died, but the others seemed to have much clearer ideas about what they wanted from their post-academic life. And, of course, she'd known that to some degree before, what her friends wanted to do, but she was now struck with how _immediate_ it all seemed. Donna spoke of being finished at Hogwarts as if were weeks away, and in point of fact, it was very little more than that.

It was like when she'd been on the train at the beginning of the year—in Prudence Daly's compartment, and all the girls had been so clear about what they wanted to do, career-wise, and Marlene's answer had been a vaguer than vague: "I don't know."

She _didn't_ know. And maybe that was alright, but the fact was, she would be out of there soon, and she would have to figure _something_ out. She would have to make some kind of decision—and she had already made some, actually. She'd picked her classes—she had narrowed her options to those that accepted the N.E.W.T.s she was taking.

Anxiety bubbled up on her stomach, and she hoped beyond hope that she wouldn't have to speak now. Maybe their group would run over the time—not that it _really_ mattered; Clancy Goshawk was the only one there who wasn't already familiar with everyone's future plans, and Marlene had no reason to fear _her_ opinion, but still... it was discomforting sitting there, having nothing clever to say...

As if she had read Marlene's mind and decided to act in exact contrariness, Lily finished speaking a moment later, and it was Clancy's turn.

"I'm going to study magical law," said the Ravenclaw. "Which means I need an 'O' in History of Magic and an 'E' in everything else. And I'll need really brilliant recommendation letters, but I think Professor Slughorn should be good for that, and I have an aunt, too, who will probably write me one. Anyway, I'm particularly interested in studies of enforcement of the Statute of Secrecy, so I reckon that will be my focus..."

But what ought to have been an opportunity to get to know Clancy better was all but lost on Marlene; she was staring at the candle in the middle of the circle, utterly panicked, for it was her turn to speak next, and as Clancy went on with the intricacies of law, and the others—or Lily, anyway—listened with interest, Marlene tried to come up with _something_ she could say... at least a decent, believable lie. Her brain, unfortunately, went stubbornly blank.

Clancy finished speaking, and the others looked expectantly to Marlene.

"Well," began the blonde. "I..."

"Just one moment, please," Madam Keepdown interrupted, and Marlene had never loved her so much. "If your groups are finished, feel free to return your candles and sit back down... thank you very much, carry on..."

"Well that's that," said Marlene brightly, beginning to rise from the floor.

"You haven't said anything yet," Lily pointed out.

"Right. Well. I hope to sample every flavor of butterbeer before I die. Brilliant." She shrugged, then picked up the candle and, as the torches around the room lit up again, blew out the little flame.

* * *

"We have to write an essay?" grumbled Marlene, staring at the square of parchment bequeathed upon each of the seventh years at the end of counseling. She made her way with Mary, Lily, and Donna, towards the Great Hall for luncheon.

"Not an essay," Mary corrected. "A paragraph."

"But we already _talked_ about this," Marlene complained. "Why do we have to write a whole essay on our futures, too?"

"Paragraph," Donna and Mary corrected in unison.

"All the same..."

"So don't do it," Donna suggested. "It's not as though you're getting a grade. Only house points."

"I doubt she reads them," said Lily. "Or knows how to read. Words are probably too prosaic for the great Fiona Keepdown."

"She _did_ write a book," Mary noted.

"Supposedly," was Lily's skeptical reply.

En route to the Great Hall, the corridors grew crowded with the other students released from their own Friday morning classes, and Marlene and Mary were soon separated from Donna and Lily by several groups of fourth years. Mary made certain to keep close to Marlene, however, and when they were a safe distance from anyone who would care to listen to their conversation, the brunette looped her arm through Marlene's and asked: "So when are you going to tell me what it is that you're up to with Black and Donna?"

Marlene looked at her companion, surprised, but quickly decided that there was no point in lying. "When I can," she replied instead. "I would have told you already but... I sort of promised."

"But I'm your best friend..."

"Yeah, you are, and I'll tell you when I can. I just—it's just sort of sensitive right now."

Mary nodded slowly. "Promise you'll tell me when you can?"

"Promise."

"Alright. And it better be good..."

"Oh, it is."

* * *

"Prime Minister?"

"James Callaghan."

"And his party is..."

"Labour."

"And his offices are at..."

"Ten Downing Street."

Marlene smiled and nodded, setting down the empty space on her bench. "Full marks," she declared, and Adam grinned.

"From your mouth to Professor Glade's ears."

"I'll see what I can do."

They sat in Gryffindor's locker rooms Saturday evening, because James had thought it essential that they prepare for the upcoming match against Ravenclaw by inspecting the field from all angles, including that from the gates out of which the team would fly at the beginning of the match.

Practice was over now, though, albeit forty-five minutes after the scheduled time, and the team was taking off their gear and packing up in the locker rooms, while Marlene quizzed Adam for his muggle studies exam with the study guide he had, inexplicably, brought along in his bag.

"If only they would test on music," mused Adam, undoing the buckles on his leather boots. "I'd much rather take an exam on ostrich tuning and Jimmy Page."

"_Priorities_, Professor Glade."

"Exactly."

"Well that's what you've got me for." Marlene straightened up, assuming a very serious expression. "Best Pink Floyd album."

"_Dark Side of the Moon."_

Marlene arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me, that's a ten point deduction right there. _Wish You Were Here_."

"Repeating that a thousand times doesn't make it so, Price. It's the whole album we're talking about." He rose from his bench, opposite Marlene's, and picked up the list of study questions.

"Which proves _my_ point," said Marlene.

"Fine. Agree to disagree."

"Fine. Although you're wrong. Iggy Pop or Steven Tyler?"

"Don't make me laugh. Iggy."

"Naturally."

Sitting down again, Adam began shuffling through his bag in search of his alternate shoes. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know I'm a Stooges girl, me."

"No, I meant homework," Adam elaborated. "You've quizzed me on everything from telephones to Wilson Churchill..."

"Winston, Adam."

"Whatever. Don't you have any homework?"

"Sure, but I don't carry my notes around to Quidditch practice," Marlene replied, smirking.

"Well, I have an exam Monday, and I just had a feeling that _Potter would keep us forty-five minutes over!_" He said this last part loud enough for the Quidditch Captain across the room to hear, and James scowled over his shoulder as he locked up the bludgers.

"Well maybe if you hadn't dropped the Quaffle _twice_..."

"Oi, Shack dropped it too!" Adam pointed out, pointing an accusing finger to Donna.

"Only for a few seconds," Donna defended herself. "You dropped it for almost a minute."

"There was a bludger."

"Excuses, excuses." Donna sat down next to Marlene, and James wandered over to them as well.

"You were both sloppy," he said, sitting down. "One more practice like that and I'll kick you off the team."

"Yes, Potter," droned Adam and Donna.

"Not you, though, Price," said James. "And I need a word."

Marlene tensed a little. Quidditch Captain James was an entirely different entity than James Potter She'd Been Taking Classes with for the Last Six Years. Quidditch Captain James had ordained authority.

"Yeah?"

"I've decided," he began, "that you're to play in the match Saturday after next."

Marlene's uneasiness melted at once. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"And—you've talked to Hopkirk?" She glanced warily at the other potential third chaser, who was packing up his own things—cheerfully enough—not far off. James relieved her fears a moment later.

"He's not ready for the match, and you are."

"Really?"

"Really." James clapped her once on the shoulder. "So don't muck it up." With that, he departed. Marlene looked at Donna and Adam, who were both smiling at her—Adam rather more enthusiastically than Donna, but the fact that Donna deigned to smile at all was meaningful in and of itself.

"You two knew?"

"Potter told us this morning," said Adam. "Congratulations."

"You've known _all day_?" Marlene said with a pout. "Lousy mate _you_ are."

Adam shrugged. "I obey a higher authority."

"A Raging James Potter," said Donna.

"Precisely."

Marlene made a face, and then added to Adam: "Archbishop of Canterbury."

"Something-Rather Coggan."

"Close enough."

The pair ended up walking back to the castle together, as Donna had accused them of dawdling and hurried along without them. As they walked, they mostly talked over classes and homework—nothing serious.

"Anyway," said Marlene, when they were crossing the lawns. "All I've _really_ got left is Madam Keepdown's essay, and I don't want to do that."

"Why not? That's the easiest one."

"Yes, but we don't get a score."

"You get house points."

"I don't like writing about myself," said Marlene with a shrug. "And I think all of that hopes and dreams business is a load of tosh. I suppose I could make something up."

"That's the ticket. Say you want to be a unicorn."

"Oh, I'd much rather be a hippogriph."

"Dragon."

"Kneazle."

"Thestral."

"Niffler."

"Ramora."

"Hinkypunk."

"Kappa."

"Phoenix."

"Plimpy."

Marlene laughed. "What are we even talking about?"

"I have no idea," admitted Adam. "I'm just trying to remember fourth year Care of Magical Creatures assignments."

"_Ha_. Oi, remember when you nearly got pulled into the Kappa tank?"

"No, actually. I've blocked out that incident entirely."

"Well, let me remind you..."

"Please don't."

"...Sirius Black said you couldn't get Alexa Kyle's bracelet round its neck..."

"Merlin, are you really doing this?"

"...And you said you could, trying to impress Alexa, no doubt..."

"Not _likely_."

"...And the thing got hold of your middle fingers—had you up to the shoulder before Lupin and Kettleburn got it off..."

"Broke _three_ bloody bones!"

"Your fingers were _so _swollen! Professor Kettleburn was _irate_. He nearly hexed Black, I swear."

"_I_ nearly hexed Black—Quidditch tryouts were the next afternoon, and I thought my hand would be mucked up. It _could've _been, too!"

"Rubbish. Healer Holloway could've sorted it in about a minute."

Adam held up his right hand, examining the fingers in question thoughtfully. "He didn't, though. You did."

"Well I was still on that Healer kick," said Marlene, grateful for the cloak of night that might have concealed her blush somewhat. "Studying up on Dittany and Murtlap Essence..."

"Why don't you write about that?" asked Adam, still toying with his middle and index fingers thoughtfully. "For Keepdown's essay, I mean."

"I don't want to be a Healer anymore," scoffed Marlene. "That was centuries ago, it seems like. I didn't know all the rubbish you had to go through to do it... you've got to be devilishly clever to pass the tests... have about a million N.E.W.T.s..."

"Yeah but if you _wanted _to..."

Marlene shook her head. "Being a Healer is an awful lot of responsibility. I'm nervous about this ruddy Quidditch match—let's see if I crack under the pressure of _that_ before we start putting people's lives in my hands."

"Yes," said Adam again, "but if you _wanted_ to..."

Marlene only smirked. "It was the other hand, prat."

"What?"

"It was your left hand you stuck into the Kappa tank."

Adam looked at his hands again. "I suppose it was, wasn't it?"

"You great phony—'can't even remember which bones you broke, I bet."

They reached the castle. Outside the doors, a witch and a wizard in black cloaks—part of the school's hit wizard protection squad—stood, arms crossed over their chests. "A bit late for a romantic stroll, isn't it?" asked the witch, when Adam and Marlene approached.

"We're part of the Quidditch team," said Adam politely, holding up his broom as evidence. Marlene felt sure her own reply would not have been so courteously delivered: she couldn't quite forget seeing them as threatening, since the protest in the Ministry of Magic. "There's still one more coming along."

"Very well," said the wizard, but he continued to eye the pair suspiciously as they passed through the gates.

"Gits," Marlene whispered, once they were a safe distance inside the Entrance Hall. "They get off on intimidating the students, I think."

"They're only doing their job," Adam pointed out. "And they're here for our safety."

"Maybe, but..."

She stopped abruptly. Prudence Daly was sitting on the bottom step of the marble staircase, a broad smile on her face, and the Ravenclaw hopped to her feet as the two Gryffindors drew near.

"Hello, Adam. Marlene."

Adam grinned. "Hey, Prudence." She skipped over and pecked him on the cheek.

"Hullo, Prudence," said Marlene. She didn't let more than two seconds of awkwardness pass before quickly adding, "I suppose I'll see you later, Adam. Good night, Prudence."

"Oh, you don't have to go, do you? I was just going to ask Adam if he fancied a walk..." Prudence looked hopefully at her boyfriend, but Adam looked less enthusiastic.

"I just finished practice, Pru," he said regretfully. "I _am_ a bit tired."

"Oh, of course—how silly of me..."

"No it's... maybe a short walk, then?"

"You're not too tired?"

"No, it'll be fine."

He glanced at his burdens—his bag and broomstick—and Marlene sighed. "I'll just take that up for you, McKinnon."

"Oh you don't have to..."

"Never mind it. Hand it over, then." She shifted her own bag to her right shoulder and took his over her left. She then took his Cleansweep and with a farewell smile to them both, proceeded up the marble staircase. Adam and Prudence thanked her, and she shouted back, "It's nothing," before hurrying away from the couple with as much speed as she could, considering her load.

The Common Room was still quite full when she arrived, and Marlene went first to the boys' dormitories to deposit Adam's things. It was a bit of a trick knocking, but Remus Lupin opened the door almost at once.

"Good evening, Marlene," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"Oi, got a girl coming over, do you?" called a voice—Sirius's—from somewhere within the dormitory.

"Shut up," Remus retorted. "It's _Marlene_."

"Marlene's a girl," Sirius pointed out.

"Quidditch practice over already?" called Peter Pettigrew's voice. "It's not even midnight yet. James is getting soft in his old age."

"Once more around the pitch, then," Sirius mimicked. Remus rolled his eyes.

"Ignore them. What can I do for you, Marlene?"

"Oh—I just wanted to drop off Adam's stuff."

"Messenger girl. Hot."

"_Padfoot_."

"_What_? I didn't say anything offensive."

"He's on a walk with Prudence," explained Marlene. There was a collective 'ah.' Marlene cleared her throat. "So if I could just..." She indicated to the bag and the broom.

"Oh, I'll put it away," Remus volunteered. He took both items.

"What are you lot hiding?" Marlene asked suspiciously. Remus glanced over his shoulder and then shrugged.

"But that would be telling."

"_Right_. Goodnight, Lupin."

"'Night, Marlene."

"'Night, you two," she added to Sirius and Peter as she turned to leave.

"'Night, Marlene."

"'Night, Price."

She descended the boys' dormitories staircase, crossed the landing, and started up to her own dorm. The stairwell was littered with girls, seated on the steps, chatting or sharing notes, and Marlene did her very best not to step on anyone's fingers. She had at last reached her own room, when she ran into Lily on her way down.

"Hullo, Mar—how was practice?" asked the Head Girl, who already wore her pajamas and carried with her a stack of parchment that was probably school-related.

"Nice. Good. I'm—uh..." She tried her best to sound casual, but her smile crept through, "...I'm playing in next match."

"Oh Merlin, Marlene! That's brilliant!" Lily gave her a quick hug. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks. Yeah—it... it should be fun."

"_Loads_ of fun! Oh, it'll be brilliant! And Donna didn't say a word when she came up, the _twit_. Are you going to bed now?"

"What?"

"Bed—are you going now?"

"Oh. I'll probably shower first. Why?"

Lily sighed. "It's this stupid Charms essay I'm working on. I really should finish—due Monday. But I'll come up before you're asleep, and you can tell me all about it, yeah?"

"Oh, there's not much to tell, honestly," said Marlene, blushing.

"Rubbish. I'm sure you have tales of how you dazzled James with your spectacular chaser moves."

Marlene snorted. "Not really."

"I don't believe you. Alright, have a good shower."

"Oh, definitely."

Lily resumed her examination of the notes in her hands and started down the staircasel again. Marlene hesitated and then called her name.

The Head Girl paused, turning but not quite looking up from her parchment. "Mmm?"

"Lily... do you remember..." Marlene began slowly; Lily looked up at her now. "Do you remember when I was younger, what I wanted to do?"

Lily arched an eyebrow. "I don't know what you mean... What you wanted to _do_? Like—a career?"

"Yeah. Like that."

"Yeah—you wanted to be a Healer." Lily smiled at the memory. "You would study up on Healing Charms and... practice _episkey _and _torego_. You were such a cute thirteen-year-old."

Marlene nodded and mimicked Lily's smile. "Right—well thanks."

"Wait..." She looked confused. "Why do you ask? Are you thinking about Healing again?"

"Oh, no," said Marlene quickly. "No, I'm... I'm not cut out for that. I was just—Adam and I were talking about something, and it reminded me, that's all."

"Marlene..."

"_You_ should finish your Charms essay, Procrastinator," the blonde interrupted, brightening. "And _I_ should take a shower. Good night!"

"Good night..."

Marlene quickly entered her dormitory, and Lily—presumably—went back downstairs.

* * *

"Marly!"

The first person to address Marlene the next morning was the very last person that she wanted to speak to. And yet the nickname could only have been called by one particular individual, and against her better judgment, Marlene paused in the Entrance Hall and waited for Miles Stimpson to approach her.

"Hello, Miles," she greeted dryly, when he had reached her spot at the mouth of the Great Hall.

"I heard you're set to play in the first match," said the Ravenclaw. "Against my house, no less."

"That's right," said Marlene uncertainly, cursing the incredible rate at which news spread at that school sometimes. "Should be a good game, I reckon."

"It'll be rough on Potter and Shacklebolt," Miles retorted. "What with having to score all the goals on their own."

_And there it was_. "What's that supposed to mean, Miles?" she demanded curtly.

"You're not nervous at all, then?" said Miles. "Only a month of practices, and you reckon you're ready?"

"Potter seems to think so."

"I suppose he was picking on who he'd rather shag," said Miles. "And it _still_ took him weeks to make up his mind."

"Sod off." Marlene attempted to sidestep him, but Miles moved to block her path.

"You don't _really_ imagine you're up to playing for the house team?" he said, almost disbelievingly. "For _Gryffindor? _I've seen you fly."

"_When_?"

"...And I'm sure you haven't forgotten that I'm playing keeper."

"Of course I..."

"Admit it, Marly," snapped Miles, and now he looked downright annoyed. "That's the whole reason you're doing any of this—joining the team... playing against _me_. It's to get back at me, and it's pathetic..."

"This has nothing to do with you!"

"I don't believe that for a second."

"I don't care what you believe."

"You're just bitter because I wouldn't let you play..."

"_Let me_?" said Marlene angrily. "I didn't try out because I thought it would please you. I was obviously delusional, because not only were you utterly unworthy of my efforts, you're so bitter that nothing is ever going to make you properly happy."

"_You_ certainly couldn't."

"Fuck off. When it came to pleasing, one of us _obviously_ did a much better job than the other." Marlene paused. "And it was never much of a wait," she added for emphasis. She attempted once again to move past him, but Miles put his arm up against the threshold of the doorway and leaned in close.

"You're going to choke," he muttered. "I know your nerves. When it comes to it, you're going to choke up. Ten galleons you don't score one goal."

If Miles had one gift, it was finding an insecurity to tap. Marlene's mind went blank, except for the very image that Miles suggested—her, on the broom, up in the air, holding the Quaffle... heart pounding in her chest, unable to do it... to remember what she was supposed to do—all the lessons that Potter and Donna had drilled into her mind wiped from her brain... her fingers trembling, everyone watching...

Miles smirked at the obvious doubt on Marlene's face.

"Not one," he repeated. "And your hair looks ridiculous."

Witty retorts failed to present themselves to Marlene. She felt fifteen-years-old again—naïve and powerless against his meanness. Self-consciously, she felt at the hairpins holding her fringe back.

"It gets in my face when I fly..." she said, rather stupidly.

"You ought to shave it off altogether," he said. "It'd look more feminine than your usual style these days."

"_Marlene_."

Lily had arrived for breakfast and was approaching the pair, her expression a mixture of distaste and mistrust. Marlene had not yet managed to articulate when her friend arrived, immediately looping one arm through Marlene's.

"Evans," greeted Miles. "Just chatting with Marlene about the match. Care to bet on how many times she'll miss the hoops?"

"She could miss every one, and her record for aim would still be better than yours, from what _I've_ heard," snapped Lily. Without another word, she steered Marlene beyond Miles into the Great Hall. Five or six steps later, Marlene had snapped out of whatever had made her temporarily mute.

"I am such an idiot."

"No, you're not," countered Lily. "Miles is a git. And an idiot. And a mediocre Keeper."

"No," sighed Marlene. "He's not. I mean, yes for the git and idiot, but he's a good Keeper. Rubbish human being, but a good keeper."

"_Decent_ at best," sniffed Lily. Marlene smiled and pulled her arm free of Lily, only to drop it over the redhead's shoulders.

"You don't think he's right, do you?"

"About what? Never mind, I don't need to know. I'm _certain_ he's wrong."

They sat down at Gryffindor table, and Lily squeezed Marlene tight, before letting go and picking up the pitcher of pumpkin juice. "He's a greasy little ponce, and he's just trying to get in your head, Mar. He's worried Gryffindor will utterly trounce Ravenclaw, which we will, and he's just scared."

"You don't think this was mistake? Joining the team? I get nervous, and if I choke..."

"James picked you," said Lily confidently. "And even if I didn't trust his judgment, I'd know you'll be brilliant. You always are." She held out the glass pitcher in her hands. "Pumpkin juice?"

* * *

Marlene sat down on the sofa in Madam Keepdown's office, and the older witch beamed at her, leaning back in her own large chair even as Marlene leaned self-consciously forward.

"And how are you this evening, Marlene?" asked Keepdown in a very conversational tone.

"Decent," said the blonde. "I have Quidditch practice after, though, so I can't stay late."

Keepdown looked most understanding. "And you're enjoying your Quidditch practices?"

"Very much. It's... brilliant."

"Yes?"

Marlene nodded. "Exhausting, but brilliant."

Keepdown smiled, and for a moment she watched Marlene very carefully. "What's troubling you?" she asked at length.

"What?"

"Something is troubling you," the woman reiterated. "You'll feel better if you speak to me about it."

"Nothing's..." But Marlene broke off mid-lie; Madam Keepdown raised a knowing eyebrow. Marlene's eyes dropped to the floor, and, after several seconds, she confessed. "I've been thinking about your assignment. The essay."

"Oh, I don't want you to worry yourself about that," said Keepdown earnestly. "It needn't be more than a paragraph—even a few sentences, if you like..."

Marlene nodded but said nothing.

"There's more?" the other witch asked softly.

"I'm just—I'm not sure what I want to write about."

"You can write about anything, Dear," gushed Keepdown. "Anything at all that you dream about doing!"

"I know, I understand that," Marlene replied. "But..." She paused again, then: "Have you always known what you wanted to do?"

Madam Keepdown frowned. For once, she seemed genuinely uncertain. "For a very long time, I thought I was meant to do one thing... but then something else presented itself, and I chose a different path."

"But something presented itself," said Marlene.

"Something always presents itself."

"Not to me."

"My dear..."

But Marlene spoke over her: "Lily's known what she wanted to do with her life since she was about eight. Donna has, too. Mary's financial plan is 'marry well,' Adam wants to do muggle liaisons... Clancy Goshawk has the rest of her life worked out to the neighborhood she wants to live in... so it... it... it seems like since O.W.L. year, everyone except me has had it all sorted out, and I'm—I have no _clue_. No _idea_..."

"It's a difficult age, seventeen..."

"But I've never even felt... certain," said Marlene. "I've never seen anything that I thought would—would be _perfect_ for me, or that I could do. Everything I want seems so far away me... just completely impossible. And I know I'm supposed to follow my heart and all that rubbish, but I _know_ myself... I _know_ what I'm capable of and what's just impossible for me. And I just—I just don't feel like there's anything I'm _meant_ to do. There isn't anything I really, truly, unquestionably _want_ to do... it's never bothered me much, because I always thought I could just—just do something normal. I'm not a boring person—I have an imagination: but I don't have _dreams_... not for _me_, at least."

Madam Keepdown leaned forward, closing much of the gap between them; she took Marlene's hand. "You can do anything you want."

"No," said Marlene—seriously and practically; not argumentative, only matter-of-fact; "I can't, actually. It's a nice thought... but it's not really true, is it? I couldn't—I couldn't play professional Quidditch, could I? I'm not nearly good enough. I couldn't be an auror: I haven't taken the right N.E.W.T. classes, and anyway, I'd be rubbish at it. I couldn't be a writer—I can't write for _anything_, and I couldn't be a Cursebreaker, because I didn't take Arithmancy. Just because... just because you _want_ something doesn't mean you can do it. That's just something you tell little children so they do their homework."

Marlene recoiled a little.

"I'm sorry—I don't mean to be rude, Madam Keepdown."

"Please. Fiona."

"Right. Sorry."

Madam Keepdown nodded her head slowly, waves of shiny hair falling in front of her face and then sliding back with each movement. "Marlene, dear, saying 'you can do anything you want,' doesn't just mean that you can do anything at all: it means that you can do anything you _want_ to do."

That one completely baffled Marlene. "Didn't you just—sort of say the same thing with a few extra words?"

"I _mean_," Keepdown pressed, "if you _really _want it, you can have it. And if you can't, you didn't _really_ want it."

Marlene frowned. "Then I must be even more self-sabotaging than I thought." Madam Keepdown sent her a piteous look, as though she were very stupid and had missed the point entirely.

(Butterflies)

"You're not paying attention, Marlene," Sirius chided, as Marlene continued to draw swirls on the scrap of parchment on the library table in front of her. She shook her head.

"Not in the slightest. What's the point? You two are just bickering."

"That's why you're here isn't it?" said Sirius. "To keep us in check?"

"Oh, is that why I'm here? I thought it was bad karma."

"No, that's why _I'm_ here," Donna corrected. "So let's get _that_ out of the way first, shall we? Brilliant."

Sirius crossed his arms on the table top and rested his chin where his wrists met. "I think we should tell Remus," he stated.

Marlene and Donna looked at him. "Because you're sadistic?" asked Marlene dryly.

"No, think about it," the Marauder went on earnestly. "If one of you lets it slip to Remus—it couldn't be me, after all, as he'd cotton on in about a minute, but if one of _you_ did it, he'll either tell Clancy or hex Plex. Plus... he gets to be there as a well-positioned shoulder to cry on!"

Marlene and Donna continued to stare. "You really don't know _anything_ about the opposite sex, do you?" said Marlene.

"Even _I'm_ not that malicious," said Donna. "You can't tell a bloke that some tart is slagging around with the boyfriend of the bird he fancies."

"Especially when that bloke's Remus," Marlene added.

"He'll just feel guilty and probably won't do _anything_ about it. And even if he _does_ do something..."

"_Utter_ humiliation for Clancy. And if he _doesn't_ do anything about it..."

"When Clancy finds out..."

"And she will."

"She'll be _livid_."

"Livid _and_ humiliated."

"She'll hate him."

"And won't be able to look him in the eye."

"Which may not be an _absolute_ obstacle to dating or shagging…"

"But it _does_ tend to complicate the proceedings."

Sirius made a face "Fine, but I don't see you lot coming up with anything better."

"Well..." Marlene broke off, as Ms. Sevoy took that moment to send a supercilious glance in their direction. She leaned over the table and muttered: "Why did we meet in the library again anyway? Sevoy keeps glowering at us."

"It was Black's idea," said Donna.

"Ah, yes," said Sirius. "Well, there's a reason for it."

"And that reason is?"

"You'll see."

They _did_ see, about two minutes later, when Clancy and Remus arrived. Sirius ducked behind a book—one of Donna's—but it wasn't really necessary, as the pair of prefects didn't notice them in the slightest. They took a table on the other side of the library, and Marlene and Donna both scowled at the Marauder at their own table.

"What's this about then?" asked Donna.

"Well," said Sirius. "You're girls. Sort of. I thought it might be a little inspiration."

"You're not going to trick us into seeing Plex and Shelley snog in a broom close too, are you?" whispered Marlene skeptically.

"No, "said Sirius. "But Thursdays on the fourth floor corridor after supper, if you're curious."

Donna shuddered. "_No_ _one_ is curious about _that_."

Marlene risked a cautious glance over her shoulder at the pair, who appeared to be going over class notes... after a fashion. Remus's stare lingered on the Ravenclaw a little longer than it did on the parchment between them, and Clancy's smile was not the kind one wore when reviewing Transfiguration.

Marlene felt a strange pang in her chest—guilt, probably.

"Let's get out of here, shall we, Price?" said Donna, nudging the blonde. "They're giving me a toothache."

Marlene nodded quickly. Sirius sighed.

"Has loneliness chilled your heart to all romance, Shack?" he asked, shaking his head sadly. "Tragic, that."

Marlene stuck out her tongue. "Tragic is the word for it, yes," she said, with a jerk of her head towards Remus and Clancy. She got to her feet and picked up her book bag, sliding it over her shoulder, murmuring so that none but the three of them could hear: "You forget I've _been_ the Clancy."

"And I've been the Shelley," said Donna. She shuddered again. "Merlin, I hope I never say those words again."

"But that's the point, isn't it?" said Sirius, and he was speaking to Marlene. "Don't you wish someone had told _you_?"

Marlene shrugged defiantly. "Someone _did _tell me."

As she followed Donna out of the library, Marlene took another look at Clancy and realized that it was not guilt nagging at her, though. It was—and how very strange—nostalgia: nostalgia for a time when the simplest gesture (studying in the library, eating supper together, listening to records, sharing an umbrella) had given her butterflies. _That_ was the sort of smile Clancy wore just then—the sort that utterly betrayed the secrecy of butterflies.

(Thursday)

_Essay_

_When I leave Hogwarts, I want to be a Kappa. I think that would be a brill career, living in water and luring people to their deaths. Seems a relatively simple life, too, if you ask me; even if you fail, you have the comfort of knowing that technically, your failure saved someone's life. Win, win situation._

Marlene crumpled up the slip of parchment onto which she had scribbled the half-joking attempt at Madam Keepdown's essay, and just as she did, Mary joined her in the dormitory. Lily was already there, stretched out on Donna's bed, working on her own essay for Madam Keepdown.

"Hullo, Mar. Lily. What are you doing here?"

"Wasting my time," replied the Head Girl. Mary arched an inquisitive eyebrow, and Lily elaborated: "Madam Keepdown's essay."

"Ah."

Marlene, who sat on her bed, turned her head from the new, blank scroll of parchment, and addressed Mary. "How was your date, then?"

"It wasn't a date," said Mary. "It was just a _walk_."

"I bet Derrix Pomfrey isn't telling it to _his_ roommates that way," said Lily dryly.

"Probably not," Mary agreed, dropping on to her bed. "But all the same, it was just a walk. And a rather unpromising one at that."

"Oh?"

Mary shrugged. "Sure, Derrix Pomfrey is cute, but he's just—boring. 'Reminded me of my first date with the Slut Shagger."

"Snogger," Marlene corrected.

"What's the difference? Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, it proves my theory correct."

Marlene frowned. "Men with eyelashes longer than yours are playing for the other team?"

"No, my other theory."

"Men whose socks match are cheaters?" guessed Lily.

"No, my _other _other theory."

"'Walking' is a cheap euphemism for 'snogging?'"

"No, my _other_—I have a lot of theories, don't I?"

"I have a theory about that," said Lily.

Mary stuck out her tongue. "The theory I am referring to," she said, "is that _I_ should not be—_taking walks_ with anyone."

"I think that was _my_ theory," said Marlene.

"...I'm just not ready," Mary went on, ignoring her. "Derrix stopped to tie his shoes at one point, and I thought—I'm not even joking, I thought: 'Slaggins used to tie his shoes.'"

"The git," Lily quipped.

"...And _this_ has led me to a conclusion." Mary took a deep breath and rose from the bed, as though preparing to make a very important announcement. "I'm renouncing men."

Marlene and Lily both looked at her doubtfully.

"No, really, I _am_," said Mary.

"I always thought you and Donna would make a lovely couple," said Marlene.

Mary glared at her. "No, no, no, I'm not renouncing men in favor of women. I'm renouncing dating. And—here's the best part..."

"Oh, Merlin."

"So are you!"

Mary beamed at the pair of them; neither reciprocated.

"How is that the best part?" asked Lily.

"That seems like the worst part," agreed Marlene.

"Or the part that doesn't exist."

"The part that shall never be."

"Right."

Mary pouted, and the dormitory door opened. Lily at once leaped from Donna's bed onto the one immediately beside it—her own, long vacant one—and Donna herself entered the dorm. She dropped her book bag on the floor, kicked it out of the way, and then proceeded towards the trunk at the foot of her bed.

"What goes on?" she asked idly, rooting through her trunk for—it became evident a moment later—her Quidditch gear. "Not that I really care. Oi, I thought you had your one-on-one with Keepdown tonight, Lily?"

"Nope," said Lily, trying to look comfortable on her bed, as if she'd been there all along. "Potter managed to get it rescheduled for the end of the month, seeing as it's right before a match, and you lot have practice tonight."

"I see. Oh, and if I catch you on my bed again, I'll hex you."

"_Damn it_."

Mary cleared her throat. "If you _don't_ mind, Donna," she said, "I was rather in the middle of something important."

"She's giving up dating," said Marlene.

"_Right_."

"And she wants us to give it up with her," said Lily.

"Oh. That seems more plausible."

"_Oi_!" chorused Lily and Marlene.

"I didn't mean it as a _bad_ thing," said Donna. "I only meant that you two will find it much easier to stay single, because not as many blokes ask you out."

Lily returned to Donna's bed.

Marlene rolled her eyes. "Go change for Quidditch, Shacklebolt."

"Honestly, you two are so sensitive sometimes..."

Donna nonetheless picked up her things and moved into the lavatory, while Mary resumed her attempts to sway the other two. "See, even _she_ thinks it's a good idea."

"The first and most obvious clue that it's probably a bad one," said Marlene.

"Yes, but think about it," Mary went on, sitting down on her bed again. "Both of you had rubbish relationships last year. I had a rubbish relationship _this _year. We would make magnificent emotional crutches for each other!"

Lily chuckled and shook her head. "I will be the most steadfast emotional crush you could possibly want, Love. But I'm not going to promise not to date anyone ever again just to do it."

"Not _ever _again," said Mary petulantly. "Just for—a year."

"No."

"Six months?"

"Still no."

Mary looked hopefully to Marlene. "What about you, Best Mate?"

"_Mary_..."

"Oh, c'mon, Marlene." She removed to the blonde's side. "_Please_…" (Only, she somehow elongated the word to about six syllables). Marlene sighed heavily.

"Mary, I haven't known you to go a month without a date since we were ten years old. You want to go _six?"_

Mary frowned. "You make a valid point." Then, she brightened. "Shagging."

"What?"

"No shagging. Six months, no shagging. No, wait, if we're only talking about shagging, might as well make it a year again—one year, no shagging. C'mon—that can't be _too_ difficult, can it?"

"Not for _me_," Marlene admitted. Mary squealed and squeezed her hand, and Marlene sighed again. "Oh, alright. Celibate for a year."

"Brilliant!" Marlene held out her hand, Mary shook it, and they both spit over their respective right shoulders. "Oi, that's my bed!" Marlene protested, when she noted where Mary had chosen to spit.

"It's really disgusting when you two do that," Lily pointed out. Mary drew her wand to clean up the mess.

"You should get in on this too, Lil," she said to the Head Girl. "You've managed seventeen years: it shouldn't be too difficult to make it eighteen."

Lily, who had returned to her essay, shrugged. "I rule nothing out."

"I'll believe it when I see it," hummed Mary. The dormitory door opened again, this time allowing entrance to a practically skipping Shelley. Mary's mood at once grew sour. "You seem cheerful," she said, as Shelley sat down at the vanity. "Madam Pomfrey cleared up that rash, did she?"

"Has she got _you_ sorted yet?" replied Shelley coldly.

Mary rolled her eyes and rose from Marlene's bed, walking towards the door. "I think I'll step outside. It's a little stuffy in here—I didn't know they made dog shite scented perfume."

She left the room before Shelley could retort, and so the blonde merely rolled her eyes before returning her gaze to the vanity mirror, muttering, "Bint."

Lily seemed no more thrilled than Mary by this development, and so she closed up her ink bottle, dried off her quill, and returned her things to her book bag. "I'm off as well," she said, somewhat more diplomatically. "Have a nice practice, Marlene."

"Oh, do you _have_ to go?" said Marlene.

"Yes—I've got to... clean my room."

"Clean your room?"

"Clean my room."

"Pathetic."

"Bye!"

Lily waved, shouted a goodbye to Donna in the lavatory, and then was gone as well. Marlene shot an uncomfortable look at the oblivious Shelley. Ever since "Operation Mancy" had begun, Marlene had dreaded Shelley's company, especially when it was just the two of them. What made matters worse was that, more recently, Shelley had started dropping little hints about her... extracurricular activities: nothing too drastic at first, but just little clues—statements made with the obvious intent of eliciting a question that she would, in turn, answer only enigmatically. This evening, she was in full force.

"I'm positively knackered," she said, yawning and stretching, even as the mascara brush was poised in her hand.

"Oh?" said Marlene stiffly. She went to the dresser and began to collect her own Quidditch clothing. Practice was in twenty minutes, after all.

"_Dead,"_ Shelley elaborated. "What a day. Double muggle studies. Got that bloody exam back too—almost did me in." Since the loss of her extra pounds and change in skin tone, Shelley had begun to swear more too, Marlene had noticed.

"Oh?" she said again. "How was it?"

"Fine." Shelley shrugged and focused on her eyelashes. "I don't really care, to be honest. But I'd like nothing more than to curl up in a ball and sleep for a year."

"Sounds nice," Marlene agreed idly.

"Too bad I've got plans tonight."

"Mmmm..."

"I wish I could break them," Shelley went on. "But I really _shouldn't_."

Marlene felt the other girl's eyes on her and made a point of not looking. "Mmmm."

"So I suppose I'll just have to heave-ho and make the best of it."

"'Suppose so."

Shelley turned in her chair to face Marlene entirely. "Do you have any white eye liner? Mine's entirely gone."

"I don't have any, no."

"None at all? But, Marlene, that's positively _cardinal!_"

"Er—okay. Still don't have any."

"It's alright..." In a highly self-sacrificial tone: "I'll make do." She faced the mirror again. "What time is it?"

Not even bothering to mask the annoyance in her voice, Marlene checked her watch and replied: "Quarter to seven."

"Oh, I'll be late, I suppose," said Shelley blithely. "It doesn't matter though. It's good to keep a bloke waiting—especially if he's fit. It keeps his ego in check."

"Mmm."

"He's right though." Shelley didn't care at all that Marlene didn't care all, and that was getting frustrating. "He _is_ quite good-looking."

(Clancy's expression in the library lingered in Marlene's mind)

"Mmmm."

"Brilliant kisser, too..."

"Mmmm..."

"And as for everything else..."

Marlene closed the drawer of the bureau. "Shelley, stop it," she said, rather sharply, and Shelley looked at her through the reflection in the looking-glass.

"Stop what?"

"Everything. Stop it."

"I don't know what..."

"Charlie Plex," Marlene interrupted. The lavatory door opened, and Donna stuck her head out.

"Oi, _Price_."

"Oh, of course _you _told," Shelley snapped. "Merlin, couldn't just keep your trap shut, could you?"

"Oh, please," said Marlene, folding her arms and walking up to Shelley. "It's not as though you were trying to keep it secret. All the little hints, trying to get people to ask you about your mysterious bloke..."

Shelley blushed. "Leave me alone. I have to get ready..."

"No, you really don't..."

"Price, leave it..."

"I won't leave it, Donna—Shelley has to hear this."

"I told you, I already _tried_ to reason with her."

"Well, let me try," replied Marlene. Donna glared for a moment, and then shrugged, mumbling "_Fine_," in a way that suggested she saw little potential in this prospective conversation. She retreated back into the washroom and closed the door behind her. Marlene leaned against the desk; Shelley now resolutely avoided eye contact.

"Shelley, I don't care what you do, but for the love of Merlin, Clancy Goshawk is a really nice girl, and..."

"I don't want to hear it, Marlene."

"I don't care if you want to hear it! You _have_ to hear it!"

"Actually, I don't." Shelley slapped her hand against the desk and got to her feet. "I don't have to hear your sanctimonious lectures about Clancy Goshawk! What about _your_ mate? Shacklebolt did the same thing, and she gets off free just because you're mates? Rubbish! You don't get to tell me anything, and I frankly don't care to hear about your petty jealousies!"

Marlene's jaw dropped. "_Jealousies?" _she echoed.

"Yes!" Shelley lifted her chin defiantly. "_Jealousies._ Everyone knows you lost your bloke to another girl, and you probably couldn't get another if you tried! Which, judging by the shocking state of your make up at the moment, you're _not _doing. So don't stand there and lecture _me_. _I_ deserve to have a bloke fancy me, don't I?" She did not wait for a reply, but turned and walked hastily from the room.

A few seconds passed, and then Donna emerged from the next room. "It's getting more and more tempting to just hand one of the school gossips a camera and set them after her and Plex."

Marlene sighed. "Don't let Sirius hear that idea."

(Friday)

Rather to Marlene's surprise, she was met by Prudence Daly after Herbology on Friday afternoon. The petite Ravenclaw beamed up at her as she left Greenhouse Two, and Marlene was compelled to step out of the walkway and speak with her.

"Adam's having a word with Puttman," said Marlene. "I'm sure he won't be long."

"Oh. I'm just out of Care of Magical Creatures, and I thought I'd walk back to the castle with him," Prudence explained. "But if you're on your way up, I might as well walk with you. Do you mind?"

"Oh. Er—no. No of course not." All right, it wasn't exactly her _preference_, but she didn't (strictly speaking) _mind_ either. Lily had gone ahead with Lupin, and Mary was with Reginald Cattermole, so she might as well accept the company up to the castle. "Yeah, c'mon."

"Wonderful."

It was something of a struggle for Prudence to keep up with the significantly longer-legged Marlene, and so the blonde did everything in her power to slow her pace. This made the climb up the sloping lawns to the castle somewhat of a struggle, however, and Marlene kept quiet, retaining her energy. Prudence, on the other hand, seemed to be nothing _but_ energy.

"So are you excited?" she asked, half skipping. "For the match this weekend, I mean."

"Oh, yeah. Should be brilliant."

"Against my house, you know," said Prudence. "It's the first match I'll have to be torn about... with Adam on Gryffindor and such."

"And the last," said Marlene.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he's a seventh year. It's his last match against Ravenclaw."

"Oh. Yes." Prudence frowned for only a moment. "All the same," she went on, brightening, "I expect it'll be a brilliant match. The games between our houses always are. I _do_ love Quidditch, don't you?"

"Mhm."

"Are you nervous?"

Of course, Marlene wasn't about to dump all her insecurities on the girl who was dating the boy she fancied, no matter how sweet Prudence Bloody Daly might be. "Oh, a bit. I expect it will be fine.'

"Oh, of course it will be. Only, I hope it doesn't rain." She looked up at the overcast sky. "The Newspaper's saying it will."

"My luck, isn't it?"

"I'll have to remember an umbrella," said Prudence unimportantly, more to herself than to Marlene. "How does one _see_ in Quidditch, when it's raining?"

"I don't know," Marlene admitted. "Potter will have a dozen tips though."

"Oh, I see," said Prudence, a playful smile on her lips. "You can't tell me; I'm on the other side, aren't I? _The enemy_."

"I'm trying not to look at it that way," replied Marlene; she attempted to match Prudence's merriment and thought the result must have looked rather strained.

"Oi, _Daly_."

Much to Marlene's infinite displeasure, Miles Stimpson had caught up with them. "Consorting with the enemy, are you?" he asked, falling into step with the pair. He flashed a smile in Marlene's direction. "What would Potter say if he knew you were hanging around with a Ravenclaw, Marly? Two, even."

"You hardly count, Miles," retorted Marlene. "Ravenclaws are meant to be clever."

"And _your_ house is meant to be brave," he replied. "But look at you."

"Oh, _Miles_," sighed Prudence.

"Bugger off, Stimpson."

"I've got a right to walk back to the castle too, don't I?" he said. "So tell me, Price..." He dropped an arm over her shoulders, which she shrugged off before quickening her pace. "_Are_ you nervous?"

She ignored him.

"After all, it must be a touch troubling—going into a match knowing that you only _made_ the team on account of the Captain wanting to shag your best mate."

"_Miles_."

"Get out of here, Miles," Marlene ordered sternly. He smirked, and he must have known the damage was done, because with a wink and a shrug, he complied, hurrying along ahead of them.

"You mustn't let him get to you," said Prudence earnestly. "He's just a bloke. And he didn't mean it, either. From what I hear, he's supposed to—you know... intimidate you. For the team." Prudence blushed. "You mustn't mind him," she said again. "I suppose he's still a bit hurt about your breaking things off with him."

"No, he's not," said Marlene coolly. "He's just a git. That's just _him_."

"But you were together for so long... he can't be _all _bad."

"Sure he can." Marlene shrugged. "I just have really, _really_ bad taste."

(Friday Night)

_Pat, pat, pat, pat. Pat, pat, pat, pat._

"Once more around the pitch, and then we're done," Potter had said, but the Quidditch pitch seemed so much larger when one took it on foot. Tonight's had been a light practice, though—nothing too terribly exhausting, because James wanted everyone energized for the game the next morning. Consequently, Marlene felt little guilt in taking the jog around the pitch at less than full speed, and it was, oddly enough, quite relaxing.

She reached the starting point and her jog tapered off into a walk, the sound of her trainers on the grass softening and then vanishing altogether. She halted, several steps away from the others, hands on her hips as she caught her breath. It was a beautiful night—you couldn't see a single star and the clouds made the sky seem sort of... muddy, but it was beautiful, crisp, and cool all the same.

The others packed up their belongings. They chatted and cleaned up and started back toward the castle, but Marlene dawdled. "You coming, Price?" asked James, the last to leave, as usual.

Marlene sat on the grass now, her things collected and put away, situated in a neat little stack to her right. She looked up at James and nodded. "I'll be along soon."

James appeared unsatisfied. "It's a bit late, isn't it?"

"I won't be more than ten minutes, I promise," Marlene assured him.

The Captain hesitated but then nodded. "Alright. Get a good night's sleep then."

"Absolutely, yes."

Then, he too strolled off, and Marlene was left alone on the dark pitch.

In about twelve hours, she would be returning there—for the game—and "nervous" did not even begin to cover what she felt now. She sat on the lawn, legs crossed beneath her. She _ought_ to have gone back inside to warmth and safety (the hit wizards would be furious with her), but Gryffindor Common Room was always a dramatic display of house spirit the night before a match, and she didn't think she could take it just now.

The noises of the night—crickets and a steady breeze in the grass and trees and creaky wooden stands—resisted silence, and so it was that she didn't notice that someone had joined her until he spoke.

"'Evening, Price."

Marlene started. Sirius Black strutted into open view, hands in his pockets, grim smile on his face.

"Hello, Black," she replied. "What are you doing here?"

"Just walking," he said. "And you?"

She shrugged. "Having a panic attack?"

"Yeah, that's fairly typical, I think."

"You had one before your first game?"

Sirius snorted. "Merlin, no. But I was a cocky little bastard. I assumed I'd be brilliant. If I'd had any sense, I'd have holed up in the kitchens sobbing for the entire vigil."

"Not exactly reassuring, that."

"Right." Sirius joined her on the grass. "You know, I'm fighting off my lesser instincts right now. It's terrifically tricky trying not to hope that you're rubbish tomorrow."

"Wow. Thanks."

"I _said_ they were _lesser_ instincts. 'Can't blame a bloke for being a bit envious, can you? You'll be up there..." his eyes moved heavenward, "—playing with my best mate and my team..."

"I wish you wouldn't," Marlene interrupted tersely. "I already feel as though I don't belong with them."

Sirius looked surprised. "Why?"

"Well, I'm a seventh year joining the team. They've all played loads of games, and this is _my_ first. Plus, besides Donna, I'm the only girl on the team, and Donna's not exactly... relatable."

"Right," said Sirius again. "Don't fret about it, though. It'll be fine."

"What makes you think so?"

"James is the best Captain and Chaser I reckon this school's seen in centuries, for one. And _he_ picked you."

"You don't think..." Marlene broke off and dropped her gaze.

"What?"

"Oh, I don't know. That—maybe he only picked me because..."

"Because _what_, Price?"

"Because I'm Lily's mate."

Sirius laughed. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes, and as he drew one, the Marauder shook his head. "You've been listening to Ravenclaw gossip."

"Specifically Miles Stimpson gossip," Marlene modified softly. Sirius lit the fag.

"Ah." A long drag, and he offered a cigarette to Marlene, who declined. "The evil ex-boyfriend. And Ravenclaw keeper no less. _Dramatic_, no?"

"That's not an answer," said Marlene. "After all, there's a real possibility..."

"Nah, there's not." Sirius shook his head again. "Prongs and Evans have... a complicated relationship. But James Potter doesn't fuck around with Quidditch. Everything else, yes, but not Quidditch."

Marlene didn't see much point in debating the matter. She only nodded. "If you say so."

"I do," said Sirius lightly.

"And his judgment is infallible, Potter's?"

"Well, that's trickier." Sirius smirked, and he tapped his cigarette. "With girlfriends? No. With Chasers? Sure."

"Girlfriends, indeed," Marlene muttered. "Carlotta Meloni. _Really _now."

"In his defense, she's very good-looking."

"She's a slag."

"Well, fine. But there are those who would say the same about you, Price."

"_Excuse_ me?" asked Marlene incredulously.

"Don't act coy," he said. "I've played ten fingers with you."

"Oh you git." Marlene slapped his shoulder, and Sirius laughed again. "Believe me—I'm mates with Mary MacDonald. It takes quite a bit for me to call someone a slag. Of course it wouldn't mean anything, if she weren't so mean-spirited about it, but Carlotta Meloni meets the strict requirements. So do _you_ incidentally."

"_Oi!_"

"Don't act coy," said Marlene primly. "If I recall, you _lost _that game of ten fingers."

"Git." He wasn't terribly offended though. "All the same, Meloni aside, James's judgment is to be trusted when it comes to the team. Have you done many sprints?"

Marlene nodded. "And tossing drills." She adjusted her voice in her best impression of James: "_Light on your fingers, Price! You're giving the Quaffle away, not punishing it for swearing at your mother."_

Sirius chuckled. "_Oi, throw it a little slower so that the spectators can go fetch their own brooms and intercept that shot, why don't you?"_

"The worst are the wall-sits."

"Oh, Merlin. Forgot about those."

"I reckon Potter imagines we'll all be standing up on our brooms every game! And I've been to every match played at this school, and in seven years, the only person I've seen do that is _him_, and only once!"

"He's a fanatic."

"He's a lunatic."

"Brilliant though."

"Yeah."

Sirius grew quiet.

"Miss it?" asked Marlene, watching him tend to his cigarette.

"Oh, yeah." Sirius shrugged. "I haven't flown since..." He unsuccessfully masked the break in that sentence with another drag. "...Since I was kicked off the team. Shame, too."

"Because you're so brilliant?" Marlene quipped.

"Ha. _No_. My uncle—before he died—he gave me a Nimbus 1500. Fantastic broom."

"I see."

"Yep." Sirius smirked again, but this time, the expression lacked humor. "I reckon Regulus complained to Mum—Regulus, my brother. I hear he's got a Nimbus 1500 now. You know, that's when I'll _really_ be jealous of you—when you lot play against Slytherin."

"So why don't you use it?" asked Marlene. "The Nimbus, I mean. You don't have to play Quidditch to _fly_. And Potter was hoping you'd lend a hand at tryouts—you didn't show."

"Wasn't in the mood."

"Oh." She didn't press the point.

"I spoke with Shack," Sirius resumed presently. "About this Clancy Goshawk business."

"Oh?"

"She's going to tell Mary tomorrow."

"About Charlie and Shelley?"

"Yeah."

"She _can't_," said Marlene earnestly. "That's all wrong. Half the school will know before Clancy even hears..."

"Quick and effective," said Sirius, shrugging. "Honestly, is it any more painful than having her catch him?"

"I don't know, but it's not _right_."

"There's no _right_ way to go about it, Price," the Marauder pointed out. "If we're talking_ right, _we might as well just shut up and mind our own business, right?"

"Yes, but... Oh, I can't explain it."

"Try?"

"It's—well it's delicate. It's—oh you're laughing at me."

"I am not."

"Yes you are."

"No, I just..." Sirius grinned; "I had a thought."

"What thought? About Clancy?"

"Clancy? No, not about that. About _you_."

Mystified: "About _me_?"

* * *

_Merlin_, it was beautiful, though.

"You're sure?" Marlene asked for the fifteenth time.

Sirius sat down on his bed and nodded. "I reckon you could use it, yeah?"

"Yes, but—I don't want to inconvenience you."

"Not at all. I'm always glad to lend a hand to a mate."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"But I couldn't—I couldn't _possibly_..."

"Relax, Price. You can, and you will."

She already knew that he had won her over to the idea, but it was only polite to protest a bit more. "But it's important to you, and I couldn't just..."

"Marlene, I'm already bored with this conversation. You're going to use it, and you're going to like it. Just trust me on this, will you?"

Marlene picked up the Nimbus 1500, and even her relatively limited knowledge of broomsticks was sufficient to inform her that this one would exceed the school's unremarkable Cleansweep one hundred times over.

"I'll bring it back right after the match tomorrow," she assured him, mostly because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Nah, don't worry about it." Sirius lay back, hands crossed behind his head. "Keep it."

"_What?"_

"Well not for always," he amended lazily. "But for the season. For the matches and practices and what-not. You might as well keep it; it's only gathering dust up here."

"But what if you want to use it?"

"I won't."

"But what if you change your mind?"

"I won't."

"But what if you do?"

"Well then I'll go fetch it, won't I?" said Sirius impatiently. "Honestly, Price, you need to learn to just accept a favor."

Marlene frowned down at the broomstick, but it didn't seem to want to be frowned at, for she very soon could not help but smile. "Thank you," she said to Sirius. He grinned.

"You're welcome."

"I'll take good care of it."

"I know you will."

She shuffled toward the door, still regarding the broomstick as something foreign. However, she paused before reaching the door to the staircase. "Why _are_ you lending it to me?"

"I don't know," Sirius admitted. "You just looked like you could use it." He shrugged. "Or maybe I'm overcoming my lesser instincts, and no longer hoping that Gryffindor is incapable of winning a match without me."

Marlene snorted. "You're really wretched."

"I know, I know."

(Saturday Morning)

Marlene did not eat breakfast the next morning. She stared at the food on the platters—the food that the others, including and especially Donna so eagerly consumed—and felt ill. And so she kept her mouth closed, except for a few sips of water, lest she become sick all over the breakfast table.

"Listen," Donna was saying, spewing additional instructions (or reiterating old ones) to Marlene in what must have been some kind of nervous tick, "just remember—start low on your shots. If you start too high, they're easier for the Keeper to block. And don't get caught up watching any Snitch chases, because half of those are false alarms, and the Ravenclaw keepers will be ready for that. And..."

"Donna, please shut up," Marlene begged at length. "I know you're trying to help, but it's really just making me nervous."

"I'm not trying to help," Donna protested. "I find it relaxing telling you what to do. Hurry up when you're retreating to play defense, because..."

Breakfast ended earlier for the teams than it did for everyone else, since the Captains usually demanded their teammates arrive at the pitch significantly before the actual game. Potter had said to arrive at the pitch by nine-thirty, and so a few minutes before, Donna and Marlene said 'goodbye' to the other two and set off for their dormitory to collect the rest of their things.

Despite her relaxation tactics, Donna seemed quite calm. She snapped at a first year who impeded her path, but not with any more anger than was entirely usual and expected, and she didn't bark at a group of Hufflepuffs who forced them to pause on the last step of the marble staircase on the way down, so Marlene supposed her mood was actually benefitting from the oncoming challenge. _Marlene_ still felt queasy.

Then, as they crossed the crowded Entrance Hall, her eyes fell upon a scene that only made things worse.

Clancy Goshawk, adorned in her house colors, stood chatting with Charlie Plex: she wore a bright smile on her face, her golden brown hair gleaming in the sunlight that poured through the open doors, a flush in her cheek from the brisk morning air and a light in her eyes, apparently from whatever Charlie was saying to her.

Marlene didn't know _what_ it was anymore, this feeling: guilt or nostalgia or just nerves, but she felt _awful_ knowing that in a few hours—after the match—Donna would be telling Mary about Charlie and Shelley, and then Mary would be spreading that around to everyone else, and then Clancy—poor Clancy would _know_.

For a brief moment—the time it took for her to progress three or four steps across the Hall—Marlene thought she understood why Prudence wouldn't want to know about a cheating boyfriend. Perhaps it would just be _simpler_.

And then she thought better of it.

Clancy kissed Charlie on the cheek, and he moved into the Great Hall, while she started for the front gates. Donna, meanwhile, was already several steps ahead of her teammate, and Marlene shouted for her to go along without her. She didn't actually know if Donna _heard_ her, but she went along anyway. And Marlene approached the _other_ witch.

"Clancy," she said.

Clancy responded to her name with a polite smile, turning away from her group of friends heading toward the doors.

"Hello, Marlene," she said.

"Hello," Marlene greeted, distracted. "I need to speak with you for a moment."

"Oh. Alright..." Perplexed as she was, Clancy nonetheless followed the Gryffindor to a more secluded corner of the Entrance Hall, out of the way of students moving both to and from breakfast. Marlene took a steadying breath and then began.

"I know you don't know me very well," she said. "And you're not going to like what I have to say to you, but you seem like a nice girl, and through all of the scheming and planning and plotting, it seems to me like this is the only way that... well, not the only way... but it's the best way."

Clancy stared at her, probably questioning the Gryffindor's mental health. "Marlene, are you...?"

"I used to date Miles Stimpson," Marlene interrupted. "He wasn't nice. He didn't like most of the same things I did, but he—he had a charming smile. And we had a lot of history, and when it was just the two of us, he made me feel really, really special. He was my first boyfriend and my first kiss and my first _everything, _and even though my mates thought I was mad, I was in love with him, and I knew that in his own immature, uncommunicative way, he loved me, too. But somewhere along the way, I stopped loving him and started loving someone else, even though I didn't know it."

Clancy was just staring at her as though she had lost her mind now.

"And then he snogged Carlotta Meloni. And even though I didn't love him like I used to by that point, and even though I'd known he was a git in a lot of ways... despite that, it broke my heart when I found out. I felt so, so stupid. And I couldn't talk to my mates about it, because it was—was like they _knew_. Like I was the last one in the world to figure it out. And if he had just told me... or if Carlotta had told me, or if one of my mates had just been _honest_... they were all just telling me it was going to be okay, that it wasn't my fault—and they were right, but none of them were saying what I—what I instinctively knew..." Marlene took a deep breath. "That Miles snogged Carlotta because he didn't care about me."

There was a moment of silence. Clancy continued to simply gaze, but Marlene thought that maybe she had begun to understand. Then, she blinked a few times, as if snapping out of a trance, and said: "Marlene, are you feeling okay?"

"Clancy," Marlene said, speaking with determination, "I've spent a bit of time trying to figure out the best way to put this... the kindest way—the least complicated way. I even considered telling Mary and just letting you find out when it was spread throughout the school. It's awful, I know, but... I dunno, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But there _is_ no nice way with this, and I've been thinking about it, trying to put myself in your shoes, but the truth is, I've _been _in your shoes, and the one thing I really, _really_ wanted was for someone to be honest with me."

"Marlene..."

"Clancy, Charlie is seeing someone else."

Clancy froze. She'd been resisting hearing those words, Marlene saw now, but now they had been said and could not be unheard, and Clancy froze, shocked. But eventually, she started to melt again. "How do you know that?" she asked.

"I was told," said Marlene. "But it's... it's been confirmed. I wouldn't come to you if I didn't absolutely _know_, Clancy. And I have no reason to lie to you."

The emotion—the proper human emotion began to seep through. "W-who?" croaked Clancy after a few seconds.

"That..." Here Marlene hesitated. Shelley was in almost every way despicable, and yet... "it's not my place to say." The crowd in the Entrance Hall grew thinner as people filtered outdoors, and among them was another of Marlene's teammates, Damacus Weasley.

"Oi, Price, you'd better hurry along!" he called as he passed. "Potter'll be furious if you're late!"

"I'll be right there!" Marlene shouted over her shoulder. "Clancy, I'm so sorry."

The Ravenclaw nodded stiffly. "I think I need to sit down," she said.

"Right." Marlene followed her to the marble staircase, and both girls sat down on the second step. "Listen, I've probably mucked this whole thing up..."

"No... no, I just..." Clancy's voice was odd—puzzled, as though trying to work out a difficult math problem. "I'm just... that is..." She looked up at Marlene: "Who else knows?"

"Just me... and two of my mates, but none of us are going to tell anyone. I swear."

Clancy nodded again; her lip began to tremble, as though she were about to cry, but she did not—not just yet. Not here, in front of a near stranger as well as almost all the rest of the school. _That_, Marlene supposed, was not Clancy's style. "And you h-h-_haven't_ told Mary MacDonald, you said?"

Marlene smiled, until she realize that was probably insensitive. "Well, love her as I do, if Mary had dirt like that, it'd be around the school in five minutes flat."

"True." Clancy swallowed. "I—I'm gonna go upstairs. I need to—I need to think. Yes, that's it. I need to think, and then I need to speak with Charlie."

"Al—alright."

Clancy, very pale now, got to her feet. "Thank you for not saying anything to anyone else."

"Oh—of course."

"Yes. Well..." Clancy climbed the first step, though Marlene hadn't even realized the interview was over until she did. "Just to think," Clancy was muttering to herself, and then she paused on the second step: "You're _absolutely _sure, Marlene?"

She wished that she wasn't: "Yes. I'm _really_ sorry, Clancy."

"Oh. Okay." Briskly: "Th-thank-you."

Back straight and head high, Clancy ascended the staircase, and Marlene watched her go. She realized, as she did, that it had been completely silly, grouping Clancy Goshawk with Prudence Daly or herself or Donna or even Cassidy Gamp. Prudence's reaction to even the misunderstood information that her boyfriend might be seeing someone else was absolutely nothing to Clancy's: in fact, Clancy's was in a (weird) league of its own.

"Oi, Price!" This time it was Adam calling to her as he jogged out of the Great Hall. "Come on, then—we'll be late!"

* * *

Marlene stared dead ahead, gripping the nose of the Nimbus so tight her knuckles turned red, then white. The pitch in front of her seemed to be moving itself, with the ant-like students crawling around the bleachers, mostly sporting blue or scarlet clothing in support of one of the two teams.

Oh, she was _definitely_ going to be sick.

"Sober spins," said a voice behind her, and Marlene started, turning to see James Potter. He wore a smile and was adjusting the brown leather strap of his goggles, which rested amongst the splashes of black hair on the top of his head.

"What?" said Marlene.

"I like to call it the Sober Spins," said James. "That feeling you've got right now. Dizzy, queasy—afraid to move your head, or you might be sick all over the locker room floor. Like the Spins, only you're sober."

"'Sounds about right," replied Marlene, swallowing hard. She looked back out the gate, and fixed her stare on the Hufflepuff stands directly opposite them. "Do _you_ get them?"

"Nah, not anymore," said James. "You get over 'em. I don't think it's physically possible to feel that nervous _every_ time."

"Care to bet on that?" asked Marlene shakily, and the Captain laughed.

"You'll be fine, Marlene." It was funny, because this might have been the first time since Quidditch season began that James had actually called her by her first name.

"That's what everyone keeps saying," she said. "So I suppose if you lot have faith in me, I'd be thick not to trust you."

"Faith?" echoed James. "It's not _faith_."

Marlene looked at him again. "No?"

"Nah. Faith is when you believe in something without knowing. I _know_."

"How could you possibly?"

James grinned. "Intuition."

"Well how do I know that's any good?" Marlene grumbled.

"Easy." James tossed his broom over his shoulder casually, eying the dark grey sky outside. "Have a little faith, that's all. _Merlin_, it's going to rain soon."

* * *

"Shacklebolt has the Quaffle," Liam Lyle's voice announced, bouncing around the pitch like one of the Bludgers the Beaters had been knocking back and forth, back and forth, for the last ten minutes. It was one of the few announcements they'd heard, the players, and only because Ravenclaw's recently adjourned time-out meant a temporary pause in the match. They'd only just begun again. Marlene took off mid air once more, flying in support of Donna, a little lower and a little behind her, as demanded by the play they were running.

She picked up speed, and Lyle's voice faded. Only the wind and the rhythm of the game beat in her ears. The crowd went quiet—no, they disappeared altogether. Everything did, the speed she was going. Everything stilled into a constant blur, except the other players and the balls and the brooms and the goals and the wind.

Half field flew by—she didn't see it, only sensed it (_Intuition_, James had said), and Marlene leaned forward on her broom, gaining greater speed until she passed Donna—tilt, bend, rise. She _felt_ the Quaffle coming her way in the scheduled pass: it was in her hands before she was conscious of turning to catch it. And then the tricky part—

She hadn't time to secure the Quaffle; it was tucked halfhazardly under her arm, and yet she didn't even consider the possibility of it slipping, for she was dodging one of Ravenclaw's chasers as her broom tore across the field, a diagonal split from one side of the pitch to the other. James was zooming to meet her there, and she was held up only for a moment as she flipped to evade a speeding bludger that seemed to Marlene out of nowhere. That slowed her, but James was an expert. His pace met hers. They passed each other, the Quaffle moved, undisturbed, between them, and then James was goal-bound (_Miles bound_).

It was beautiful, then. The Quaffle shot from James's hands like a bullet from a gun (a hex from a wand). No keeper stood a chance with a shot like that.

"Gryffindor scores!" Liam Lyle sang or shouted or said, and the audience reappeared briefly as the encouraged Gryffindor Chasers and Beaters retreated slightly, preparing for defense. Marlene spotted their seeker, Ricki Nivens, and only just remembered that he was in the game at all.

"Ravenclaw has possession," Liam Lyle stated. "Fawcett takes the Quaffle..."

* * *

"Ninety to forty for Gryffindor, at the forty five minute mark," said Lyle's echo. "New Ravenclaw Chaser Brenda Maddock makes a lovely penalty shot after that foul from Shacklebolt—Potter doesn't look pleased—though if he keeps this up, he'll be on track for a personal point record. That's six for him, three for Shacklebolt... not much in terms of scoring from new _Gryffindor_ Chaser Price, but she's had assists on six of the shots, and she's taking the bludgers pretty well. Price with the Quaffle now... another nice maneuver away from the Bludger from Eavesworth; she's at half-field now, passes to Potter... Potter's in for a battle with Connor Plex though... but no—he passes Plex, gives up the Quaffle to Shack... no, he doesn't; no pass to Shacklebolt. He must still be sore at her. Oh, there's the pass. Potter to Shacklebolt. She's got company from _both_ bludgers—she dodges, and... _ouch. _Oi, that's got to smart a bit. Right in the back; Shacklebolt's hurting, you can tell but she's kept the Quaffle and—passes to Marlene Price. Or maybe she's dropped it, Merlin knows, but lovely catch from Price nonetheless... Price passes to Potter—Agrippa's sake, this team and their tongue-twisters—Potter looks as though he's going for the—no, Beater Chaudry and the bludgers are a bit of a wall; Potter's passing back to Price—the shot is hers if she'll take it... Price takes the shot, and—no, Stimpson intercepts. Neat save from Ravenclaw keeper Miles Stimpson, and he passes to Maddock—Maddock to Fawcett..."

Adam deflected the next shot easily, and James called for a time-out to have Donna's back looked at.

"...If we had a bloody beater who could defend worth a _damn_..." she all but howled when she landed on the lawn.

"Don't put this on us, Shack!" Damacus Weasley, one of the beaters, defended himself. "Eavesworth is the best beater in..."

"Oi, well it's _your_ job to keep him off of me, Ginge!"

"Shut up, both of you," said James, as he too landed and began feeling the furious Donna's back. "Tell me if this hurts..."

"Of course it bloody hurts—I was attacked by a Bludger!"

"Shack."

"It's fine. Nothing's broken. _No thanks to Weasley and Mitchum!_"

"_You're_ not watching your right side, Shack," Adam cut in, as he adjusted his keeper's gloves. "Fawcett's started leading. She'll be intercepting soon, and..."

Donna swatted down Potter's hands and scoffed, wheeling around to face Adam. "What about you, _Hoops_! Maddock and that penalty...!

"She wouldn't have had a shot if you hadn't practically knocked her out of the air!" Adam bellowed back.

"Well I wouldn't have had to foul Maddock if Weasley's Bludger hadn't been about a mile off!"

"That wasn't my fault! Eavesworth was tending!"

"Everyone, shut up!" James hollered again, as Madam Hooch flew by with the fifteen second warning. They all mounted their brooms again. "Shack, watch your right-side. And tell me if you need a minute for your back. I'm _serious_; we'll have Hooch look at it. McKinnon, you're slow on your left dives—I _know_ you saved that last one, but you were late. Mitchum, find a damn bludger every once in a while, yeah? Eavesworth is killing you. And Price, stay low on your shots. You're coming in too high, and it's easier for Stimpson to defend. Clear? Good. Let's go."

He took off. The six others followed.

Cold wind glided through her hair again as she gained altitude, and Marlene wondered if all time-outs were always this _angry_.

(They more or less were).

* * *

"Stimpson didn't even have to dive for that one," said Liam Lyle—Marlene wished she hadn't heard that particular announcement—"Price misses, Ravenclaw gains possession, and the score stays at one-twenty Lions, one-hundred for good ol' blue and bronze... pass to Maddock... but Potter intercepts; they're pressing hard on Ravenclaw—Eavesworth with a Bludger... Potter takes the shot—another save from Stimpson, and he passes the Quaffle over to Plex... Shacklebolt and Price are back on defense."

Liam Lyle probably did not have he proper temperament for Quidditch announcing. He liked quick games, and an hour and thirty-five minutes into this one, he already seemed to grow weary. This had a negative effect on the crowd, whose enthusiasm had dwindled slightly, no doubt in part due to the skies' very real threat of precipitation. Marlene remained no less tense, however. She had been warned: according to James, matches against Ravenclaw were always long.

Connor Plex advanced towards Gryffindor's goal post, Quaffle secure under his arm; Marlene and Donna ran parallel to him for a quarter of the field, until Donna sped up and attempted to block him; he dodged her. Marlene sped forward next, pulling in front of Plex, so that he had to veer wildly to avoid colliding with her. One of the bludgers—hit from Mitchum—sped towards the chaser at that moment, and though again Plex evaded it, he was compelled to grip his Cleansweep with both hands, and in the process, the Quaffle slipped out of his grasp.

Marlene was already below him, and she grabbed the falling Quaffle; she tore across the pitch, with Donna right behind her and Potter just ahead.

"Price has the Quaffle again," Lyle astutely observed. "She's climbing the field—pass to Potter... back to Price... Price dodges the bludger from Eavesworth... she's looking for a pass, I think, but the Ravenclaw chasers are flying pretty tight—dodges a _second_ bludger from Eavesworth, and she's pulling ahead of the other chasers, so if she can use that arm of hers better here, Price might have a chance of... well that's absolutely _not_ what I'm referring to when I say, 'better,' Price. Stimpson catches the Quaffle, but frankly I'm not sure why he dignified that shot with a defensive move—Stimpson passes to Fawcett..."

Marlene gripped the nose of the Nimbus that much tighter and brought herself back to help regain the Quaffle, but as she did, Potter fell into flight parallel to her. "If you don't have the shot, pass the Quaffle!" he called to her, before speeding ahead, but Marlene knew exactly what he meant: she'd _had_ the shot—on all of these, she'd had the shot: she'd simply lacked her wits.

Wits, which were now going mad...

Oh, _God_, she was failing. She was failing, she was failing, she was failing. In front of the entire school, with Liam Lyle announcing it in a magical megaphone, she was failing and having the entire account of it broadcast for almost everyone she knew to hear. Miles was right—she couldn't do _this_. And oh, Merlin, it was even worse than she'd feared.

Everyone was looking at her! Everyone _knew_ she couldn't do this! She let James down, and Sirius, and Lily, and Donna, and the team, and _Adam_, who'd always been so convinced that…

How would she face _anyone_ in classes on Monday?

How would she face anyone ever again?

How would she...?

Madam Hooch's whistle cut through Marlene's self-inquiries. It was a moment before she realized why—Ravenclaw had scored again. The Ravenclaw supporters broke out in furious applause, and Marlene realized that she had to focus. She sped back towards Adam, but he already handed the Quaffle over to James, and Marlene and Donna were obliged to circle round and move back toward Ravenclaw's end of the pitch. James met with trouble at about half-field: Connor Plex had taken to simply following James around the pitch regardless of possession, but there, he was joined by both Bludgers and Fawcett, and James nearly fell off his broom avoiding the intended collision. He swooped below them all, though, and unhanded the Quaffle to Marlene, just as a Bludger came into contact with the nose of his broom. It sent him spiraling out of the way, and there was a collective _"Ooh,_ from the crowd.

He recovered quickly, though, with plenty of time to see Marlene and Donna advancing toward Miles Stimpson again.

"Shacklebolt is falling back on this one," Lyle explained. "Unusual move for her—maybe her back's still hurting her a little. Price approached the Ravenclaw hoops..."

Marlene attempted to imagine the three Ravenclaw hoops—left, center, right—as they had been during practices: with _Adam_ guarding them, instead of Miles. With no pressure, no past failure, nothing, except her very simple task of putting the goddamn Quaffle through them.

An enticing wall of clouds lived on the other side of those hoops, too, and Marlene attempted to see past Miles to that wall. Miles wasn't there. Miles had never been there. It was only the hoops.

Left, center, right.

Left, center, right.

Marlene lifted the Quaffle in her arm to shoot again...

And then, very suddenly, the Nimbus jerked. Marlene dropped the Quaffle, and she didn't realize why until, once again, Hooch's whistle sounded, this time much sooner.

"Foul to Plex," Lyle announced; "apparently, he's never been taught that you're not allowed to grab the tail of another player's broomstick, and—yes, Hooch is awarding Marlene the penalty... poor Maddock is giving Plex the earful on the other end of the pitch..."

The adrenaline and the focus had vanished the moment the Quaffle had left Marlene's hands. She steered her broom back around to face the Ravenclaw hoops, and they seemed taller and narrower than before. Plus, Miles was back.

Left, center, right.

Left, center, right.

Left, center, right.

But he was just a boy. Just one boy.

He was looking at Marlene. For the first time since the match began, Marlene made proper eye contact with Ravenclaw's chaser. Hovering there, she finally met Miles's eye. Potter flew up to her, muttering a few instructions that she didn't understand, and then he was gone, and she was on her own again. The Quaffle was in her hands a moment later.

It wasn't a big deal, really. In the grand scheme of things—even in the grand scheme of this match—it wasn't a big deal. Nothing hinged upon the success of this single penalty shot, though the seconds dragged on like minutes, as if this were the most important moment of the match. But it wasn't—not even close. As soon as one of the Seekers saw the Snitch, this whole thing would be over with... nothing really very important depended on this penalty shot...

Except maybe one thing.

And oh _God, _he was right.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't she couldn't she couldn't she couldn't...

She was going to choke. Right there, in front of everyone, she was going to choke.

She almost _did_ choke on the air that flooded her lungs as she took a deep, breath and tucked the Quaffle under her arm. She steered her broom away from the Ravenclaw hoops to re-position herself for the shot. Her teammates and opponents alike now assembled the mandatory distance from her—for a moment, the other Chasers and Beaters and Seekers weren't watching her. But _he _was.

Miles Stimpson's dark eyes fixed upon her, unblinking.

Marlene found her space. She turned to face the Ravenclaw goal again.

He was bent over his broom, and he was smiling. _He knew_. He _knew_ she would choke.

_Pathetic._

It wasn't a big deal, really. It wasn't a defining moment by any standards... Except maybe one.

Marlene swallowed. She took the Quaffle in her hands, rolling it between her palms, and she in turn stared at Miles—stared right back into his eyes, into his cocky smile, into the knowing tilt of his chin...

_Ten galleons you don't score one goal, _he had said. And so far, he was right.

Light-years away, the entire school watched her now. They rumbled senselessly, with no coherence to the roar they collectively omitted. The magnified voice of Liam Lyle spoke Greek. Or it might as well have.

Miles stared on.

Marlene closed her eyes.

_Start low_, said another voice, much clearer.

Smooth and warm was the Quaffle in her hands.

_You always are._

_Start low._

_ It'll be fine_.

_Intuition._

Then, it occurred to her that what didn't matter was, in fact, the rest of the match. One of the Seekers would catch the Snitch; it would all be over. In two weeks, everyone would have forgotten, yet. But that was something else. Right now, in that instant, lost as she was among the clouds, wind, and noise, the only—the absolute _only_ thing that mattered—was this shot.

And—this, a final fleeting thought running stray in her brain for reasons unknown: it was going to rain soon.

Marlene opened her eyes again, raised her arm and prepared to throw, not removing her gaze from Miles's. Then, quite suddenly, her arm flinched, as though she were going to throw the Quaffle. Miles dived, and even as he did so, he realized his mistake.

Marlene grinned. She wound her arm back and pitched the Quaffle.

* * *

She'd brought her umbrella down from the castle, but it remained at her side even when she stepped out from the overhang of the stands, and large cool raindrops fell, pitter-pattering against the canvas of her bag and soaking her hair. The pitch—now empty—seemed entirely different than it had during the match, but Marlene did not think she would ever be able to see it as she had before that afternoon. The recollection of all that noise and panic and excitement _stuck_, caught in the mists of the rain (had it been this foggy during the game?) and in the empty stands. And that was okay.

"You were brilliant today," said Adam. He arrived from the locker rooms and stood beside her, clutching his jumper around his elbows and wincing in the rain.

Marlene nodded. "Rocky start, but I was redeemed." She glanced at him. "You weren't so bad either, McKinnon."

"'Could've stopped a few of the buggers that got by," said Adam. "But we won, so Potter probably won't beat me up too badly at the next practice."

"Optimism."

"Oh, yes."

Marlene laughed.

"So what did you think?" asked Adam, looking at her. "How did you like the game?"

"Well, we won, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but not quickly. And you can always tell if you _like_ Quidditch or if you love it, based on how you feel about those long, slow paced games, with really high scores and loads of fouls."

"And you?" said Marlene.

"Oh, I love it."

"I see-you love it, and Potter breathes it."

"Exactly, yes."

"I see."

Marlene turned her eyes to the pitch again. So did Adam, and they were both getting rather soaked from the rain, but neither uttered a word for over a minute. "I've been thinking about Healing again," Marlene said eventually. Adam turned to her, confused. He didn't ask any questions though; he only nodded.

"Could be fun."

"Yeah," she said. "Could be." She raised her umbrella and opened it, so as to cover both herself and Adam. "Come along, then. There's bound to be a party in the Common Room, and we can't have you risking the elements, can we?"

"No, I guess not," said Adam, and they walked together back to the castle.

* * *

**A/N: **the end! Yay! And a short one, too, comparatively speaking. SO, this time, I really mean it when I say the update won't take as long. And Chapter 34 is called "Meloni v. Mumps." For those of you NOT following me elsewhere, you may be happy to know that the next chapter, I promise, will have more Lily/James in it! *Much* more. =)

Reviews are not talking 4 months to update!

Love,

Jules


	34. Meloni v Mumps

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo-Ro

**Before: **Shelley Mumps and Carlotta Meloni, former best friends, become enemies when Carlotta starts dating Shelley's long-time crush, James. Another student, Valerie Turpin, helps Shelley exact revenge by spreading potentially reputation-damaging rumors about Carlotta. Shelley starts sneaking around with Charlie Plex, who is dating Clancy Goshawk, but Marlene finds out and eventually tells Clancy that her boyfriend is cheating on her. Also, Lily has recently discovered that she fancies James, but she hasn't divulged this to anyone except Sirius, Remus, Peter, and—via pen pal style letters—Sam Dearborn, James's relative whom she met over the summer at the protest. Lathe is an auror, who spent a lot of time over the summer in the Leaky Cauldron, where Donna and Sirius were working. Sirius believes that Donna has a bit of a crush on Lathe. Due to their mutual complaints against the Ministry-assigned free spirited psych healer, Fiona Keepdown, James and Lily have been instructed to visit her in joint sessions, once monthly.

Chapter 34- Meloni v. Mumps

Or

"The Ballad of John and Yoko"

_Dear Sam,_

_Happy Halloween!_

_Now, I will reply to every one of the random, mad questions you asked in your last letter, but first, I've got to tell you a story—a very silly, complicated, dramatic story that has unfolded over the last two weeks. I've simply got to retell it to someone who isn't here and doesn't already know it. Hopefully, by the end, you'll see why._

_People are really awful, Sam. Oh, I know, sometimes they aren't, but sometimes they are. But they are also really, shockingly adept at rallying behind a cause, if the cause is stupid enough. And that's what this story is about._

_I suppose I should begin with Clancy Goshawk and Charlie Plex. You don't know anything about them—it's a bit of a long story—but to summarize: they are Ravenclaws, a boy and a girl, who were dating. Unfortunately, while dating said Clancy Goshawk, Charlie was also sneaking around with Shelley Mumps—Shelley I've mentioned before, though I don't remember how specifically. She's the bird that got a tan and started trying to sabotage James's relationship. However, she was still sneaking around with Charlie Plex, which, eventually got out to everyone else._

_Now, Marlene—Marlene Price, you met her—she was the one who told Clancy about Charlie, but she didn't tell her that it was Shelley that Charlie was sneaking around with. (I know this story seems dull as anything right now, but it'll pick up soon, I promise.) How exactly Clancy found out that bit of information is something of a mystery: some people say that she coerced and threatened it out of him. Some people think he just let it slip, and he's a bit of a prat so that wouldn't surprise me either. Some people say that it was a huge, dramatic display, and some people like to think of the incident as a quiet, heartfelt chat. _

_But, you know how it goes: no matter what anyone thinks, they all relay the information as gospel truth. _

_Anyway, it got around to Valerie Turpin. Valerie Turpin is a Ravenclaw, just like Clancy, but she's been quite chummy with Shelley lately, because they share a mutual hatred of Carlotta Meloni (James's girl). However, it appears that house points are thicker than water, because once it got around to Valerie about Shelley and Charlie, that was pretty much was the end of the unholy alliance between Shelley and Valerie. Virgin Victim Shelley, you see, served Valerie's purposes far better than Home-wrecking, Man-stealing Shelley, at least insofar as the man in question was being "stolen"(pardon the expression) from a Ravenclaw. And that was a huge, dramatic display, so of course, it was a matter of some discussion for just about everyone. And I wouldn't be surprised if that's what gave Mundungus Fletcher the idea to monetize._

_But I'm getting ahead of myself._

(Some Time Before)

"Valerie. _Valerie!_"

Valerie Turpin happened to ignore the sound of her own name with _remarkable_ skill. She didn't even flinch as she walked across the Entrance Hall for breakfast on Monday morning, but kept her chin high and her eyes on the doors to the Great Hall. She managed to ignore Shelley Mumps until she had nearly reached those doors, and at that point, Shelley actually tapped her on the shoulder and, out of breath, repeated Valerie's name again.

Valerie turned. "Yes?" she asked innocently, as if she'd actually been deaf to the calls up until this moment. Shelley faltered.

"Didn't you... didn't you hear me?"

"I heard you, yes," said Valerie. "I was ignoring you."

"You were—what?"

"I was ignoring you, Shell," she said again. "In fact, I'll be doing quite a lot of that from now on."

Shelley blushed deeply. "And why is that?" she asked in a strained voice.

Valerie shook her hair with dignity. "Clancy Goshawk is Ravenclaw. She may be odd and in need of highlights, but she's also very sweet. Going after Carlotta Meloni is one thing—but _Clancy Goshawk's_ boyfriend? That's just cruel." With a final supercilious twitch of her eyebrows, Valerie turned to go, and the Shelley of yesteryear might have, crestfallen, let her do so: the Shelley of today would not.

"You hypocritical _bitch!_"

Valerie halted. She rounded on Shelley, lips pursed, fire in her eyes. "_What_?"

"I said, you are a hypocritical bitch," Shelley reiterated. "And I'm going to add that you're a lying, jealous, pimpled hag."

"At least I'm not a chubby, pathetic _whore_."

* * *

_I should note, Sam, that there is some additional debate about whether Shelley or Valerie lunged first, but the gist of it is that, very shortly, a lot of slapping, clawing, and general wrestling ensued_.

* * *

"_Oi!_"

Much to the dismay of several male spectators, fellow Ravenclaw Alexa Kyle intervened, practically dragging Valerie away from Shelley.

"Val! Val, leave her alone! It's..."

"Oh, let me go, Alexa," snapped Valerie, but now that she was a safe distance from Shelley, Alexa released her, and Valerie straightened up, lifting her now bruised chin haughtily. "You're old news, Shelley." And that was her farewell, for she then turned and continued on into the Great Hall. Shelley, on the other hand, found she had rather lost her appetite.

(Tuesday)

"Potter."

"Evans."

The Head Boy and Girl greeted one another with polite nods, which Lily then extended to Carlotta, who stood at James's side in the Common Room early Tuesday evening.

"Hullo, Carlotta."

"Lily."

There was a moment of weird silence, and then Lily smiled and attempted to joke: "You coming too? We can make a party of it."

Carlotta smiled and shook her head. "Rather not—I prefer to eat supper from time to time. It _is_ strange that Madam Keepdown should schedule your meeting so early."

Lily and James exchanged a look so brief that it went blessedly unnoticed. "Very strange," Lily agreed. "But we should really be on our way..."

"Right," said James. With one last peck on the cheek, Carlotta released her boyfriend, and James followed Lily out of the Common Room.

"You haven't told her, then?" asked Lily in the corridor. "Why you got the meeting pushed back?"

"Not precisely."

Lily raised her eyebrows but did not push the subject.

"We really ought to develop a strategy," James remarked after a while. "For Keepdown."

"What kind of strategy?" Lily asked suspiciously. "Dung bombs?"

James fumbled about in his pockets for a moment and then frowned, disappointed. "Haven't got any on me. But that's the right kind of thinking, Snaps. Best defense is a good offense, yeah?"

"I think you've got that backwards."

"That doesn't make it any less true."

"So what did you have in mind, then?" Lily asked. They reached the descending staircase.

"Well, I don't suppose she'll be exactly _pleased_ with us," James pointed out. "I mean, she knows we're in these things together, and she's _probably_ knows that's on account of our complaining about her."

"And she wasn't exactly organizing parades in our honor to begin with," Lily agreed. "But I don't care what she thinks, and I don't expect there's much we can do to change her mind anyway."

"Well 'course not," said James. "But that's not what I meant. _My_ plan is to get out of the next hour with as few awkward questions as possible. I don't want to talk about my Mum or Dad, or anything bad that happened last year, or Shelley Mumps, or Carlotta, or the war, or... anything along those lines."

"So, essentially, anything that she might have _any_ interest in hearing about from you?"

James grinned. "You're catching on."

"So what exactly _are_ you planning on talking to her about?"

"Quidditch."

"You think that's going to work?" said Lily, amused. "Somehow Madam Keepdown doesn't strike me as the type to be terribly interested in Puddlemere United scores."

"That doesn't matter. She's supposed to be talking about what _we_ want to talk about, right? And I want to talk about Quidditch."

"All right." The Head Girl shrugged.

"Unless you're keen on spilling your life's secrets to the Head Boy and the Hack?" James added. Lily raised her eyebrows, and he nodded: "That's what I thought."

"I've got to admit that it will be a bit strange," Lily confessed. "Your being there, I mean."

James looked at her. "Well thanks."

"What? It's not going to be weird for _you_?"

"_No_." Once again, Lily raised her eyebrows at him. "Because," he clarified, "_I_ will be discussing Quidditch."

They reached the door to Madam Keepdown's office, but it was uncharacteristically closed, and the Heads hesitated.

"Do we knock or...?"

Lily held up her hand for silence though, leaning close and listening, for—as James realized a moment later—the sound of voices snuck through the door.

"Is that...?"

"Shelley," said Lily. "It's Shelley's voice."

And it was, except—aside from her distressed tone, mixed in with Madam Keepdown's calmer interludes—it was difficult to hear what exactly was uttered. Lily stepped back, moving far enough away so that she might not get even the gist of what Shelley and Keepdown were saying—though it might have been too late for that. She folded her arms, leaned against the wall behind her, and kept her eyes on the floor. James could not stand so still, however, and he strolled about, occasionally cracking his knuckles, stopping himself, shoving his hands into his pockets, getting distracted, fidgeting again, and then repeating the process.

A few minutes passed.

"It's like overhearing someone's confession," Lily said glumly after a while.

"Confession of what?"

"What? Oh." She shook her head. "Never mind."

More silence between them, but all the while, Shelley's voice seemed to be growing louder, or perhaps their ears simply adapted. Either way, it only made the situation more awkward.

"Maybe we should come back another time..." James suggested.

Lily opened her mouth, probably to agree, but then Madam Keepdown's door opened, and the witch herself emerged, at least partially. Her head and shoulders leaned through the doorway, and she said in a voice somewhat more flustered than her usual airy tone: "I'm so sorry, my friends, if you'll only wait a few more minutes, I'll be with you..."

"Oh, you have appointments!" Shelley could be heard saying—gasping, really—followed by the screeching of chair legs dragged across the floor. The door opened all the way, and Shelley appeared, blotchy-faced and disheveled from weeping. Lily and James both tried very hard not to look at her, but she certainly noted them, and her face turned ashen. She swept passed the lot of them, her feet pattering rapidly against the stone floor all the way to the end of the corridor.

"Shelley, dear..." Madam Keepdown called uselessly after the retreating blonde.

"I'll go..." said Lily, but Madam Keepdown touched her arm gently and shook her head.

"No. I'll be back in a moment. You're welcome to make yourself at home in the office, I'll just be a..." But she was already taking off after Shelley.

Lily eyed the open door of the office doubtfully.

"Or we could wait _here_," she said, with a hopeful look at James, who could not have agreed more. The less time spent in Keepdown's stuffy scented office, the better.

So, they waited again. James wondered if this would count as part of their scheduled appointment. After a while, however, he noted that Lily was looking at him—somewhat pointedly, and he found that he would rather not know what it was she was trying to communicate with her elevated eyebrows. The fact that he had caught her eye made this that much more difficult, however, and eventually he couldn't get away with it any longer.

"Oh, c'mon, _what_?"

"You know what," she said shortly.

"I suppose you think this is _my_ fault?"

Lily continued to give him that particularly obnoxious look.

"It's not. This is _not_ my fault. _That_ is not my fault!"

"She's only acting out to get your and Carlotta's attention."

"So? What exactly do you expect me to do about it?" asked James. "Am I supposed to be blamed for being irresistible?"

Lily unfolded her arms. "Oh, don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Make this a joke."

"It _is_ a joke. It's a big, pathetic, stupid joke, and I'm sick of it. I _tried_ talking to Shelley, and it didn't make a bit of a difference, and as far as I can tell, her shagging someone else's boyfriend and making everyone hate her has absolutely nothing to do with anything _I_ did."

"No, I suppose _that_ was your girlfriend's influence," muttered Lily.

"_Excuse_ me?"

Maybe she regretted saying it, just a little, but Lily stood her ground. "She spent half of last year trying to get Frank Longbottom to shag her, didn't she?"

"Shelley's her own person," snapped James. "Carlotta didn't force her to shag Charlie Plex anymore then she forced _your_ best mate to."

"Yeah, and Donna ended up in the Hospital Wing, remember?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," said Lily. "It's just... you reap what you sow. Carlotta included."

"So this _is_ Carlotta's fault?" said James heatedly. Lily didn't seem to want to get into it; she folded up her arms again and shrugged. "Well that's what you're getting at, isn't it?"

"Oh leave it, James."

"I won't. Reap what you sow? Does that also include _you_?"

Lily looked at him, surprised and a bit suspicious. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" she echoed his question.

"Well, let's see, then. Take last year. You saved Logan Harper's life—he was a death eater, and I reckon his last few months weren't spent rescuing puppies. Did _you_ sow all of that, Evans?"

Lily looked as though she'd been slapped. And James _did_ regret it, right away. "Okay, Snaps, I..."

"Don't 'Snaps' me, Potter."

"I didn't mean..."

"Terribly sorry," broke in Madam Keepdown, as she returned from her errand, looking every bit as disconcerted as she had been on leaving them. "Won't you step inside?" She didn't seem to notice that Lily was flushed red with anger and James with embarrassment, as the two Head students shuffled into her office, Lily rather ahead of James and without looking at him.

"Listen, Lily, I don't think..." James muttered hastily, trying to get the apology in before Madam Keepdown entered and started analyzing the living daylights out of everything.

"I don't care what you think."

"But..."

"Well, good evening," said Keepdown; she walked over to her chair and sat down, while Lily sat down at the very edge of the sofa, probably attempting to put as much space between herself and the Head Boy as possible. He sat at the opposite corner, but all the same, it wasn't a very large couch. "Once again, I apologize for my tardiness—another student required my attention." As if they were not well aware of this fact. Still, Madam Keepdown seemed to be regaining her equanimity a little as she continued to speak. "How are you two tonight?"

The scowls on both young faces utterly belied their simultaneous response: "Brilliant."

Madam Keepdown looked understandably skeptical. "Is something wrong?"

"No."

"...Oh?"

Lily sighed and leaned back on the sofa. "How's Shelley?" she asked.

"Oh. Well, dear, you must know I couldn't possibly discuss anything disclosed to me by another student."

"Of course," said Lily dryly.

"But... if you did want to—perhaps have a word with her later this evening, I'm sure she wouldn't object to seeing a friendly face. Although..." this to James: "Perhaps, dear, it would better if _you_ didn't try to..."

"Right."

"Right. So..." Keepdown adjusted her robes around her knees. "Down to business. What would you two like to talk about?"

"Well..." began James, but Lily cut him off.

"I'd like to talk about James," she said.

* * *

_Okay, I'm not proud of this, Sam._

* * *

"What?" said James.

"I want to talk about you, James," Lily said again, very cheerful. "I don't know, you've just seemed a touch bogged down lately. Preoccupied. Don't you think so, Madam Keepdown? Like something's—_bothering_ him, or…"

"_Nothing's_ bothering me," James spoke quickly over her. "And that's not _funny_, Evans."

* * *

_But James had hit something of a sore spot._

* * *

"I'm not trying to be funny, I just think we should discuss whatever it is that's clearly on your mind, especially if it's going to interfere with your ability to be Head Boy…"

"My ability to…?"

"You know…" With such sincere concern: "I wonder if it might have anything to do with your girlfriends… sorry, _girlfriend_—slip of the tongue there…"

* * *

_Really, really_ _not proud_.

* * *

"Do you really want to venture down this road, Evans?"

"…It's funny how that happens sometimes, when you mean to say one thing but something else just _slips_ out like that…"

"…Because I am _more_ than happy to oblige if you really want to…"

"…Because obviously I didn't mean to imply that James had _multiple_ girlfriends—that would be ridiculous. To string two birds along like that, he'd just have to be the _worst_ sort of person…"

"…You know, Madam Keepdown, I think we should talk about _Lily_, and how _curiously _obsessed she is with my love life…"

"Everyone's curiously obsessed with your love life, you're so busy flaunting it…"

"…Oh, but perhaps that's simply because she has nothing going on in her _own_…"

"Not that you'd notice, how busy you've been with your girlfriends… _sorry_. Girlfriend. _Why _do I keep doing that?"

"Heard from Harper lately, Snaps? No, of course not, you're too busy writing letters to my _cousin_, which, I have to say, I find _extremely weird!_"

"You see, Madam Keepdown—all this anger…? _Something_ is bothering our dear James…"

"I'll give you a hint what it is—she's sitting next to me and looks like a leprechaun."

"At least my hair doesn't look like a woodland creature crawled onto the top of my head and died…"

"At least I don't turn into a radish after standing in the sunlight for five minutes."

"That's quite true, you can tan much better than I can… something _else_ you have in common with Shelley…"

"Oi, _that's_ the best you can do, Evans?"

"Says the _bloke_ who's bragging about his ability to tan…"

"Well, that's…"

"_Excuse me!"_ Madam Keepdown at last interrupted, and now that the two students actually looked at her, they saw that the unfortunate woman appeared rather frazzled. "_Really_, now," she went on. "I admit I was expecting a certain amount of passive aggression directed at _myself_, but not between the two of you…"

James snorted. "Clearly, you don't know us very well."

* * *

_I would like to say that things improved after that._

_They didn't._

* * *

The walk back to the Common Room was equal parts silent and uncomfortable. James tested the waters once or twice by clearing his throat, but when he did, Lily only quickened her pace, and he resolved to let her calm down on her own time.

He promptly broke that resolution as they reached the seventh floor.

"Oh, c'mon, Evans... I _said_ I was sorry, and you sort of hit me with a bludger in there with Keepdown anyway, so don't you reckon we're even?"

"Oh, perfectly."

"Then why do you still look like you want to set me on fire?"

"I don't want to set you on fire. Push you off a bridge, perhaps, but not set you on fire..."

"All right, I admit, it was a git thing to say. I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you..."

"No."

"Why not?"

They had now reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Lily at last halted and turned to face the Head Boy.

"Because you don't _think_," she said. "You just—you just say things, and you don't _think_, and it's frustrating. Just like with Shelley... oh, I know it's not your fault, but it never even seems to occur to you that Shelley acts like this because she fancies _you._ You have no idea what you..." Lily broke off rather abruptly and pushed the hair in front of her forehead back. "Aurors _died_, all right? People with families and friends _died_ that wouldn't have died if I hadn't helped Logan Harper, and I know that I did what I thought was right, but every time I think about it, I think about how I could have done better, and how I could have fixed it _better_, and for the love of Merlin, I don't need you standing there, sanctimoniously telling me off for it."

"I didn't..."

"And," she spoke over him, her voice shaking, "Now you're apologizing and acting as if it's nothing, and that just makes me feel as though I'm overreacting, and _that_ just makes me angrier, and I'm not going to say that everything's fine if I'm still angry, and I'm still angry, so I'm not going to say everything's fine." Lily exhaled heavily. "That's all." Then, turning on her heel, she continued down the corridor, beyond the Fat Lady.

"I'm _sorry!_" James called after her, but Lily did not respond. "Oh come... where are you even going?"

"Nowhere!"

"Oh, clearly. You're going to find Shelley, aren't you?"

"No."

"Yes, you are!"

"No!"

"How are you going to find her?"

"Leave it!"

She reached the bend in the corridor that led to another wing of the castle and had disappeared a moment later. James frowned and turned to the Fat Lady.

"If you ask me, Dearie..."

"Didn't. _Oddment_."

Compelled at the sound of the password, the Fat Lady's portrait swung open and admitted him entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Half the house had just finished supper, so the Common Room was warm and crowded. James had scarcely taken two steps, before Sirius and Peter—who sat in a corner, away from the spotlight—jumped up and started towards him. Sirius's book bag was slung over one shoulder, and both Marauders wore somewhat anxious expressions.

"You're late," Sirius accused.

"Long story," said James. "Are you lot ready?"

"Yes," said Peter, and quietly he added: "We've got the cloak and everything, so we can go now..."

James cast a wary eye around the Common Room. "Where's Carlotta? I should say goodbye..."

"She's upstairs, but the transformation'll start in five minutes," said Sirius impatiently. "There isn't time."

"You lot get started without me. I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall."

"_Prongs_..."

"Go on. I'll be quick, I swear."

"You'd better."

"Yeah, yeah, hurry up."

Rolling their eyes, Peter and Sirius complied, crossing the Common Room, while James proceeded up the staircase to the dormitories, two steps at a time.

Carlotta was stretched out on his bed with a book, which she at once set aside upon his entrance. "How was your meeting?"

"It was—fine," said James, distracted. "But I'm actually going out now, so..."

"Already?" Carlotta questioned. "It's a bit early for the pub, isn't it?"

"Remus gets to bed early," he replied quickly, but not too quickly. "Have you been up here this whole time?"

"Mhm."

"I never knew you to be antisocial."

"I grow weary with the stupidity of the general population."

"They're not as bad as all that."

"Aren't they?" Carlotta shrugged, and James bent over to kiss her on the lips. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? I _could_ wait up..."

"It'll be late."

"I thought Remus went to bed early."

"Mmm... sleepover." Another peck, and then James straightened up. "See you tomorrow."

If he had not been in a hurry, he might have noted the forced quality of her smile. However, he slipped quickly out of the dormitory none-the-wiser, and Carlotta was not required to maintain her false acceptance for very long.

(Thursday)

James was still asleep when Carlotta left the dormitories and stalked sourly down to breakfast on her own. There was something infuriating about knowing that her boyfriend—after spending the whole evening with another girl in Madam Keepdown's counseling—had then spent the whole night gallivanting about Merlin-knew-where with his lousy mates; however, if that had been the extent of it, Carlotta did not think she would have minded _too_ much. The _truly_ infuriating part involved going to bed alone the _next_ evening as well; apparently, Lupin had injured himself or gotten sick or _something_ (James was characteristically and annoyingly tightfisted with the details), and the whole lot of them had been off in the Hospital Wing till all hours.

To say that she was in a bad mood would constitute a criminal understatement, and so when Carlotta arrived in the Great Hall by herself that morning and found the—or an—object of her irritation at Gryffindor table, it was to be expected that an unpleasant situation might arise. Remus was eating a meal that could have fed two or three—a small stack of toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, and a large goblet of pumpkin juice. Apparently, trips like those from which Remus Lupin had just returned made a bloke hungry.

Carlotta sat down next to the Marauder, and he smiled politely to her, taking a large bite of a slice of toast.

"'Morning," he greeted as he swallowed. "Is Pr—James still upstairs?"

"That's right," Carlotta replied, rather coolly. Remus caught the tone and raised an eyebrow.

"Everything all right?"

"Rather not." She poured herself some pumpkin juice. "James told me what's been going on with you, and I must say, it's extremely selfish of you."

Remus froze, toast poised before his slightly agape mouth. He set down the bread. "He—he told you?"

"Yes."

"Well... what did he tell you?"

"Where the other Marauders go when you're home to visit your mum," said Carlotta impatiently. "How they sneak..." she lowered her voice, "down to the Village, and you all get looped, and frankly, I think it's appalling of you to ask that of them."

"I..."

"I'm very sorry that your mum is ill, but asking the boys to sneak around like that is just _wrong_. If they got caught, they could be expelled, especially these days, and, on top of that, I hardly think goblets and goblets of firewhiskey is a healthy solution to your clearly unresolved mother-issues."

Remus just stared at her. For several seconds, words failed him, and then he managed to reply: "It... it wasn't my idea..."

"Well of course not," said Carlotta, grabbing herself a piece of toast from the platter. Evidently, the fancy that _Remus_ would concoct such a scheme was ludicrous. "But you _let_ them do it. It's dangerous!"

"Well." Remus swallowed. "Perhaps you should share your concerns with your _boyfriend_."

"Don't think I haven't! But he does exactly as he pleases regardless of risks—_you _must know that—and he doesn't see how much trouble he could get into for something like that."

She spared a glance at the young wizard and saw that the shock of her accusation was wearing off somewhat, to be replaced by annoyance—even anger.

"I suppose you think it's none of my business," she went on, a bit defensively. "But I care about James, and if you cared about him, you wouldn't allow them to..."

"Good morning," Sirius Black's voice cut in, completely disregarding the fact that he in doing so, he interrupted a conversation. He seated himself across from Remus, and, almost immediately, Peter and James joined them as well—James sitting down to Carlotta's right, and Peter to Sirius's.

Carlotta trailed off, and Remus continued to stare at her with a mixture of resentment and—she now realized—hurt.

"Good m..." James began to say, before noticing the tension. "What's wrong?"

Carlotta picked up her goblet of pumpkin juice to occupy herself, and when she had taken a drink, replied hastily: "Nothing."

"Something, I think," said Sirius skeptically. "Moony, what's wr...?"

"Nothing's wrong," said Remus. He got to his feet. "Carlotta was just sharing her concerns about your activities the other night."

Sirius and Peter both looked at James. "About—about going to the Village so he could apparate in from his mum's to share a pint...?" the Head Boy said quickly, returning their worried expressions with a meaningful movement of his eyebrows.

"Right," said Peter. "Well, that's..."

They all looked at Carlotta, who shifted uncomfortably.

"Well it's _true_," she defended herself. "And you lot might want to keep your voices down—you could get into a lot of trouble, and I was just telling Remus..."

"That I'm being selfish in asking you to do it," Remus said, speaking heatedly over her. "So perhaps you ought not to bother in the future..."

Picking up his book bag, he slung it over one shoulder and retreated in haste from the hall. For a few seconds, the remaining Marauders were quiet, and Carlotta did not meet anyone's eye, staring intently at her nearly empty plate instead. Then, in unison, Sirius and James spoke up: "_Apologize to Remus_."

When she looked up at them, the witch was not sure who appeared angrier, but both had fixed her with intense stares.

"I will _not_," she replied sharply. "I meant it. It _is _selfish."

"I can't believe she just said that," muttered Sirius. "I can't believe she just told _Moony_ that, and so close to—to his getting back, he's not right as it is, and..." He appealed to James, who seemed to be in full agreement.

"You have to apologize to Remus," he repeated, deadly serious.

"Why? He's a big boy, I'm sure he can handle it."

"Oh, sure," muttered Peter. "Least of all, _now_..."

"Apologize to Lupin," said Sirius.

"Oh, so you're all ganging up on me, is that it?" The three Marauders only looked at her, very coldly. Carlotta rolled her eyes. "_Fine_." She got up and stomped away from the table, her posture fully communicating her disapproval. She moved quickly, reaching the marble staircase just as Remus arrived on the top step.

"Oi, I'm _sorry_," Carlotta called after him, and he paused. He turned to her, and he must have noted that her expression was anything but apologetic. "I'm _sorry! _Feel better now?"

"Sincere, that," remarked Remus sarcastically. "Really, _really_ touching." He looked awful, Carlotta noticed for the first time: exhausted, pale, and weary, as though he were just getting over a bad case of the flu, and it was possible that she imagined it, but a faint sheen seemed to have formed over his brow, like a cold sweat. For a few moments, she felt very, very guilty: "I've got an idea, Carlotta." Remus descended exactly one step. "Why don't you run along to your boyfriend and spend as much time as you can with him, because honestly, with all of this Shelley business and everything else, for some reason or another, I just can't imagine it lasting too much longer between you two. Cheers."

Then he disappeared down the first floor corridor; Carlotta's guilt had vanished; she returned to the Great Hall, silently fuming. The other Marauders remained sullen throughout the remainder of breakfast.

(The Ravenclaws)

"Well I've snogged 'em both," said Charlie Plex, taking a bite of bacon and not bothering to cover his mouth as he chewed. "And all I can say, is if it was me, I'd take Meloni over Mumps any day."

Donovan Atwater, Charlie's friend and companion at Ravenclaw table that morning, snorted, but at least waited until he'd swallowed his food to reply. "'Suppose so. 'Reckon Meloni's a better shag, too."

"Oh, sure," said Charlie. "Practice makes perfect, right?"

"You've never had Carlotta though, so you don't _know_. Anyway..." Atwater shrugged; "Mumps has that 'Maybe a Virgin' thing going for her. I won't say it's not a bit of a turn on."

"Believe me..." Charlie took a gulp of pumpkin juice. "Mumps is no virgin."

"Yeah, but she looks like it." Atwater licked his lips and raised his eyebrows, an expression that made Charlie smirk. "I wouldn't be surprised if Potter decided to have a go with Mumps."

Charlie looked skeptical. "Two galleons he doesn't. Hand over the pudding, will..."

"I'll take that bet," someone else cut in before Charlie could finish his request of Donovan, and the two Ravenclaws looked over their shoulder to see a fifth year Slytherin by the name of Mundungus Fletcher standing there. He appeared as though he had just been passing by the Ravenclaw table, but had now stopped with every intention of taking Charlie Plex up on the throw-away bet.

"Er... what?" said Atwater, eyeing Fletcher distrustfully.

"I'll take the bet," said the Slytherin. "Two galleons, y'said?"

"You'll do anything for a sickle, won't you, Fletcher?" said Charlie, and he rolled his eyes. "I wasn't serious."

"Well," said Fletcher, a short, ginger boy with features that seemed a little too large for his face. "If ya think you're wrong, mate, I won' mind takin' the other end of the bet."

"It's not a bet," sniffed Charlie. "I wasn't even speaking to you."

Mundungus shrugged and looked to Donovan Atwater. "And you?"

"He's not going to take you're stupid bet, Fletcher."

"All right," said Atwater. "Two galleons, was it?" Charlie looked at his friend incredulously, and Atwater shrugged. "What's two galleons?"

"That's the spirit, mate," said Mundungus. "What's a pair of galleons to a Plex and an Atwater, yes? Now. What're we bettin' on?"

Charlie and Donovan both looked at the Slytherin again, eyebrows raised. "Are you mental? You don't even know what you're betting on?"

Mundungus shrugged. "Like ya say, I'll do anythin' for the chance to fetch a sickle."

"Two galleons," Atwater corrected. "And we're betting on whether Potter ends up getting Shelley Mumps in the sack."

A derisive "Ha!" cut into their conversation. Valerie Turpin, who had recently taken the seat across from Charlie and Donovan, now wore an expression of revulsion. "As if any sensible bloke would touch that twat." She paused. "Literally."

"Tell me about it," said Charlie.

The other three looked at him. "Seriously, mate?" said Donovan.

"What?" He grinned. "She seduced me. I'm irresistible."

Prudence Daly, who sat to Donovan Atwater's left, rolled her eyes and chipped in with: "You're despicable, Charlie Plex."

"No one asked you, Mouse."

"Oi, don't pick on Prudence," said Valerie.

"All very int'resting, this is," said Mundungus. "But am I bettin' for or against Mumps?"

"Against," chorused Valerie and Atwater.

"You're not even in this, Turpin," Charlie pointed out, and to Mundungus he added: "I'll put two galleons down for Meloni."

"_I'll_ put two for Carlotta Meloni as well," said Valerie.

Sabrina Barbery, who sat next to Valerie, turned away from her faltering conversation with a sixth year boy and took interest in the other dialog at hand. "_What _about Carlotta Meloni now?"

"They're betting on whether or not James Potter sticks with Carlotta or starts seeing Shelley Mumps," said Prudence.

"Seein' or _shaggin_'?" Mundungus wanted to know.

"Crass," remarked Sabrina. "I'll put a galleon or two on Shelley, if you're still taking bets."

"_Sabrina_," Valerie reprimanded her housemate coldly. "After what that tart did to poor Clancy Goshawk?"

Sabrina shrugged. "We're betting, Love, not _voting_, and you did your job too well. Carlotta's reputation isn't what it used to be." She turned to the girl seated to her right. "Wouldn't you say, Alexa?"

"What are you talking about?" asked the confused Alexa Kyle.

"Carlotta Meloni and Shelley Mumps. Val here thinks..."

Mundungus, meanwhile, looked extremely thoughtful.

* * *

Carlotta sat down next to James in Transfiguration that afternoon, and the other Marauders immediately drew away: Remus picked up his book, and Sirius and Peter leaned back in their desks, as if nervous that she might infect them with something airborne. The gesture was not lost on Carlotta at all, but more offensive still was the fact that James did not even look up when she sat down.

"You're still cross with me then, are you?" she whispered, so that it went unheard by the rest of the chattering class.

"No, I'm not cross with you," said James sarcastically. "Why would I be cross with you?"

"That's a good question," she retorted. "I don't think I've done anything wrong."

"And _that_ right there is why I'm cross with you."

"Oh, come off it! I _apologized_." She glanced at Remus, grateful he did not seem to hear this conversation.

"And judging by the fact that you just said 'I don't think I've done anything wrong,' I'd say it was one heartfelt apology, too."

"Would you like me to do it again?" Carlotta snapped.

"Would it matter if I did?"

Carlotta scowled. "Fine. _Remus!_"

Remus looked up at her.

"I'm _sorry_," she said, recognizing that her voice sounded a bit strangled. "I really am."

"Brilliant," said Remus; he returned to his book. James rolled his eyes.

"You really just don't understand it, do you?" he whispered furiously.

"No, I _really_ don't."

"They're my _best mates_, Carlotta."

Carlotta's eyes narrowed. "And I'm—what? Just the girl you sleep with?"

"That's not what I meant."

"That's how it sounded."

"I'm sorry: have _I_ done something wrong now?" asked James. "Because I thought I was just standing up for my mate."

"Well you should be standing up for _me_."

"But you're _wrong_," said James simply. He could not comprehend the lack of understanding between them. "And you..." he lowered his voice even more, "you _hurt_ Remus, and if he'd done the same to you, I'd say this to him."

He watched her, waiting for some kind of response, but she had none, for she knew he was right. It wasn't as if he hadn't proven himself so far, and she ought to have said something, but—oh what was _wrong_ with her? Professor McGonagall entered the classroom a moment later, fortunately, and her implicit demand for silence spared Carlotta from answering her boyfriend.

* * *

"Come again?" said Lily, arching her eyebrows. She did not particularly like any interruption on her way to luncheon, and so it took the realization of _years_ of practiced politeness not to tell Mundungus Fletcher to stop impeding her path to the Great Hall and speak to her again when she'd put food in her stomach.

"I said, would ya care to place a bet, Evans?"

"A bet on what, Fletch?" She shifted her weight, hiking up the strap of her book bag and moving the Transfiguration and Charms texts she carried from one hip to the other. Students from all houses and years filtered past her, fortunate that Mundungus was occupied and their own paths to food remained blessedly unobstructed.

"Meloni versus Mumps."

Lily arched an eyebrow. "Meloni versus Mumps. You mean Carlotta versus Shelley?"

"Yep."

"And what are you betting on?"

"Which bird Potter picks."

"Which one he _picks?" _Lily rolled her eyes. "Are you mental? Potter's already picked. He's _dating_ Carlotta; he's not going to off and dump her just because some other girl fancies him or..." She broke off and cleared her throat.

"'Don't matter much," said Mundungus. "There's a ten percent take."

"And _there _it is."

"What?"

"The reason you're doing this. Fletch, I've got hand it to you—monetizing gossip... it might be sickly brilliant."

"_Witch Weekly's_ been doin' it for years. How much shall I put ya down for?"

"I don't want to bet. And Potter's going to strangle you when he hears."

"Then I reckon I hope he doesn' hear."

* * *

"Mundungus Fletcher is taking bets on whether or not you're going to dump Carlotta for Shelley."

With this announcement, Sirius Black dropped onto the seat beside his best friend, who in turn looked over, his face frozen even as he was halfway chewing a bite of sandwich. He finished chewing, and said: "What?"

"Yep."

"I'm going to strangle him."

"Yep."

"Where is he?"

"Entrance Hall." Sirius began to load food onto his own plate. "I think Moony's handling it, though."

"What's he doing?"

"Lecturing Mundungus."

"And that's going to work?"

"Moony's an expert at a good stern lecture."

"I'm going to strangle him."

"Moony or Mundungus?"

"Dung, of course."

"Yeah, he's a git. And I really ought to point out that Moony's being an awfully good sport coming to Carlotta's defense at all, considering what she said this morning."

"Well what about _my_ defense?"

"I doubt anyone's betting out of spite for _you_."

"Fair enough. I'll go relieve Moony." James pushed his plate away and started to get up, but Remus took that moment to join them—with Peter.

"Mundungus Fletcher is..." began the latter.

"I know," said James

"Oh, Padfoot told you? Yeah, well he's moved off for now."

"Do I have to hex anyone?" asked James, sitting down again, as Remus sat beside Sirius and Peter beside Remus.

"No," said Lupin. "I told him you'd tell Devang Patil who really blamed him for trying to tamper with the anti-cheating quills before the exams last year if he didn't call it off."

"Told ya Moony was a professional," remarked Sirius.

"Thank-you, Moony."

"'Course." But Remus didn't really look at him as he grabbed a sandwich off the platter.

Sirius and Peter exchanged glances, and James shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Listen, mate, I'm really sorry about earlier—Carlotta had no right to say what she said, and you _know_ we..." he gestured to the other two, "don't think like that."

"Yeah, I know." He poured himself a glass of water. "It's fine, Prongs, don't worry about it."

"Yeah, but..."

"Leave it, Prongs."

"Okay..." He looked appealing to Sirius, who only shook his head.

Carlotta arrived, taking the vacant seat beside James. "Oi, did you know that Mundungus Fletcher was..."

"Yes," chorused the Marauders.

"Right."

"You're not angry?" asked Peter.

"What do I care?" said Carlotta with a shrug. She began serving herself lunch, but not before scooting closer to James.

(The Hufflepuffs)

"Twenty eight sickles on Mumps," said Meghan McCormack, and Mundungus scribbled something in his notebook.

"Odds?" he asked.

Meghan considered it. "November 20th," she replied eventually. Mundungus continued to write in his notebook: the date given presented certain odds to the probability of the outcome, and therefore dictated potential profit or loss.

"Any others?" asked Dung, when he'd finished writing. He glanced around at the group of Hufflepuffs gathered at the mouth of the corridor that led to their common room; three or four others took him up, though most rolled their eyes and good-humoredly derided the project. Sheryll Fleet's name was just recorded for three galleons on Shelley, when Reginald Cattermole and Mary MacDonald arrived.

They made inquiries, and Mundungus explained the somewhat convoluted arrangement, which made Mary laugh.

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to knock Shelley down a few ego notches," she said, leaning against the arm of the marble staircase behind her; "but you don't honestly believe Potter will take to her, do you?"

"Anyway," said Reginald, "It's none of our business."

"Quiet now," Mundungus replied irritably. "If they want to bet on Mumps, that's their affair..."

But a few of the Hufflepuffs began to look uncomfortable, and one of the boys who had wagered for Shelley asked if he could change his bet.

"_No_," snapped Dung. "You're in the notebook, and that's that."

"That's not fair," the boy protested. "I've changed my mind. Here—place the same sum on Meloni..."

"You can't do _that_..."

"But I..."

"Leave it, Elijah," said the girl named Sheryll. "I give Potter another week with Meloni at the _most_..."

"That's just what you _want_," Reginald argued. "I think this whole business is rubbish, anyhow. If James finds out, it'll be even _more_ likely that he stays with Meloni..."

"Potter _already_ knows and..." Mundungus began to say, but he realized his mistake a moment too late, for those who had just put their names down began to chatter in dissent.

"Exactly," said Reginald with passion. "So all of this betting nonsense won't make any difference! And how will you even measure the thing? If James and Carlotta get married and split in five years, I don't suppose you'll be owling everyone their winnings..."

"_Shut it_, Cattermole!" snapped Mundungus, but even Sheryll had begun to question the parameters of the betting, and Fletcher realized that he was in trouble.

With a hint of pride in his voice, Reginald continued: "You see? You can't promise there'll be an outcome any time at all—it's not as though you're _voting_..."

But alas, poor Reg ought to have quit while he was ahead.

(Saturday)

"Care to cast your vote?" asked Mundungus cheerfully. Lily glared at him.

"I told you 'no' two days ago, Fletch," she replied. "And why must you always block me when I'm trying to eat?"

"You said 'no' to a _bet_," the Slytherin corrected her. "This is a _vote_."

"A vote," she repeated, reluctantly intrigued. "On _what_?"

"Meloni versus Mumps."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "You're going to have to explain that."

"You pick one and cast your vote," said Mundungus. "The winner'll be announced after the Halloween feast, Sunday after this 'un. It's not _very_ complicated, Love."

"You're _voting_ to say which one you think... Potter should date?"

Mundungus nodded.

"You're mad," said Lily.

"Like a sphinx."

"_Right. _And I assume that you benefit from this somehow...?"

"Well..." He smirked. "Of course, once you've cast your vote, you're welcome to take a part in betting on the _outcome_..."

"With a ten percent take for you," said Lily.

"Twelve, actually. So—your vote?"

"I'm not voting, Dung."

"Wager?"

"No."

"Your loss."

"And when James hears about this, he really_ is_ going to strangle you..."

* * *

"This time, I really _am_ going to strangle him..." said James, nearly upsetting a goblet of pumpkin juice as he got to his feet.

"Looks like Moony needs to brush up on his 'stern lecture' face," said Sirius, and Remus rolled his eyes.

"It's not my fault Dung's got the loyalty of a Memory Charm victim," he replied. "Maybe Devang Patil already knows Dung blamed him for the anti-cheating quills..."

Peter, who had just arrived, bringing with him the news of Mundungus's latest venture, appeared as unperturbed as Remus and Sirius. "Well, he's in the Entrance Hall," he said. "Now's your chance."

"Brilliant," said James scathingly. He glanced at the other three. "You lot coming?"

Sirius frowned at his dinner plate. "I'm _famished_ at the moment, Prongs..."

"Ravenous..." agreed Remus.

"Are you actually going to strangle him?" asked Peter. "I mean, if there's _really_ a chance that you will, I'll come, but..."

"Don't bother," said James tiredly. "Quick reminder, though: you're the worst mates anyone has ever had."

Carlotta was arriving for supper just as James reached the Entrance Hall, and she accidentally impeded his path to Mundungus by standing on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.

"In a minute," he said distractedly; "I have to go kill Mundungus."

Carlotta didn't move, though. "Why do you have to kill Mundungus?" she asked suspiciously. "Not over those silly wagers, surely..."

"Oh, they're not just betting anymore," James told her wearily. "They're voting. Damn it—he's spotted me." Sure enough, Mundungus had just laid eyes on James. At once, he stuffed his little notebook under the crook of his arm, along with what appeared to be a small, square wooden box, and hurried off.

"_Voting_?" Carlotta inquired. "Voting for _what_?"

James sighed. "Meloni versus Mumps. They're _voting_ now, on which of you is better or more date-able or Merlin knows what, and Dung is going to announce the victor on Halloween, and their taking wagers on it."

Carlotta's eyebrows shot up. "You're joking."

"Oh no, this is my not-joking face."

"Oh, _Merlin_."

"Yes, well, you see why it's come to homicide." He tried to sidestep her, but Carlotta now moved to block him.

"Not quite—you're not really going to attack him, are you?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

"No, of course not," James replied. "I'm going to ask him very politely to stand still while I hex him."

"James."

"What?"

"Let him go," she said—half requesting, half advising. "Really, it doesn't make a bit of difference to me, and if it doesn't bother me, it _can't_ bother you." She took his hand, only to see that the beginnings of a smile had crept up on James's face. "What?"

"You _want_ everyone to vote," he told her, amused. "You're curious to see who will win."

"On the contrary," Carlotta replied, growing cool. "I find the whole affair demeaning, silly, and personally insulting. But if you go tell Mundungus off for it, it will only validate the thing. Shelley will skip about saying I made you shut him up, and that I'm manipulating you from following your heart straight to her." She stepped closer. "If you let them vote and wager, Shelley might win, which will make her insufferable, yes, but let's be honest—Shelley probably won't win. And if she loses, she'll be embarrassed and _hopefully_ shut up about the whole thing."

"Won't she be upset?"

"I doubt it—she can't honestly _expect_ to win, can she?"

"Terribly confident, aren't you?"

Carlotta shrugged. She tapped a passing second year on the shoulder, and he stopped, surprised. "Hello. Excuse me—sorry to interrupt, but do you know my name?"

The second year's bafflement only grew. "Carlotta Meloni?"

"Yes, thank you. And can you tell me who Michelle Mumps is?"

He frowned. "Does she teach Herbology?"

Carlotta beamed. "Yes, that's right. Run along now." She turned to her boyfriend. "You see my point."

"I see it, yes," James allowed. "I also see a dismal future for the next generation. I hope that boy wasn't in Gryffindor..." Carlotta laughed. "But admit it," James went on, beginning for the Great Hall again, Carlotta at his side; "you also want to _know_ that you've won…"

"I do _not_. Oi—hold up." She stopped him just before the Great Hall. "One more thing: before all this voting and betting nonsense came up... we were in a quarrel." Carlotta tilted her head expectantly, as if to add: _Are we now?_

James sighed again. "I'll apologize if you do?" But that he'd already given up most of his anger over the matter was obvious.

"You know I never apologize," Carlotta teased. "What if I say... instead, that I won't give you any trouble if Remus has to go home again. Deal?"

"Deal."

They kissed on it and went into luncheon.

* * *

"New _Witch Weekly_," said Mary, plopping onto her bed and beaming at the magazine in question. "I've waited my whole life for this."

Donna, who sat on her own bed that grey Saturday evening, Defense book in hand, rolled her eyes. "You only got it this morning."

"Stop spoiling everything," replied Mary, as she opened the front cover delicately. "It's been a long day of thinking and N.E.W.T. work, and it's evenings like this that I want nothing more than to sit back and read a bunch of nosy wenches critique Celestina's clothing choices."

"_Celestina_?" echoed Donna.

"Warbeck."

"You're on first name terms with her, are you?"

"When I'm holding _Witch Weekly_ I am."

Donna snorted.

"Oh, look, there it is. _Celestina pairs her magenta gown with avocado boots, and the outcome is surprisingly unspectacular_..."

"Why do you bother with those?" Donna wanted to know. "If nothing else, I'd have thought you'd have your fill of gossip with all this 'Meloni versus Mumps' business."

"Oh, that's a whole different type of entertainment. Have you voted yet?"

"_Yet_? Don't be an idiot."

"Well—oh, Honoria Marchbanks is having another baby—anyway... what was I saying? Oh, right. I voted for Carlotta."

"Shocking."

"What? It's _funny_."

"It really isn't."

"Certainly more entertaining than your rubbish textbooks."

"How many O.W.L.s did you get again, MacDonald?"

"Ha, ha, very funny. Oi, Isabella Creigh broke up with that Quidditch player..."

"Shocking," said Donna again, not really listening.

"And Everett Capshaw is..."

"Must you narrate the entire thing?" Donna interrupted, and she set down her book. "I only have a very limited amount of time to read Ramsay's assignment, and I've got to have it done twice, in case there's a quiz..."

"Well Marlene's doing her Transfiguration downstairs, and Lily's got Head Girl business, so who _else_ am I supposed to narrate to?" asked Mary petulantly.

"Literally _anyone?"_

"_Merlin_, Felicia is getting heavy."

Giving up, Donna climbed off her bed. "I'm taking a shower. You had better have this out of your system by the time I return."

"...Well it's her third child, so I suppose you can't blame her..."

Donna went to her dresser and began collecting her night clothes from one of the drawers. "I don't care, Mary."

"...But it pretty much kills the last hope that she'd be back on the Harpies anytime soon..."

"_Don't care!_" Donna chanted.

"...Not that anyone's realistically thought she'd go back since she married that Canadian…"

"_Still don't care!"_

"But it's still sad. Oh, look, another piece on Celestina's shoes..."

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" Donna selected the ideal pajamas and closed the drawer with her hip.

"...And the Minister's marriage seems to be in trouble again. Of course. Merlin, I loathe politics..."

Donna actually laughed at that as she moved into the lavatory. She stopped in front of the mirror to undo the tie in her hair.

"Hullo, Mary," said a new voice, and Donna peaked out to see Lily entering. "Hullo, Donna," the Head Girl added, spotting her.

"What are you doing in here, Dormitory Traitor?" asked Mary, not looking up from her magazine. "And did you know that Felicia Fray...?"

"Had her third?" said Lily, heading towards Marlene's trunk. "Yep. She looks fantastic."

"She looks awful."

"You're too judgmental."

"She won't be playing Quidditch any time soon..."

"Rubbish, she promised she'd be back next season..."

"Ha."

"You both disgust me," said Donna, and she returned to the battle with her hair tie, which seemed to be stuck in her extensive curls.

"But look at her," Mary went on. "She's gained weight, you can't deny it."

Lily had started rummaging through Marlene's book bag, which sat on her trunk, and shrugged in response to Mary. "Well she's been carrying a baby in her for months, what do you expect?"

"I thought you had Head Girl rubbish!" called Donna from the other room.

"'Finished—McGonagall just wanted to speak with Potter and me. We're supposed to decorate the Great Hall for Halloween next week."

"Jolly."

"Riveting, to be sure." Lily began rummaging around in Marlene's book bag. "Anyway, I wanted to see what Marlene wrote about Coloring Charms..."

"Oh, engagements: my favorite," Mary went on with her magazine. "Celestina and Hollis Smoot. I thought they were already engaged. Merlin, I'm out of touch."

"With something, yes," agreed Donna.

"...Who in Merlin's name is Abigail Minchen? A second stringer for the Wanderers? Honestly, the people that make the news these days..."

"That's not the news, MacDonald. That's _Witch Weekly."_

"The notes are definitely not here. She _said_ they were in her bag..."

"There's a picture of Narcissa Black's engagement ring... Merlin, I wish I were rich..."

"...Maybe they're in the desk?"

"Who's Delia Greengrass?"

"_We don't caaare_."

"Yes, but who _is_ she? They can't just put names in _Witch Weekly _and expect everyone to know!"

"You always know, though, Mary. Maybe she put them in her trunk..."

"Who put what in her trunk?"

"Marlene put her notes."

"Oh, you're still on about that. But really, I'm curious about this Delia Greengrass bird. They must have a picture her somewhere..."

"Honestly, MacDonald, if you spent just half the energy on school that you devote to those silly celebrities of yours..."

"Damn it, Marlene, you _said_ they were in your bag..."

"...You'd be almost as clever as I am."

"Delia Greengrass. Delia Greengrass. Delia Greengrass... the name doesn't sound terribly familiar. Oh, there it is—oh, she works for the Ministry..."

"_Almost_."

"Boring."

"Oh, never mind it—Donna, can I borrow _your_ notes? I can't find Marlene's anywhere..."

"Mmm, but don't wrinkle the parchment... Goddamn hair tie—it's stuck..."

"Well I hope she's cute at least, you know?"

"Try a loosening charm, Donna. Where are your notes?"

"Next to the bed..."

"I _said, _I hope she's cute at least, you _know_?"

"Which bed?"

"Is anyone listening to me?"

"_My_ bed, of course."

"Oh, of course..."

"No one's listening to me, are they?"

"...Because in a room full of beds..."

"_I hope she's cute at least, you _know?"

"...We could _only_ be referring to _Donna Shacklebolt's_ bed!"

"...No one _ever_ listens to my stories..."

"_Finally! _Damn curly hair. The notes are right _there_, Lily!"

"Oh, I see them..."

"Rubbish mates, _you_ lot are. Never listen to anything I say..."

"Merlin's sake, Mary." Lily, having located the notes, set them down. "We _are_ listening, we're just a bit busy. Now what were you saying?"

"I hope she's cute at least," said Mary with dignity, chin high but eyes still on the magazine in her hand.

"Who?" asked Lily wearily.

"Delia Greengrass."

"Who's Delia Greengrass?"

"Some witch who works at the Ministry."

Lily raised an eyebrow and proceeded to tuck Donna's Charms notes into the book bag on her hip. "And why do you care if she's cute?"

"Because she's engaged to Auror Gorgeous," said Mary, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Distracted: "_Who_?"

"That Lathe bloke!"

Lily stopped fussing about her papers. Donna stopped de-tangling her hair. "_What_?" said the former. "Where did you hear that?"

Mary looked at her. "Oh, y'know, he sent me a personal owl ten minutes ago, so—where do you bloody _think _I heard it_?"_ She held up Witch Weekly. Lily jumped over Donna's bed and snatched up the magazine in question. Her eyes scanned the text for a moment.

"It says _rumored_," said Lily quickly, looking haplessly to Donna.

Mary shrugged. Donna, who had not so much as turned, quickly resumed her battle with her hair; she was only visible in profile, but her reaction was evident: she glared into the mirror and had rather lost focus of the tangles in her hair. Mary, though out of the loop on any subtext of the moment, noticed, at least, that some subtext existed. She looked from Lily to Donna, confused.

"I've missed something, haven't I?"

Donna ignored this. "Does anyone need anything from in here?" she asked, voice a little higher than usual. "No? Brilliant." And she shut the door. The shower could be heard a minute later.

"I've _definitely_ missed _something_," Mary concluded. "What's going on? Does Donna...?"

"Leave it," sighed Lily, tossing the magazine back onto the bed. "Agrippa's sake—why can't everyone just leave it _alone_...?" She left without another word. Mary scowled.

"Well if you people would just _tell_ me things..."

* * *

_Unfortunately, not voting in the Meloni versus Mumps did not spare me from hearing about it. I expected a certain amount of discussion about the whole thing from interested parties, but I wasn't speaking to James at the moment-not since our squabble during the meeting with Keepdown, and neither Carlotta nor Shelley eagerly pursued conversation with me most days, so I supposed the whole matter would dissipate from my social sphere long before Mundungus's meaningless Halloween announcement._

_I was tragically disappointed._

_Not only did the people with whom I associate who typically concern themselves with school gossip (Mary) seem to be involved, but two prefects at the next meeting asked me whether I'd "voted Carlotta," and when I very stealthily switched my patrol shift to avoid James, my partner—the fifth year Hufflepuff boy—said he had five galleons on Shelley._

_Curiously enough (or maybe not), at first, Carlotta appeared to care very little for the whole ordeal._

_Shelley, on the other hand, positively basked in it._

(Monday)

"I wouldn't _want_ James to break up with his girlfriend over me! It wouldn't—it wouldn't _feel_ right. Of course, yes, we have this—this connection, and I think—I _believe_ he feels that too, but... who _knows_ what the future will bring? If Carlotta's the one he wants to be with right now... well that's right now. And maybe—I don't know—maybe someday, the stars will align and..."

"Michelle Mumps, did you really skip Care of Magical Creatures to campaign in the loo?" Marlene Price interrupted, and Shelley jumped a little. The third year girls standing around her at the tap of the second floor lavatory similarly snapped out of the spell cast by Shelley's dreamy tone, and as such, they were reminded of other obligations and scattered quickly.

Shelley scowled and resumed the application of eyeliner that had been interrupted by the arrival of the third years.

"I didn't skive off for that, and I wasn't _campaigning_," she replied. "I just ran into a few curious children..."

"_This connection... I believe he feels that too..._" Marlene mimicked, pulling mascara out of her own book bag and stepping over to the available mirror beside Shelley's.

"Oh sod off..."

"No, I'm curious—what connection _is_ that, Shelley? Did you step on his shoelaces?"

Shelley huffed. "Oh, all right, I was campaigning a little. But you have to admit, it will be a joy to watch Carlotta officially lose the only substantial thing she's ever had: popularity."

"Does she at least have a functioning definition of the word 'substantial?'"

Shelley stuck out her tongue. "What's the Care of Magical Creatures homework, anyway?"

"I'm not allowed to tell," Marlene chanted, applying her mascara. "_I_ voted for Carlotta."

"_You _voted?"

"Yes, although Mary _actually_ cast the vote. I stood idly by and thus enabled her."

Shelley snorted and began to put her cosmetics away. "I don't see how you _could_; _Carlotta_ stole _your_ boyfriend, after all."

"Carlotta didn't _steal_ Miles," Marlene replied wryly. "He just sort of... wandered away."

"Well so did Stebbins."

"Yes, but much more recently. The wound's still fresh for her."

"I don't see why everyone gives Carlotta a free pass for everything," said Shelley resentfully. "Everyone just laughs it off because _that's just Carlotta_. I don't see _why_."

"Don't you? You did it for years." Shelley rolled her eyes and walked to the door. Marlene stopped her. "In the interest of fair warning, there are two things you should know, Shell. First, that Carlotta's already won this stupid competition, because she doesn't _care_. So, whatever the outcome, she's still the winner. Secondly... Chapter four."

Shelley blinked. "Chapter four?"

"Care of Magical Creatures homework. Read chapter four. There's likely to be a quiz."

* * *

_By Monday evening, Shelley had doubled her efforts. There were rumors of bribes._

_But something much stranger had begun, too._

(Tuesday)

"I hate teachers."

"Teachers need to die."

"I don't care if they _die, _exactly, so long as they leave me alone."

"If I ever become a teacher, punch me."

"You know, Moony," mused Sirius; "You might actually make a good teacher."

Lily, who sat with three of the Marauders in the Library Tuesday evening, raised her eyebrows. "Well you two are _adorable_."

Sirius thanked her, and then, less cheerily, added: "How much longer do we have to stay here?"

"You don't have to stay here at all, Padfoot," Remus pointed out. "You weren't _actually_ invited..."

"Yeah, but Prongs is at Quidditch, and there's nothing else to do. Might as well give this so-called 'homework' business a whirl." While he spoke, Sirius twirled a quill between his fingers. "Does anyone have anything to eat?"

"Oi—look!" Lily leaned over the table, lowering her voice; "There's Clancy!"

"Yes, but I think eating her might be frowned upon, Lily..."

Lily swatted Sirius's arm. "We should invite her to sit with us!" she proposed enthusiastically. "Don't you think so, Remus?"

"Your subtlety is astounding," Remus deadpanned.

"Look..." Lily began to point at the Ravenclaw prefect, and then dropped her arm. "She's even sitting alone. I'm going to wave her over."

"Lily, please d—"

"Clancy! Oh—sorry, Ms. Sevoy. _Clancy,"_ the Head Girl repeated in a lower voice, but she already had Clancy's attention. She smiled at the four Gryffindors and started toward them. "Are you working on the ungodly amount of Transfiguration homework?"

Clancy nodded, sighing. "I've barely finished half..."

"You should join us," said Sirius. "We're doing—loads and loads of work."

"I'd like that," Clancy replied. "Let me fetch my things..."

Sirius leaned conspiratorially over the table. "Wormtail, Evans—we'll wait five minutes, and then think of an excuse..."

"Swear to Merlin, Padfoot," said Remus through gritted teeth, "if you even _think_ of doing that I will never speak to you again..."

Sirius ignored him. "Wormtail—think you could fake a convincing illness?"

"...I swear will never speak to _any_ of you..."

Clancy returned, and the four of them all leaned back in their chairs again. Lily summoned one for Clancy from the table beside theirs—earning her another glare from Ms. Sevoy—and dragged it to the space between her own and Remus's seats.

"So how are you all?" asked Clancy.

"To tell the truth," said Peter, "I have been feeling a little off lately..."

"_Wormtail_."

"Fine."

Clancy refrained from inquiring about this interlude, but she sent a puzzled glance to both Marauders, and Lily quickly changed the subject. They actually _did_ begin to work on the Transfiguration homework, but the attention span of a group of five did not even have the time to break down naturally before a distraction of genuine interest entered the library: Carlotta.

At first, she appeared to be alone, but she'd taken two softly treaded steps inside when a Hufflepuff, Liam Lyle, followed her. He carried her book bag, and they spoke in low, library appropriate tones. Lily and the three Marauders grew alert. By the time they reached the first table, Carlotta had her bag returned to her, and Liam—grinning—had turned to leave. When he was through the door, Carlotta's expression became neutral, but when she spotted the Marauders, Lily, and Clancy, her smile vanished completely. She strolled over to the table.

"I know what you're thinking," she whispered. "But I'm not up to anything suspect."

"Does Liam Lyle know that?" asked Peter.

Carlotta rolled her eyes. "He's not dim. I was just..." She adjusted the strap of her book bag and considered: "Campaigning."

"Campaigning," Sirius and Remus echoed in interested unison.

She smiled—a real smile, this time, not like the one she'd worn for Liam. "Shelley convinced me that crushing her would be _oh_ so much fun."

"So," began Sirius, "correct me if I'm wrong, but you're... attempting to seduce people into voting that James should date you...?"

"I'm not seducing anyone," said Carlotta. "Of course no one's voting about who James should date—not anymore, at any rate. They're just voting on which of us they like better—at least the girls are. And the blokes are voting on which of us they'd rather shag."

Lily began to understand at last: "Is that why you kept dropping your books in the corridors today?" she asked.

"So blokes could pick them up, yes," Carlotta agreed. "They love playing the hero and all of that rubbish." The Marauders continued to watch her uncertainly, to which she shrugged. "It's not as bad as it sounds. Anyway—_you_ lot have voted, haven't you?"

They hadn't.

"Well thank-you for the support," said Carlotta sarcastically. "What about you—Clancy, is it?"

"Yes... that is, yes, I'm Clancy." The Ravenclaw nodded fervently. "But I haven't voted."

"You should," Carlotta advised, propping herself up on the back of Peter's chair. "You're Charlie Plex's former girl, aren't you? Well, then you have all the more reason to."

Clancy blushed a little. "I'll—think about it."

"Sure." Carlotta straightened up, taking a quick look about for an empty table.

"We're working on the Transfiguration," said Lily. "Do you want to join us?" Sirius kicked her under the table, but unnecessarily, it turned out, because Carlotta shook her head.

"With _five_ of you? No thank-you. You'll never get any work done." With that, she flounced off. Lily scowled.

"Rude," said Peter.

"It _was_," Clancy agreed. "Of _course_ we'll finish the work..."

* * *

_We didn't_.

* * *

"So, what do you suppose?" Remus wondered aloud, as Carlotta walked away. "'Think she'll win?"

Lily shrugged. "I think you shouldn't underestimate Carlotta Meloni. But," she added optimistically, "We _should_ prove her wrong and finish all of this homework.

* * *

_Not even close._

* * *

(Wednesday)

Carlotta was better than hair-flipping and invented excuses for showing cleavage. Carlotta was better than surreptitious touches and overt laughter at a stupid joke. Carlotta had a strategy all her own... mostly, she just smiled (brilliantly and convincingly), listened, and related. And that worked miracles—that made every mild flirtation, meaningless as it may have been, seem like maybe, just maybe, it meant _something_...

For the most part, there had been little strategy between himself and his girlfriend, and so James had only been on the receiving end of this kind of behavior briefly in the days leading up to his relationship with Carlotta. Thus, watching her work now positively enthralled him.

Dominic Callahan didn't stand a chance.

He was stammering when he bid his farewell to her outside the Potions classroom on Wednesday morning, but she acted as if she didn't notice his anxiety, until he was well down the hallway and she entered the classroom entirely. James was torn between amusement and annoyance, and so he came off simply wry.

"That was cute."

Carlotta smirked. "He hasn't voted yet."

"Ah. So you're campaigning."

"Successfully, too. Not jealous, are you?"

"No, and it wouldn't matter anyway. I'm having it out with Dung at luncheon..."

"Please, don't," she insisted, to her boyfriend's surprise.

"Why in Merlin's name not?"

She hesitated. "Because—because it won't do any good, that's all. If you stop it, everyone will think I've put you up to it and that I'm bullying Shelley..."

James's suspicion only grew, and Carlotta blushed slightly under his stare. "You _really_ want to let this play out, don't you?" he asked.

"Well, if it doesn't..."

"Yes, yes, I know, but you don't _care_ what the school gossips have to say about you, yeah? So there's got to be another reason you don't want Mundungus to quit it."

Carlotta knew he had her there, and she took another moment to select her words with caution. "If this thing goes through, everyone will have to leave us alone. Shelley won't go on saying I've stolen you. We'll be able to just be _us_, which we haven't been since the summer holiday. They'll _have _to let us be, won't they?"

"And if Shelley wins?"

"It won't make things worse," Carlotta reasoned. "Unless you—I mean..."

"Don't be thick."

"All right then."

James shrugged. "If that's what you want. Poor Dom Callahan, though."

"He'll survive."

Professor Slughorn marched into the classroom about then, followed by the stragglers who had been biding their time outside prior to his arrival. This group included Sirius, Remus, and Peter. The last three Marauders elected to sit two rows away from James and Carlotta, though, and this clearly bothered James. He made a face at Sirius, who stuck out his tongue in return. Someone better acquainted with their behavior might have noted and appreciated the general amicability implicit in the exchange, but as it was, Carlotta fretted.

Regardless, seating arrangements turned out to be irrelevant, as Slughorn decided to put them in pairs for that day's potion. They were to be working on Irregular Poison antidotes, and the brew required more than one set of hands, if the students were to finish before the end of class.

Lily sat in the front of the classroom that morning, with Donna, Marlene, and Mary, and they had just agreed on their usual pairing off, when Slughorn cleared his throat.

"I am afraid," he said, shaking his head sagely, "after yesterday's class with the fourth years, _I_ shall be assigning partners."

Just about everyone groaned, but Lily didn't mind too much, because—as Slughorn's favorite—she usually ended up with one of her friends anyway. And so, while the professor paired off her classmates—Stebbins with Kyle, Mumps with Patil, Atwater with MacDonald (Mary rolled her eyes)—Lily sat back and waited, anxiety free. James was placed with Remus and Sirius with Peter—the usual Marauder set-up for teachers who wanted to be liked but didn't want James and Sirius blowing anything up—while Carlotta went with Reg Cattermole. When Slughorn, with a nostalgic little smile, announced Lily's partnership, she experienced the strange sensation of feeling fourteen-years-old again. For a second, she was pleased.

"Lily and Severus."

And then she wasn't.

By the time the fact that this was, in fact, an unhappy event had fully sunk in, Slughorn had already moved on to Donna (Liam Lyle). Lily found Severus in the back row, and he wasn't looking at her, but concentrating on the preparation of his textbook and cauldron.

"Clueless git," Marlene whispered, referencing Slughorn. Lily sighed and began to gather up her own things.

"He doesn't mean anything by it," she replied quietly, while Clancy Goshawk was paired with Adam McKinnon. "He just thinks we're in some petty quarrel."

"Oh, yes, extremely petty—just whether or not you've got the right to continue your silly habit of being alive..." Marlene continued to grumble, while she shifted some of her things to make room for her own partner. Slughorn finished his assignments, and Lily joined Snape in the back of the classroom.

James glanced at her as she went—more than once—but Lily pretended not to notice. He was not the only one, unfortunately: Avery—Snape's friend from Slytherin—glowered at Severus, as if this were entirely of his arrangement. Mulciber, fortunately, seemed to be absent this morning,

"Hello," said Lily, carefully monotone.

"'Morning," said Severus,

The nature of their relationship was torturously ambiguous at the moment, Lily realized when she joined him beside the cauldron. They were not friends, certainly. She wasn't _angry_ with him either, however, and the recollection of amity hadn't exactly deserted her, though it was entirely nostalgia-based and currently unsubstantiated. Whether or not they were adversarial was the _real_ mystery.

"I'm surprised you let him pair us up," said Snape, his stare resting idly on the book before him, not so much out of dedicated effort to avoid eye contact, but more as if he could not be bothered to make it. "You didn't pitch a fit and stubbornly insist on another partner."

Lily rolled her eyes. "What in _that_ sounds like me?"

He met her eye this time. "The pitching a stubborn fit part."

All right: adversarial it was.

Slughorn had correctly calculated the difficulty of the potion, however. Snape and Lily were by far the best potion-makers in the class, and both were almost constantly occupied with their project for the next hour. Rattails were minced and fly wings ground into powder, the heat beneath the cauldron continuously monitored, and the coloration of the liquid checked every minute, so that it was not until the potion was set to simmer that the two had any occasion to converse about anything else. Still, when the opportunity _did_ present itself, both fell silent, at least at first. Their classmates still labored over their own potions, which suited Lily fine, because that afforded neither of their respective friends the chance to send them curious stares. Lily sat back and watched all of them instead. Snape read, keeping one eye on the antidote.

James stood with Remus, so the former worked with the diligence the latter inadvertently inspired: the white smoke drifting up from their cauldron was a shade or two paler than altogether necessary, but potions were neither Remus nor James's forte, and their result still appeared better than most of the rest of the class. Marlene and her Hufflepuff partner achieved slightly more success, and Mary and her Ravenclaw slightly less. Peter did his best, but he bore an unfair burden, for Sirius did not seem to care much for his own work. Across the room, meanwhile, Carlotta seemed to be attempting to chat up Reg Cattermole. The book-dropping, over-smiling routine that proved so profitable with Dom Callahan and Liam Lyle (and James, for that matter) fell flat when it faced Reginald, however, and the more he concentrated on their potion, the more obvious her tactics became. She was laughing loudly at God knew what when Snape spoke.

"Voted for Carlotta, did you?" he mocked, following her stare, and Lily started—not simply for the sound of his voice, but because it was exceptionally odd (almost disconcerting) to hear that question from him. She so completely disassociated Severus from the goings-on of _Meloni v. Mumps_. It was strange just knowing they existed in the same school (originated in the same house, even), much less that Snape was aware of the other.

"Of course not," Lily replied.

"Prefer blondes, do you?"

"I'm avoiding the whole thing, actually," said Lily. "I'm surprised you've even heard of it. You're scarcely around these days."

"I'm around. _You _are simply otherwise occupied." Lily crossed her arms and decided not to respond, but Severus carried on. "Of course, I can't blame you," he said scathingly; "There's so much _terribly_ important Head Girl business..."

"Speaking of which," Lily interrupted. "You've skived off the last two prefect meetings, and I've heard Colista Black is patrolling with her boyfriend." She turned to him. "Why's that?"

"Colista's not my type."

"Severus."

"I've been busy," he told her coolly.

"Well sort your priorities," snapped Lily.

Snape kind of smirked at that, while he leaned over the cauldron and gave it a counter-clockwise stir. "A bit rich, that, considering how your precious Gryffindors choose to spend _their_ time and excessive wealth."

"Mundungus Fletcher started it," Lily pointed out.

"True... I suppose it's fair to say they're all idiots."

"And you're above everyone, as usual," she replied acerbically.

"You mean am I above that sort of idiotic rubbish?" he asked. "_Yes_. And _you_ used to be, too." With ever-mounting bitterness: "I suppose Potter _loves_ the attention."

Lily rolled her eyes again. "And I thought you were the one who had him all figured out."

"You think he doesn't love it?" asked Snape, surprised. "And here I thought _you_ weren't delusional." More seriously, he went on, "He's a _git_, Lily. You haven't forgotten _that_, have you?"

"Believe me," said Lily; "I'm ridiculously capable of identifying a git. I think that's ready to bottle." She grabbed the glass vial fro the desk and crossed to the cauldron, careful not to spill as she collected a sample. The rest of the class had moved forward, and their potions simmered, filling the room with an extensive variety of burning smells.

"You used to be sensible," Severus muttered, while Lily scooped the potion into the glass. "You didn't use to want to be _that_ type of girl..." His black eyes flickered to Carlotta Meloni.

Lily corked the bottle. She could have fought him on any number of his points, but instead, speaking in a forced, even tone, simply said: "I'm still the same where it counts, though, Sev. Still a mudblood." She did not take the time to see whether her words stung him or (more likely, she thought) not, but promplty carried their potion up to Slughorn's desk.

"Finished already? Lovely—and of course, the two of you have brewed a _brilliant_..." Lily didn't hear the rest. She nodded and smiled to whatever he said, and when he'd finished talking, she returned to her space with Snape only long enough to collect her things.

"If you're not at the next prefect meeting, I'm reporting you to Professor McGonagall." She dismissed herself.

* * *

_To hear Dung talk about the thing, Sam, you'd imagine the entire school was voting—professors included. The reality was rather more limited than that, but I'll get to that later._

_The announcement of the victor, Meloni or Mumps, was to be made Sunday night (that's tonight—several hours ago, actually, for me, and probably two days ago for you, by the time you read this, but never mind). By Friday, most of us had had our absolute _fill_ of the both of them, and yet, there _was_ a certain amount of anticipation about the whole thing... if for no other reason than the betting. Some idiot was rumored to have ten galleons on Carlotta, although, in retrospect, that was probably a lie Mundungus told to generate interest._

_He started telling a lot of those. Fletcher will do just about anything for a galleon, and at one point, he actually let on that James had agreed to abide by the vote—that is, whoever the Hogwarts population picked, Mundungus claimed that James would date. Most people saw through this immediately, but I think it gained him a handful more votes and a bet or two. _

_Friday rolled in, bringing with it two events I dread absolutely: Counseling with Madam Keepdown, and the decoration of the Great Hall, which I was meant to do with James, under the supervision of the groundskeeper, Hagrid. _

_First: Counseling._

_Well, that could've gone a lot better._

_Perhaps in light of the fact that a student was currently taking bets over which girl our Head Boy should shag, Madam Keepdown decided that there was far too much negativity permeating the student body, and said that instead of spreading _bad_ things about one another, we should encourage positive energy._

_Nothing inherently wrong in that, I suppose._

_We were told to write down something nice about each one of our classmates, and when we'd finished, seek them out and report it to them. Naturally, we all did this without making fun at all._

* * *

(Friday)

"Shacklebolt has a lovely chest," Donovan Atwater told Donna, reading from the scroll of parchment on which he had written his "positive" statements.

"Funny," Donna replied. "Because I wrote, _Atwater has a lovely purple eye_."

The Ravenclaw frowned. "No, I don't."

"Yes, well, give me a minute."

Donovan looked down at the parchment again, pretending to read: "Too bad she is also an intolerable bitch."

"Move along, Atwater."

He did so, stepping aside and stopping in front of the next closest person. Unlike Donna, Atwater had actually written something on his scroll of parchment—whether he had fulfilled the assignment's terms and written one for _everyone_ in the classroom, she did not know, but she could see the scribbling on his page, whereas her own sheet of parchment was decidedly bare. So far, she'd satisfactorily avoided anyone whose name she didn't know, and she hoped to wait out the clock before running out of people whose names she _did_ know.

Dodging a Hufflepuff girl called either Dora or Nancy, Donna nudged her way through the crowd until she found Lily, who had just finished telling Kevin Scherbatsky that he had very nice eyes.

"Me next," said Donna mockingly. She imitated reading from her parchment: "Lily Evans makes a very neat plait."

"Donna Shacklebolt is tidy, due to her low tolerance for things that are not her existing in her vicinity," Lily replied. Donna nodded in agreement. "You didn't write anything, did you?" said Lily.

"No."

"I drew a picture of a cat."

Lily showed her the picture.

"Not bad."

"It was supposed to be Ira, but it ended up too skinny."

"Yeah, I see that."

They looked at the cat for a moment.

"We ought to go tell other people what beautiful human beings they are," Lily supposed after a while.

"The shock of hearing those words from my mouth might kill them," Donna reasoned. "My goal is not insulting them."

"So decent."

"I try."

They went their separate ways, and Donna very shortly bumped into Carlotta.

"Carlotta Meloni has admirable health habits."

Carlotta raised her eyebrows. "What a coincidence," she said, holding out her own paper and pointing to the sentence labeled with Donna's name. Donna squinted to interpret it:

"She is physically strong and eats well."

"Mhm."

"I wonder if that's the nicest thing anyone has to say about me."

"I wouldn't complain," Carlotta told her. "The word 'whore' has been in at least three of the descriptions I've been given."

"Does that surprise you?"

"Not really," said Carlotta neutrally. "I was _hoping_ to get a little more _positive _energy, though."

Donna snorted. "You mean you were hoping to get more people to vote for you."

"_Positive energy_."

"Call it what you like." Donna folded her arms and shook her head. "It's beyond me why you even care about the stupid thing. The only good thing about you all these years is that you couldn't possibly care less if people liked you or not."

"And my dietary habits," Carlotta reminded her. "Anyway, I have my reasons, that's all. _You_ wouldn't understand."

"Probably not," Donna agreed. "Potter's not my type."

Carlotta laughed. "_You_ have a type?"

"Yes, _I have a type,_" she replied, scowling. "My type just happens to be older... and engaged, apparently."

"Ah." Carlotta nodded understandingly. "I had that phase, as well."

"Still, I'd never stoop to _this_ level for a bloke. No matter how old and how engaged."

"Well, it's not really for a bloke, is it?" said Carlotta, glancing across the room to where her boyfriend stood—avoiding the assignment and chatting with Reg Cattermole. "Although... what a bloke..."

"So this is about annoying Shelley, then?" asked Donna. "In that case, I could potentially stoop to this level... if it were to annoy someone I _really_ despised."

"I don't _despise_ Shelley..." said Carlotta passionately. "I just—you know... want to..."

"Destroy her."

"Figuratively."

"If you say so."

A few minutes later, Madam Keepdown requested that everyone finish their compliment exchange as soon as possible, which, of course, the class understood to mean they could quit pretending and sit down already. As they moved back to the desks along the perimeter of the chamber, however, Keepdown took them all by surprise, asking that they pass their lists in to her.

Roughly half of the seventh years appeared extremely uneasy at this, but there was nothing to be done. Neither Donna nor Lily objected to handing in their own adaptations of the assignment, but many of the others who had similarly failed to actually generate written lists, didn't bother. Furious, the pitiable Madam Keepdown dismissed them all early.

When they walked out into the corridor with the other seventh years, Lily complained quietly—a sure sign that she felt guilty for clearly having upset Madam Keepdown. "She doesn't need to have a fit over it... we _did_ the stupid assignment, we just didn't write it down."

Nearby, James seemed to plead a similar case.

"Then why _didn't_ you just write the damn things down?" Carlotta demanded. "It couldn't have _hurt_ you, for Merlin's sake..."

"I don't know why you're angry with _me_. I'm not the only one who didn't write anything..."

"Maybe not, but you're the only one I expected better of."

James rolled his eyes, and he might have responded, but just then Sabrina Barbery slipped past Carlotta in the crowded corridor, muttering as she went: "Trouble in paradise, Meloni?"

"Sod off," snapped Carlotta. Sabrina smiled and shrugged as she hurried along down the hallway. Carlotta looked back to her boyfriend, but now he, too, was distracted—in a very specific and infuriating way, too.

"Ah, Evans, I'm _so _sorry I didn't get to send any positive energy in your direction," he said to the Head Girl, as she and her friends walked just ahead of him. "I was going to say how _gracious_ you are about accepting apologies."

"_I'd_ have mentioned how perceptive you are of other people's feelings," Lily rejoined coolly, and she quickened her pace to escape him.

James could not have watched her departure for more than a few seconds, but the moment stretched out for Carlotta. She took James's hand in hers, and he acknowledged the fact with a curious glance at her.

"I'm sorry," he admitted—she didn't immediately recall that they'd been arguing only seconds before.

"It's nothing," she said softly.

It wasn't _really_ for a bloke, was it?

* * *

Lily arrived in the Great Hall for decorating purposes precisely at eight; James followed precisely two minutes later. Hagrid met them both there precisely two minutes after that, and he carried a large wooden crate of carved pumpkins.

Lily kept her eyes keenly focused on the demonstration that the groundskeeper provided for the proper method of candle-ing each of the jack-o-lanterns, but it didn't prevent her from noticing the occasional—or not so occasional—glances that the Head Boy sent in her direction. He wanted to talk.

She _didn't_.

"Thanks, Hagrid," said James, when he'd finished the demonstration. "You know, you don't have to stick around if you don't want to. I'm sure you've got better things to do."

"Well tha's very nice of yeh..."

"But he has to stay!" Lily exclaimed. "I mean—you can't... leave children alone with... fire."

James grinned. "But, Evans, weren't you listening? We're not lighting the jack-o-lanterns tonight. Dumbledore or McGonagall will see to that tomorrow. We're just putting them around now. I'm surprised you didn't hear that—you were listening so intently."

"Right."

"Well, if yeh _didn'_ mind," said Hagrid, "I was hopin' to tend to the weeds in the gurdyroot patch..."

"At eight p.m.?" Lily inquired desperately, but Hagrid only sent her a curious look, as though he could not fathom what she found incongruous in that proposition.

"Have fun with the gurdy patch," said James cheerfully.

"Gurdyroot," Lily and Hagrid corrected.

When the chaperone had departed, Lily glowered at James, and, grabbing as many pumpkins and candles as she could carry at one time, sat down at Hufflepuff table and began to work.

"You're really not going to talk to me?" said James.

"No, I'll speak to you," she replied. "If either of us have anything worth saying."

James looked skeptical. Still, he managed to frustrate her all the more by joining her at Hufflepuff table. They worked in silence for several minutes, before he spoke up again. "Brings back memories, yeah?"

"Jack-o-lantern stuffing?"

"No. Y'know..." He waved indicatively at the hall around them. "Halloween. The Great Hall." Smirking: "All that's missing is a cigarette and a bad attitude." Lily made no response, and James sighed: "Or maybe just the cigarette."

An unreasonably uncomfortable silence settled between the two as they worked. When all the jack-o-lanterns (about two dozen) had been candle'd, they self segregated to opposite ends of the Great Hall to fix them mid-air over the tables. This functioned well as an avoidance mechanism for a time, until, inevitably, they found that a lack of levitating pumpkins persisted above the center aisle. Lily moved between the two central tables first, but James remained one aisle over, resigned to transporting the pumpkins a greater distance by magic.

It was then that Lily realized they were both being a bit ridiculous.

"I'll apologize if you do," she said.

James stopped abruptly, and one of the pumpkins he had been fixing into place came crashing down. It smashed across the stone floor, sending slimy orange debris in all directions, but James didn't pay it much attention.

"What?"

Lily repeated herself resignedly.

"Really?"

The Head Girl rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you're always surprised by my apologies."

"Mostly because you're always apologizing for stupid things," James replied. He climbed over Ravenclaw table to join her in the center aisle, while she sat down on the bench of Gryffindor table.

"Well I'm sorry for being nice," she said curtly.

"You're only proving my point, Snaps." He sat down on the bench of Ravenclaw table, and the aisle, along with the remains of the pumpkin, lay between them.

"I shouldn't have made fun of Carlotta," said Lily.

"And that's all?"

"Yes."

"Not the rejecting my apology?"

With dignity: "Nope."

James made a face, as if he were weighing his options quite carefully. "Fine. I'm sorry for being a git."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "Is _that _all?"

"Yours wasn't exactly poetry."

"Your offense was worse."

"Yeah, but you swore at me. Swear words are… at least ten points on the Necessity-of-an-Apology chart."

"There's a chart?"

"Oh, yes. This apology just struck just below the 'This Is a Hard Sell, You're Going to Have to Buy Flowers' mark, so… dodged a hex with that one, didn't I?"

"_Flowers_?" asked Lily. "What's a girl got to go through to get a bar of Honeydukes' Finest?"

"Well let's see... I think I'd have had to call your mother a whore or steal a personal, but not necessarily prized possession." There, Lily almost smiled, and though she did her very best to conceal it, James noticed. "So I won't jump to 'all is forgiven,' but is it a safe bet that at least _some_ is forgiven?"

Lily gave a noncommittal shrug. "I suppose."

James frowned, and tried again: "You see, the thing is, sometimes I say things without thinking..."

"Quite a bit, it would appear."

"Yes, but usually they're clever and charming things... not—you know, completely awful."

She lost the battle and cracked a smile.

"So—truce?" asked James.

"Well," Lily said with a little sigh, "I suppose you can't have _all_ the women in your life furious with you at the same time."

"You know, even my _mother_ was a little curt with me in her last letter? It's ridiculous!"

"Well, I'm sure you deserved it."

"I'll have you know I'm a model son," said James, faux indignant.

"So sneaking out to a protest and getting kind-of arrested isn't the norm?"

"It's my mates: you're a bad influence on me."

Lily actually laughed at that. "Oh, _I'm_ a bad influence, am I?"

"Rubbish," said James solemnly. "Most of the trouble I got into when I was younger was on your behalf."

"Loads of good it did you."

"There was method to my madness... it just wasn't the greatest method."

"You might have tried just being _nice_," said Lily, blushing a little—she hoped James didn't notice. If he did, he didn't comment.

"Ah, but where's the fun in that?"

The fun, indeed. Somewhat melodramatically, perhaps, Lily reflected that without _the fun of it_, there was an excellent chance that James would not have chased her at all. And, certainly, when the fun was sufficiently depleted, he'd found the girl who more or less held the patent on fun. She'd been quiet for several seconds, and it was uncomfortable again. She panicked slightly at this realization (was she being horribly obvious?), which only kept her quiet longer, until she could think of nothing else to say except: "You dropped a pumpkin."

James caught the unsubtle change of subject. "Yeah, I reckon I should clean that up." He rose to do so, and Lily took the little reprieve of attention to collect herself.

Flirting.

She'd been _flirting_ with him.

Bloody Shelley Boat.

"So now that we're speaking again..." said James, idly vanishing the pumpkin debris with his wand.

Lily focused on affixing another jack-o-lantern in the air. "Go on..."

James paused to ask it: "Did you vote?"

The question took her by surprise. "Of course not."

"Oh. Good. Thank-you."

"Why do you ask?"

James shrugged. "It just seems as though everyone is."

"It's ridiculous," said Lily. "I don't see why you and Carlotta haven't put a stop to it."

"I _want_ to," said James. "But Carlotta won't let me. She's got something to prove to Shelley. I don't really understand it..."

Lily nodded slowly, and now that the last of the pumpkin innards had been removed from the floor, James resumed the decorating process. "If it's any comfort," said the Head Girl, "I think Carlotta's going to win."

"Of course Carlotta's going to win," said James, without a hint of pride. "It doesn't _matter._ Even if she lost, it wouldn't matter."

"Of course not," said Lily again, and she turned to face James again. "If you're happy, you and Carlotta _should_ be together. You're—cute."

James smirked. "Cute: what every bloke aspires to be."

Lily was prevented a reply by another loud _SPLAT_. A second pumpkin—one of James's again—fell to the ground, this time slapping the Head Boy's back with a bit of candle.

"Perhaps we should reinforce these," said Lily. "We don't want them falling on people during the feast."

"Good idea. Actually..." James reflected, "I'm a bit surprised they let me do this at all, considering I once was responsible for setting the Halloween decorations to blow up..." Lily's eyes grew wide, and he smiled innocently.

"James."

"Yes?"

"You didn't..."

"Didn't what?"

* * *

_He didn't._

* * *

Though through perhaps the entire duration of the Halloween feast, Lily nervously expected the overhead decorations to burst, they remained decidedly intact.

"If I had my way," Mary remarked over the main course, when Lily shared her concern with her friends, "they'd be filled with sweets, and _then_ explode on everyone. It'd be much more festive."

"I'll pass that along to Professor McGonagall," said Lily. She poked at her potatoes with her fork, but did not eat them, a fact which stood in stark contrast with everyone else at Gryffindor table, who excitedly and with relish consumed the delicious food before them.

"You're not really _that_ anxious about the jack-o-lanterns exploding, are you, Lily?" asked Marlene curiously. "I'm sure Potter didn't..."

"No," said Lily, shaking her head. "I just have a bit of a stomach ache."

* * *

_Far more threatening than the possibility of being struck on the head with a pumpkin shard was, for whatever reason, the imminent Meloni v. Mumps announcement. Unlike many of my classmates, I did not have any money hanging in the balance, or even the prideful hope that my "candidate" would win, and yet _they_ all seemed to enjoy their meals a great deal._

_I'm not half bad at divination, Sam. There's a definite possibility that I had a premonition about the impending doom. Okay, perhaps that's overstating it a little._

_No one dies in this story. I want to make that clear_

* * *

Following an enthusiastically performed skit, courtesy of Hogwarts' ghosts, the Halloween feast at last drew to a close, and slowly at first, but then rather quickly, the students began to migrate out of the Great Hall, into the Entrance Hall. Lily, Marlene, Mary, and Donna were among the largest crowd of students, most of whom proceeded to their common rooms. However, a large minority, including Lily Marlene, and Mary, lingered; Donna did not seem to be in the mood for gossip, and she went up to Gryffindor tower.

As the Entrance Hall emptied a little, the details of the execution of Mundungus's scheme became more apparent. The little wooden box he'd carted about for the last few days, labeled _Meloni v. Mumps_ sat on the third step of the marble staircase, immediately beside its creator. Mundungus looked quite pleased with himself, and perhaps he had cause (if not _good _cause) to be so, considering the reasonably sized crowd gathering around him and the box. All told, about seventy students convened there in preparation of the announcement, and Lily was less than pleased to admit that she was of that number. James, Carlotta, Shelley, and the Marauders were there too—James and Carlotta hung back to one side, near the corridor leading to the Kitchens. James appeared completely indifferent to the proceedings, and Carlotta completely confident: not happy, precisely, but not nervous either.

Shelley, on the other hand, looked positively gleeful and had perched right near the front, closest to Mundungus. The other Marauders joined Lily in the very back, just steps from the Great Hall. Remus and Sirius were nonchalant, chatting idly about the ghosts' skit, even after the uncaring, non-betters had filtered through or stopped to watch, and Mundungus had called for quiet. Peter, however, was anxious.

At last, Mundungus's insistence that everyone kindly shut it was heeded, and the crowd grew quiet. Still, Lily leaned over to whisper to Remus: "This is _it_? The way Fletcher talked about it, I expected at least half the school."

"Maybe all the betters didn't show up," Remus suggested.

"Maybe the students aren't as hopeless as I'd feared," muttered Lily, folding her arms. Remus smiled, but they left it at that, as Dung was about to announce the victor.

"Now," said Mundungus, "First I'd like to thank ya all..."

"Get _on_ with it, Fletcher!" Donavan Atwater interjected loudly. "I've got nine galleons on this nonsense."

"Might want to watch that habit, Don," said Valerie Turpin cheekily.

"Sod off..."

"Oh get _on_ with it," cried another watchful better, and Dung cleared his throat and continued. He decided to get to the point, though, and with a proud smirk, lifted the lid of the wooden box. It fell open on a hinge, so that all could see, but instead of the many slips of white parchment that had been dropped in throughout the last week, there was only one scrap.

Those closest to the front perceived this first and began to complain, so that those further back learned of it fairly quickly. "I thought you were going to count the votes here," said Valerie Turpin, annoyed, and Shelley now looked a little flustered too.

"Too risky," said Dung solemnly. "I'm a nervous counter. But have no fear, mates..." He flashed them all a grin, "for this parchment holds our winner, and I counted the votes me-self—" No one's fears were relieved by that little detail; "—with witnesses."

"I'm a witness," announced Hufflepuff Liam Lyle dispassionately. "I didn't bet _or_ vote—I've got no bias. Fletch counted them just before supper, and I recounted them."

"_Really_, Lyle?" remarked one of the Ravenclaw girls disapprovingly.

"What? He paid me two galleons..."

"Get _on_ with it," groaned Shelley. "All this chatter is driving me mad. _Who_ won?"

(Continued non-reactions from James and Carlotta)

"As ya wish." Mundungus withdrew the parchment from the box. It was folded over, and, fully aware of the suspense caused by it, the Slytherin took a long time to unfold it. He read the name, which he already knew, silently to himself and grinned—probably for effect. "The winner—accordin' to your own votin' process..." (Lily could not help but glance at Carlotta and James again; only the latter came across as even a little tense).

"...is Shelley Mumps."

There was a universal exhale and then a lot of dissatisfied noise. Of course, someone must have voted for Shelley, and yet the majority of those who were heard seemed to be complaining. There was some celebration, of course—no one louder than Shelley—but Lily's eyes remained fixed on James.

No one had heard him, but he had actually exclaimed, "_What?"_ when Mundungus read the name. However, considering that this whole ordeal supposedly concerned him as much as anyone, James went surprisingly ignored. Those who had voted for Carlotta were arguing with Mundungus and Liam, and those who had voted for Shelley were all demanding their money, but no one, except Carlotta, who was speaking rapidly to her boyfriend, seemed to be heeding the Head Boy at all.

Until, that is, James silenced them all again with another, _much_ louder: "_What?"_

"Now, Potter," Mundungus said, "the votin' is simply a..."

James ignored him, speaking quietly—and rather angrily—with Carlotta, who couldn't meet his eye. Lily had no idea what was going on, but Shelley did. She pushed through the crowd of those who had been trying to get their winnings to James and Carlotta, who both ignored her, until she was right up next to them. Sirius, Remus, and Peter—also quite bewildered—made their way over as well.

"There _has_ been an awful lot of betting going on, hasn't there?" the blonde cooed. "Funny how things work out..."

Carlotta actually looked as if she might cry, and it would be the first time almost everyone in the hall would witness that, so people craned closer. Mary and Marlene joined Lily, but they seemed worried.

"What's going...?" Mary began to ask, but Lily hushed her.

James continued to speak to Carlotta, quietly enough that even those making a dedicated effort caught very little of what he said. Carlotta, on the other hand, didn't seem to be able to keep her voice down.

"I'm sorry, James, I didn't think..."

"No, well that's very obvious, isn't..."

"Now, Potter," said Mundungus, thrilled to have started such an exciting uproar; "...share your news with the rest..."

"_Shut up, Mundungus_," James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter chorused furiously. "I don't care what you told her," James pressed on to Carlotta. "I have a say in this, don't I?"

"A deal is a deal," Shelley said happily, hands on her hips. "And Carlotta said..."

"No offense, Shelley," said James, "but _SHUT_. _UP__._"

And Shelley shut up. So did everyone else. A deep blush colored her cheeks, and it was a definite possibility that six long years of illusions and fantasies surrounding this boy were swiftly decomposing in Shelley Mumps' mind.

James—with occasional help from Sirius—was saying something to Carlotta, but she only kept apologizing and stammering and not meeting his eye.

"Why in Merlin's name would you _do_ that?" James eventually demanded, loud enough for everyone to hear. The pieces had already begun to fall into place for those who were privy even to only the noisiest part of the exchange...

"Because that's what she _does!_" said Shelley, regaining her courage. "She doesn't care about anyone else's feelings! She doesn't care about anyone but herself and her own stupid ego, and it doesn't even—it doesn't even _phase_ her... it doesn't bother her at all when other people get hurt!" The crack in her voice betrayed the most genuine emotion Shelley Mumps had shown in weeks. She was right, too, at least in one way: James looked hurt. Both he and Shelley were watching Carlotta, who was watching her feet.

"I'm _sorry_," Carlotta said again.

James had apparently taken Shelley's words to heart. "Well that's just lovely," he snapped. "Because it's so bloody encouraging to know that while every one of these prats..." He waved around at everyone in the Hall, "...wastes their sodding time and money on a stupid popularity contest—acting like what _I_ think and choose doesn't matter at all, treating _you_ like bloody props, no less... it's so _goddamn_ encouraging when _you_ do the exact same thing!"

Carlotta looked up at last, surprised. "You..."

"Never mind it," James interjected angrily. His hand flew through his hair. "Never mind it. I can't make a liar out of you, can I? _I'm done with both of you_."

He might have stormed off, except that it was at this moment that Professor McGonagall entered from the Great Hall.

"What are you all doing in here?"

James slipped away in the confused attempts to either return to the dormitories or else explain things to Professor McGonagall. Shelley and Carlotta remained side by side, however. Carlotta's expression was unreadable; Shelley's glowed with satisfaction. The remaining three Marauders did not pursue James, but rather returned to Lily.

"What _happened?"_ asked Lily, though she was a bit afraid that she might already have an idea.

The three of them were pale and unhappy, which was surprising, considering they had never been Carlotta's biggest fans.

"Apparently," said Remus regretfully, "Shelley and Carlotta made a bet too. If Carlotta lost, she was supposed to break it off with Prongs."

* * *

_The details of this arrangement were related to me later. The deal was made on Monday, and it went something like this._

* * *

(Five Days Earlier)

Assuming, of course, that Carlotta's eyes were not playing tricks on her—and they weren't—it would appear that over the course of the last few days, Shelley had been wearing her skirts longer. The jumper was as tight as ever, but she'd been keeping her buttons done up, all the way to the collar. Her tie wasn't loose at all.

Carlotta had a pretty clear idea of what was going on.

"The innocent sweetheart routine might be more convincing if you weren't skiving off your classes." This replaced a standard greeting for Carlotta, when she encountered Shelley in the corridor outside the Charms department on Monday afternoon. Shelley rolled her eyes, vividly blue and all the more so for the chalky outline around them.

She was pretty—she really was, but not like she used to be. At least, not for Carlotta. She didn't—she didn't smile like she used to; she didn't use that voice, that was frank and understanding at the same time. She wasn't _warm_, like she used to be (at least, not for Carlotta). She was cool and neatly arranged; her hair was fashionably feathered and her lips coated in pale pink; she was thinner around the middle and you couldn't see any of her freckles; Shelley was _pretty_, but not like she used to be, that's all.

"It was _one_ class for Merlin's sake," snapped Shelley in reply. "I don't see why everyone's making such a fuss."

"Who's 'everyone?'"

"None of your business." Shelley started to walk past Carlotta, but then hesitated, changing her mind. "You know that you're going to lose, don't you? Mundungus's vote."

Carlotta laughed. "That's cute."

"No one _likes_ you anymore."

"It doesn't matter if they like me or not," said Carlotta; "They know who I am—I'm _someone_. You're just the bint who shagged Clancy Goshawk's boyfriend."

To Carlotta's surprise, Shelley did not appear offended at all. She only smiled. "Confident, are you?"

"You know that you don't have _anything_ to gain by doing this, don't you?" said Carlotta, ignoring her question. "It's not as if James is going to break up with me on account of your winning some stupid popularity contest. And the fact that you're trying so desperately to win is... is... undignified."

"Undignified," Shelley repeated. "I see. So, you suppose that you've really already won... because you don't care. Is that it?"

"Mhm."

"Not that it matters, because you also suppose that you'll win the vote as well."

"Too bad, isn't it? You always wanted to be popular."

Shelley would not be affronted, though. She continued to smile. "I bet you don't win," she said. Carlotta raised her eyebrows, not quite catching Shelley's point. "I bet that you lose the vote."

"Okay..."

"I mean, I'll _make_ a bet with you. And just to keep things interesting—how about some terms?"

"What kind of terms?"

"If you lose, you break up with James."

At first, Carlotta just sort of stared at Shelley; then she laughed again. "You're mental, Shelley."

"You're afraid?"

"No, I'm not afraid," said Carlotta. "I just don't happen to be an idiot. Why on earth would I make that bet? Of course I don't actually think I'll lose, but I'm not going to play into your little game just because I'm confident." She chuckled scornfully. "Did you really think that would work?"

Shelley's smile remained intact. "If you win, I'll leave you alone," she said calmly.

"What?"

"I'll leave you alone," Shelley repeated. "I'll stop telling everyone all the rubbish you've done in the past. I'll stop talking about you all together, and I won't try to break you and Potter up."

Carlotta's confident mask slipped, ever so slightly, but she maintained her composure when she answered: "I'm not worried about anything you might try, Shelley."

"_Really_?" Shelley took a step closer, arms folded across her chest and enigmatic grin in place. "So you don't ever think that eventually, your boyfriend is going to realize that _you're_ not worth the extensive trouble? Especially considering all of his _other_ options."

"I hope you don't mean yourself."

"I don't."

Carlotta sighed. "You'll leave me alone?" she asked. "You'll truly stop speaking to or about me _completely_? And James as well?"

Shelley nodded. Carlotta did as well.

"Fine," she said. "Deal."

* * *

Carlotta and Shelley did not move, even while the others scattered (no one sooner than Mundungus). Shelley was proud; her smile didn't gloat, as before, but it showed how _really _proud she was of the end of the affair. And one thing was clearer than ever: it had never been about a bloke.

* * *

_I was beginning to think that Snape was right. It's best to just huddle up and ignore all of this, because all of this silly teenager stuff isn't actually any fun at all._

_It's rubbish. It's pointless. It's a waste of time and energy, and people's feelings get hurt._

_Anyway, sometimes it seems that way._

_So, it would appear that we're approaching the end of Meloni v. Mumps. It would appear that you're almost free. But we're not, and you're not. If this were the end, I would hardly need to write this letter—it's not exactly something I'm dying to get off my chest, everything up to this point. Nope, we've just reached the end of the second act, and everything gets all mixed up in the third. _

_Of course, to everyone else, this rubbish, pointless waste of time and creativity was Meloni v. Mumps—two girls fighting over one boy, and the pathetic popularity contest that ensued. _

_But there's more to it than that. Loads more—you see, you should never underestimate Carlotta Meloni._

* * *

After the scene in the Great Hall, the crowd dispersed rather slowly, and Lily and Professor McGonagall were largely responsible for herding everyone back to their respective Common Rooms. Carlotta disappeared, to where Lily knew not. There was a great deal of chatter about what had just transpired, but there were also those who had the decency to look somewhat ashamed of themselves as they shuffled away.

Lily herself felt rather queasy.

The noise of the Common Room certainly did not help anything, but she couldn't deny that a certain amount of her general ill feeling was related to the deluge of mixed emotions raging inside of her. She found a seat next to the fire with Mary and Marlene, who were mercifully among those _not_ discussing the recently finished fight. Though they were quiet—with a touch of guilt—the same could not be said of the rest of the Common Room, and with the heat from the fire and the feeling in her stomach as if she'd eaten spoiled food, Lily realized she couldn't hang around there at that moment.

"Where did Carlotta go?" she asked, almost lazily, and Mary said she thought she'd gone up to bed.

Lily nodded and got to her feet, starting for the Portrait Hole.

"You're not going upstairs?" asked Marlene, surprised.

Lily shook her head. "I'm going for a walk." The second-to-last person in the world she wanted to see right now was Carlotta.

The _last_ person she wanted to see right now she encountered before she'd even left the seventh floor. She almost ran into him as she rounded the corner into the east wing.

"James!"

James didn't startle easily, though. "Evans."

"I thought you were upstairs," Lily said, not making eye contact. Nonetheless, she did her best to observe how he looked—which was mostly some mixture of confused and annoyed.

"On my way now." He frowned. "Is it unusual that my first instinct after storming off was to head for the Kitchens?"

"Depends on what you ate..."

"Buttered broccoli."

"Oh, perfectly normal in that case."

James was appreciative of that. "It was left over from supper."

"Left over? What a shock."

He actually grinned at that. "Responsible Lily Evans doesn't eat her vegetables?"

"I live dangerously."

"Ah." Of course, his humor was half-hearted just then. "So where did you say you were going?"

"I didn't, but... for a walk," said Lily. "It was just a bit noisy in the Common Room... because of Halloween..."

James laughed. "Because of Halloween?"

"Yeah, that was a stupid lie."

"It was."

Lily took a long time to ask the question that was both the most courteous thing to ask and something for which she genuinely wished an answer. "How are you?"

He considered it for a moment. "Not really in the mood to talk about it," he said grumpily. He didn't appear distraught, though.

"Yeah, I know," said Lily, relieved. She wasn't in the mood to hear about it, to be honest. "I let you alone, then." She attempted to make her escape with a quick step around him, but she hadn't even passed his shoulder before he pressed on, loudly and quickly: "You want to know the really, _really_ infuriating part of it?"

Lily sighed. Without exactly responding, she sat down on the floor, back against the wall, and waved for James to join her. As he did, she replied to his question: "If I had to guess, I would say that it's the part where Carlotta gambled your relationship on a popularity contest... which she then proceeded to lose."

"Well then you'd be wrong," muttered James through clenched teeth. "That's just the _really_ infuriating part. The really, _really_ infuriating part is that I rigged the goddamn thing."

* * *

_I won't lie: I hadn't seen it coming._

* * *

"You rigged... the vote?"

James nodded.

"I don't understand... you rigged it for Shelley? Why would you rig it for _Shelley_?"

"I didn't," said the Head Boy, a bite of impatience in his voice. "I rigged it for _Carlotta_. After we did the Hall last night, I snuck into Slytherin Common Room and added a bunch of votes for her. I didn't tell Carlotta or anything, and I don't know how Shelley won... she must have—completely knocked Carlotta off her broom in the voting, or maybe Dung rigged it... but that's..."

"Not the point," Lily finished, when James trailed off.

"Right."

"The point," she went on, "is that you tried to help her win... for her sake, so that everyone would leave her—and you—alone, and not only did it fail, but she somewhat casually threw away your whole relationship to settle a point of pride with her ex-best friend."

"Right."

"I'm really sorry."

* * *

_For the record, I meant it._

_Not as much as I wanted to, but I still meant it._

_Shut up, Sam._

* * *

"Thanks," James replied absently.

"Yeah. But... I—I should probably go..."

"Why?" asked James, confused, as Lily got to her feet.

"Because... because this is a really uncomfortable conversation."

James burst out laughing.

"Thank Merlin you found that funny," said Lily quickly; "That was a rude thing to say."

"No, you're right—you should go." He was almost still laughing, but he appeared as if he had a bit of a headache coming on, as he massaged his forehead.

"Thank-you," said Lily. "And—really. I'm sorry."

"Thank-you."

Lily took all of two steps, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she just left things like that. "Potter... I don't know what's worth, but—what Shelley said about Carlotta not caring... I mean, I don't think that she..." Lily frowned, and started over: "When she left the Great Hall, Carlotta didn't look like she'd casually thrown away _anything_. She looked... I mean, she... seemed... pretty heartbroken."

* * *

_He didn't say anything to that._

_Of course, I didn't really give him time to. I was out of there within ten seconds. But I could tell that he was thinking about what I said_.

* * *

Since James was in the seventh floor corridor and headed to the Common Room, Lily walked quickly towards the descending staircase, with one objective in mind: a location where she was sure that no one besides herself would have any business. Specifically, the Head Boy and Girl's office. Only James and herself—mostly herself—spent much time there outside of Prefect meetings, and with James thus occupied, she could be fairly certain that no one would bother her.

She was wrong, though.

"James, I... Oh."

On Lily's entrance, Carlotta had jumped to her feet, having been seated on the little sofa along the wall, but she faltered when she realized that it was not the Head Boy who had come to call.

"Carlotta," said Lily, surprised. "Hi. Oh, you thought... no... Er... I'll leave you alone..."

"No!" said Carlotta loudly. "No, you don't have to leave... it is your office, after all, I was just..."

"Thinking James might show up," Lily concluded, and Carlotta nodded.

"But I'll leave you alone," she said, uncharacteristically meek. "I'm probably the last person you want to see..."

_Second to last_.

"What makes you say that?"

"You mean this isn't as utterly uncomfortable for you as it is for me?"

"Oh, much worse," said Lily. Carlotta smiled, and the Head Girl took the moment to really look over her classmate. It couldn't have been much more than half an hour since the Entrance Hall, and it seemed pretty clear that Carlotta had cried. Oh, she still looked perfect of course—her hair still appropriately loose and free, her olive skin blotch-free, and her nose completely dry. But her eyes were a little red. That was how Carlotta Meloni cried, apparently.

_Of_ _course_.

"How are you, though?" Lily asked, before she could help herself. _Damn her natural instinct to fix things_.

Carlotta blinked—she was either smiling or about to cry. "Do you want to hear something awful? I feel—_brilliant_."

Lily bit her lip. "Yep. That's awful."

"I know it is." Carlotta was apparently staying now, because she sat down again. "It is, and I feel like absolute _shit_ too, if that's any comfort."

A little.

"...It's so terribly mixed up. I feel—I feel exactly as I expected to feel, partially. I feel..." At least she looked guilty when she said it: "free."

Lily's pity for Carlotta—for being part of what could only be a truly humiliating and generally degrading spectacle in front of dozens of classmates—was evaporating quickly.

"Then why did you want to speak with James?" she asked, not bothering to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"Well that's the other part of it," said Carlotta, kneading her hands together anxiously. "I owe him a huge apology, don't I? I need him to..."

"To make you feel better about yourself," said Lily harshly. Carlotta did not deny it.

"Shelley was right about me. Shelley knows me better than anyone. She's a bit like me, too..."

That was obvious. Even if this whole ordeal hadn't played out as it had, there was the matter of Charlie Plex and Clancy Goshawk to be considered. Shelley's idea of popularity and success was measured exactly as Carlotta's had always seemed to be. Of course—and perhaps she'd been wrong—Lily had always wondered if Carlotta's idea of popularity and success (which was based largely on having as many boys like her and as many girls dislike her as possible) hadn't been flavored—just slightly—with regret.

"But I think I did show you one thing," Carlotta said at length.

"Show me?"

"Mhm. About Shelley..."

"I already knew she was determined."

"She doesn't love James, though." It was stated so matter-of-factly—so very casually. "She'd never have done that to James if she loved him."

Which prompted the necessary question: "And you?"

Carlotta shrugged. "Maybe I don't. Maybe I do. It's a bit mixed up in my head. I think I do, sometimes, but then—if I had... I wouldn't feel like this... and I wouldn't have done what I did..."

"Maybe," said Lily. "If you thought you'd win..."

"No," said Carlotta. "I'm not talking about the bet with Shelley. I..." She hesitated ever so slightly. "...I fixed the vote."

Lily decided now was the time to sit down. "You—what?"

"I fixed the vote," Carlotta repeated, just as James had earlier. "For Shelley."

"For...? _Why_?"

"Because I panicked," said Carlotta, rising from the sofa again and beginning to pace around the small office. "I panicked about this whole thing. I knew it was bothering James, and we were quarreling about his mates, and I thought he was going to break up with me. Ever since we got back to school, I thought he was going to break up with me. Because I lied about Shelley, because of _you_... because of the bother of it all, with everyone gossiping about us, and me, and... I've never been broken up with before! Except Frank, but that doesn't really count. I thought he was going to call it quits, and then I took Shelley's bet... and at first I really counted on winning, but then... well, then I thought about what if I lost… and I didn't hate the idea. I imagined I'd feel free again, and I wouldn't have to worry about James getting tired of me and snogging you or Shelley or Sheila Vane..."

"Sheila Vane doesn't even go here anymore."

"I know, but it was making me mad," said Carlotta. "I'm not... I just... this isn't _me_. And it's more than that too... I thought, if James and I broke up—if Shelley won, than maybe I could... I mean, I know we won't ever be proper mates again—certainly not _best_ mates—but I would have liked for her to stop despising me..."

Carlotta dropped off pitifully, leaning against the wall next to the door. Even Lily couldn't feel sorry for her, though.

"Well then you should have broken up with him like a normal human being," she said heatedly. "You should have explained that to him... not... not manipulated him and treated him like—like—like a bloody chocolate frog card you can trade with whomever you like..."

"I know, but..."

"And not only that, but you actually made _sure_ Shelley won! Carlotta, that's awful..."

"I know, I know," she interjected hastily. "But the problem is that I _do_ like him. I _do_ want to be with him, I just happen to know that it's best and easiest for the both of us…and Shelley... if we're not together. But if I went and spoke to him—I'd never be able to go through with it! James can talk his way out of anything, and he'd certainly be able to talk me out of it..."

"Yes, but..."

"I know it was wrong," said Carlotta shamefully. "I know it's the worst way I could have done it, and I'm going to have a very long talk with Madam Keepdown about it..." (Lily rolled her eyes), "But—but, like I said, I panicked. I just..." She explained about Shelley's proposal, and her own dread of being dumped, her fight with the Marauders—specifically Remus—and again and again she attempted to paint an adequate picture of her mindset... either for herself or Lily, until at last, she seemed to have talked herself out. Then, she sighed, and so did Lily.

"Well that explains _that_," the Head Girl said. "When did _you_ rig the vote?"

"While you two decorated the Hall last night," Carlotta mumbled.

"Mmmm... well, James must not have counted the votes when he went in," reasoned Lily, more to herself than to Carlotta. "And the ones he added weren't enough to put you over."

"Wait _what_?"

Lily forgot that she hadn't shared that particular piece of information with the now ex-girlfriend of James Potter just yet. "Oh, he fixed the vote for you... or tried to, at any rate. After we finished decorating the Hall, he went and added votes for you."

All the color drained from Carlotta's face. Regardless of what she'd said about being afraid, for the first time this evening, Carlotta seemed genuinely frightenend... she was also stunned. She sat down on the sofa beside Lily again.

"_What_?"

Lily, confused enough by Carlotta's reaction, explained the whole thing.

"Oh Merlin," whispered the brunette when Lily had finished the story. "He—he wasn't trying to get rid of me, then."

"Of course not!" said Lily. "His solution to getting everyone to leave you two alone was to actually _get them to leave you alone_—not slink out of the relationship... Why on earth would you think he was trying to get rid of you?"

Carlotta stopped looking surprised just long enough to look offensively knowing. "Because of _you_, naturally."

It was Lily's turn to go pale. "Because of...?" She shook off the immediate fear of discovery and pressed on: "Because of _me_? What are you talking about? James doesn't fancy me. It's been ages since..."

"You fancy him, though," said Carlotta calmly.

"No, I..."

"The thing about fancying someone," she interrupted, "is that second you start to notice them, you start to notice how everyone else feels about them, too. Valerie Turpin fancies him as well, you know. And Colista Black. A bit of a shock that one." Dryly: "Sirius Black is in love with him, and also I'm not entirely convinced that Hufflepuff Cattermole doesn't fancy him also. And you, Lily, are on that list."

"Well, you're wrong. Not about Valerie or Colista or Sirius... everyone knows that, but _I_ don't..."

"I was so _proud_," said Carlotta, not really speaking over her, but not really listening to her either. There was a touch of disgust in the way she said 'proud,' though. "I was so bloody _proud_ of the fact that after all those years of _Lily, Lily, Lily..._ just like that, he wasn't after you anymore. And after what happened with Frank and Alice... well, you're not Alice, but I—well, I couldn't help associating the two of you. And I'd... confided in you..." (The image of Carlotta, glowing and excited, sitting in the dormitory, almost exactly one year before appeared in Lily's brain. _You have to tell me who the bloke is... And you won't tell? Of course not..._): "But you told after all..." said Carlotta softly. "The laughable part is that I didn't properly realize why I felt like I was—winning something, when I started going out with James. I thought it was some awful feeling because of Shelley, but—well, I'm sure it was. I can't deny it, I really can't, but nobody's feelings are entirely good all the time—sometime's we're petty and horrible. But it had to do with you, too."

Carlotta had an odd way of making terrible things sound less terrible. For a moment, it seemed perfectly normal that she would be saying these things... and then Lily remembered standing on the platform at Kings Cross and the rush she'd felt at seeing James and the crushing feeling of seeing him with Carlotta, and that reminded her how terrible it was. She rather wanted to punch her for making light of that feeling—to say nothing of the fact that Carlotta was now admitting that she'd privately reveled in the feeling… not only of gaining "victory" over Lily, but over her own best friend.

She couldn't punch her, though—not without giving away her lie about fancying James, so her hands shook with ungratified anger.

"Do you want to hear something funny?" asked Carlotta softly.

Lily didn't object.

The brunette smiled. "Shelley thought that if you ever gave the slightest indication of interest in James, he'd off and leave me in about a second." The color rose in Lily's cheeks, but Carlotta, cool as anything, went on: "She was wrong, though."

"Of course she was," said the other, falsifying confidence and nonchalance with everything in her.

"Of course she was," Carlotta agreed. "Because James is nothing if not loyal. And it would take a lot more than a slight indication to undo six straight years of rejection. And he cared about me."

"You've only been broken up for less than an hour, Carlotta," Lily felt compelled to point out. "I feel it might be a bit early for the 'Once upon a time,' past tense..."

"My point is," Carlotta patiently continued: "Of _course_ Shelley was wrong. But one _can_ see her point."

"One can?"

She didn't sound resentful or annoyed or hurt. Carlotta didn't sound any of the things expected of her, and Lily thought that it would have given her great pleasure to know that she was coming across very enigmatic. "There's always the possibility, isn't there? That my boyfriend wasn't very clever at catching slight indications?"

Lily's blush grew darker. "There were no indications to catch," she said quickly.

"None?"

"There was nothing to indicate."

"Certain, are you?"

"Yes."

"You know..." She rested her chin in the palm of her right hand; "You don't have to lie to me. He's not my boyfriend anymore."

* * *

_I lied anyway._

* * *

Carlotta shrugged; "Well, I suppose you've got no obligation to me." She stood up again. "I'll never understand it, though... if you want something, and it feels right, why _wouldn't _you pursue it?"

"I don't want anything, and nothing feels right," Lily maintained, annoyed. "And I don't see that it's done you much good. Frank broke your heart, and now Shelley's gone after what she wants, and looks where it's got you."

Sobering a little: "Yes. But the chase, Evans—it's loads of fun, even when it ends in disappointment."

* * *

_I can't be sure if she was trying to be condescending, but that's how it seemed at the time._

* * *

"And if you lose your best mate in the process?" Lily asked.

Carlotta frowned, but not very deeply. "That's the distinction, isn't it?" she said. "_That_ never felt right." Then, she smiled again—a lovely, full smile. "May I ask you something?"

Again, Lily didn't object, though she didn't know why.

"Who's your best mate?"

"My best mate?" echoed Lily. "I don't know. Donna, Marlene, Mary, I suppose."

"Those are your friends, yes," said Carlotta. "But who's your _best_ friend? Who are you closest to?"

Lily mulled over the question. "I don't know," she said again. "All of them, maybe."

"Don't tell me you're too good to pick favorites..."

"No, I just—I don't know."

"So you've _never_ had a best friend?"

"I didn't say that," replied Lily sharply. "Just that I'm equally close to my mates right now."

"Or equally distant."

"Do you have a point, Carlotta?"

"No, not really." She seemed melancholy again. "I just wanted to know. I'm feeling nostalgic I guess. You see, my best friend hates me now. It used to be that I didn't have boyfriends... real ones, I mean, because I always thought they were a waste of energy. Sex you can get without committing, and companionship you have with your mates. And mates don't let you down."

"It's not a bad philosophy, I suppose," said Lily tiredly. "Not your worst."

"What's my worst?"

"You hate girls."

Carlotta's eyebrows shot up. "I do _not_. I don't hate anyone: I don't..."

"Believe in it, yes, but all the same. You hate girls."

"No, I... well, not _all_ girls. Just the type who are..."

"Girls."

Carlotta grew a bit resentful, but not entirely: she couldn't _really_ hold frankness against Lily. "I thought you were the nice one."

"No, just subtle."

Carlotta sighed. She sat down at the desk now, and picked up the earlier thread of conversation. "But mates _do_ let you down. If they're me, that is."

Lily bit her lip, mostly to hold back an onslaught of retorts that threatened to pour forth. "Carlotta," she said at length. "Contrary to what I believed when I walked in here, you're not the victim."

"I never said..."

Lily silenced her with the slightest movement of her eyebrows. "The self-deprecation bit won't work, either. You and James really are a pair, you know, because he's as rubbish at it as you are. I mean, _really_..." Lily got to her feet and began pacing; Carlotta watched her, wide-eyed: "do you expect me to pat you on the back and say everything's going to be okay, because you lost your best mate in all this? Dear, I lost my best mate because he called me a mudblood in front of the entire school, so my sympathy for your situation is extraordinarily limited. And do you want an apology for not keeping my mouth shut about your kiss with Frank? Well, I didn't _tell_ Alice. I told _Frank_. And even if I _had_ told Alice, do you honestly, _honestly_ believe that you wouldn't have deserved it? And you're the one who's supposed to be all about telling the truth, aren't you? Of course, the absolute most pathetic part of it is that even after all of that, I might still feel sorry for you."

Carlotta's jaw was clenched, as she took a turn biting back her retorts.

"I'd probably still feel sorry for you," Lily pressed on, "even knowing about your stupid bet with Shelley! I can at least... _vaguely _fathom that! But I'm supposed to pity you after you come here and tell me that that you rigged the vote? I'm supposed to—supposed to be nice to you after you sit there and wield all sorts of accusations against me, and then—_blithely _mention how _brilliant _it feels to have broken James's heart?" (Carlotta started there, but Lily hardly noticed). "Do you know... do you know that I saw him not ten minutes ago, and I told him that you hadn't just—just casually tossed him aside? But that was wrong—just like you casually tossed aside Shelley. I mean—she was—was absolutely right, wasn't she? I don't know why I'm surprised, but for some reason, I expected that—that at least _Shelley_ you would care about... and then when you didn't, I thought, at least James! But, Agrippa's sake, Carlotta, there really isn't anyone in the whole world whose feelings you'll put above your fleeting whims, is there?"

"I..." Carlotta stumbled on that single syllable, however, and did not try for another.

"And I'm so—so _tired_ of making speeches at you. It never makes any difference to you! I mean—why are you even here? Trying to get some sympathy because you've carefully and meticulously alienated just about everyone else? Because you were embarrassed and need someone to feel sorry for you? Because James didn't beg and plead for you to keep him on?" Carlotta's eyes, trained on something rather behind Lily, flickered to her face briefly. Lily didn't—or tried her best not to—care. "Do you really need _that_ much validation? It's... it's stupid—it's _beneath _you, Carlotta."

Carlotta didn't say anything. After a few seconds, Lily stopped waiting for her to respond—even via facial expression—and, sighing, considered just leaving then. Carlotta finally spoke up when Lily began to turn for the door.

"You really think I broke his heart?" she asked in a small voice.

_How very Carlotta_.

"I don't know," Lily admitted, sitting down yet again. She found herself distinctly uncomfortable with the idea, but—well, certainly she'd hurt him, and if he ever found out about how she'd rigged the vote...

"I could be in love with him," said Carlotta, without the typical affectation of mystery. "If I tried."

"Then _why_ did you break up with him?" There wasn't really another way to put it, was there? Essentially, that's what she had done.

"I didn't want him to break up with me first. But if he rigged the vote, too—if he wasn't trying to get rid of me..." Carlotta frowned, her mind clearly working hard to sort out what it all meant—what it _could_ mean, _if she tried_.

"Well then..." It was difficult to determine which of Lily's opinions on the matter were founded on the fact that she definitely did not want Carlotta with James—on her anger with Carlotta for failing to appreciate the fact that _she had James_, and she'd cared so little, and on the little ache in her chest at the thought of him fancying anyone but her, Lily. It was difficult to determine if the sense that the right thing to do was for Carlotta to call it a day and leave the poor boy alone was based on these feelings, or her genuine, unselfish sympathy for James Potter. "...You'll have to do what you have to do, I suppose."

"If I didn't tell him that I fixed the thing for Shelley..." Carlotta murmured, "If I—if I apologized about the bet..." Her eyes snapped to Lily, and she cynically added: "But you'd tell him, of course, if I were to get him back."

"I'd hope _you_ would tell him," Lily retorted.

"But it would only hurt him _more!_ And if he fought for me—fixing the vote for me, then—then he wants to be with me, so it'd only hurt him to tell him that I arranged our break up like that! It could all be undone, if..."

"_Carlotta_."

"So you _would_ tell him, then?" she asked defiantly.

"I don't know," Lily admitted. "I might. I—I don't really know."

"That's not very helpful."

"I'm not going to give you permission to lie."

"It won't be lying... just—modifying the sequence of events..."

Lily rolled her eyes. "You'll do what you have to do," she said again. She got up to leave again, but Carlotta—still fixed in deep concentration on some thought that remained unknown to Lily—rose from the desk at the same time.

"No, I'll go," she said quickly. "It's your office, after all." She paused near the door, wanting to say something else that never quite made it into words. Instead, Carlotta only smiled again and, with a farewell nod, left Lily alone.

She went directly to Gryffindor tower, head high as she crossed the Common Room, careful not to glimpse any of those staring at her, especially Shelley, pausing in her retelling of the story to a few fourth years long enough to smirk at her. She walked straight to the staircase to the dormitories, and there she paused. For several seconds, Carlotta went back and forth in her mind, and then she climbed the staircase to her girls' dormitory.

Donna Shacklebolt sat alone inside. Instead of 'hello,' she remarked, "I heard you lost."

That was more or less the last straw. Carlotta made a face at Donna, then stalked into the lavatory, closing the door behind her. In front of the mirror over the tap, she took in her reflection. The sight would have made her flinch, except that she was prepared for the mess that stared back. Drawing her wand, she pulled her hair into a sloppy knot, before setting about washing her face. When she finally dropped the fluffy white towel to inspect the scrubbed, patted, smoothed, and dried face of Carlotta Meloni, she thought the improvements noticeable. She tugged her hair down and smoothed it, but only a little, because she preferred it just a little ruffled—natural and all that.

She achieved the desired effect in about five minutes, and then, with a deep, confidence-building breath, she walked back into the dormitory.

"Where are _you_ going?" Donna asked, as Carlotta—adjusting her skirt at the waist—made for the door.

Carlotta grinned at her. "I'm going to win," she said, and she left to do just that.

She knocked twice on James's door, before his annoyed voice called back: "Fuck off, please."

"It's me," said Carlotta. James didn't reply. "I know you're debating whether or not you want to see me, but please just let's skip to the part where you decide that you have nothing to lose and might as well hear what I have to say." She wondered what his face was like just then—if he was reluctantly smiling, or rolling his eyes, or simply scowling…

"Come in, then," he said.

Scowling.

He was definitely scowling.

The Head Boy lay sprawled across his bed, a quaffle in hand, which—if she had to guess—Carlotta would say that he'd been tossing toward the ceiling, as was his habit. He sat up when she walked into the room, though, setting the quaffle on the bed beside him.

"Want to sit down?" Whatever else he experienced just then, James clearly felt no great excitement at the sight of his ex.

"I don't plan on staying long," Carlotta lied. "I came to apologize."

"You don't need to apologize..."

"Yes, I do..."

"Well, maybe you do, but I'm really not in the mood."

Carlotta nodded. "I know—of course, I understand. But I wish you'd let me... especially since—since I heard what you did... fixing the vote."

James's frown deepened. "That's lovely. Really—fantastic. I feel so much less _idiotic_ now. Brilliant, that..."

"Don't feel idiotic," said Carlotta earnestly, and now she took a seat, besides James and the Quaffle on the bed. "Really, don't. You don't have anything to feel idiotic about. _I_ do. I'm—completely embarrassed... not because of the voting or Shelley or anyone else. You know that I don't care what any one of them thinks. But I'm—completely humiliated that you think so badly of me—that I've deserved it..."

"Stop," he cut her off. "Please. It's better that you leave off with the speech, yeah?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not completely blameless. I shouldn't have shouted at you in front of everyone like that—I feel bad about that. It wasn't right. I should've put an end to the whole voting thing ages ago..."

"I wouldn't let you, though!"

"Yes, but..."

"No, it's not your fault! I could've stopped Fletcher if I'd wanted to, but I didn't, and I didn't let you. I had something to prove to Shelley, but—it was stupid. It was _so_ stupid. It was my bloody pride, thinking I couldn't possibly lose. Because..." Here, her voice broke a little, but perhaps not for the reason obvious to James, "...if I had thought for a second that it would mean we had to break up, I would _never_ have made that bet with Shelley."

James's bitterness had now faded almost entirely, and Carlotta knew she'd made her point. Maybe she hadn't won him over _completely_ just yet, but she was miles closer.

"You can't think—you mustn't believe that I didn't care about you. I did... I _do_. I've loved being with you—even the last week or so... it hasn't been grand, but I'd much rather have you than not. I like that you—you fidget all the time; you can't ever sit still. And that you—sit in your desk, like it's a big, cushioned chair... and that you doodle in the margins of your notes, and you hold your wand really strangely, and you can't sing, and... you laugh at things that aren't even funny." _It was like winning_. "I like everything about you, James—I'd never just... throw it away. Not on purpose."

* * *

Lily was alone in the Head Office for all of two minutes after Carlotta's departure.

"Thank Merlin she's gone," said Sirius Black, dropping into the space beside Lily on the sofa.

Lily, surprised by the sudden arrival of not only Sirius, but Remus and Peter as well, started and took a moment to adjust. "What are you lot doing here?" she asked. "And what do you mean by...?"

"Carlotta," Sirius answered the second question. Peter and Remus both sat on the top of the desk by the wall.

"How did you...?"

"Know she was here?"

Lily nodded.

"Map," they chorused.

Lily frowned. "Why were you _looking?"_

"Oh, you know..." Sirius waved his hand lazily, as though brushing off the rest of the sentence. Lily arched an eyebrow.

"I really don't."

"Well—it's because... obviously... it would be... _awkward_. To see her."

"You're hiding from Carlotta?"

"Yes," said Remus quickly. "That's it."

"You know," agreed Peter; "our best mate just broke up with her in front of half the school..."

"...We're probably the last people she wants to see at the moment," added Sirius.

Lily shrugged, but said: "I suppose so. Still, I don't think I've ever known you lot to hide from someone who wasn't trying to put you in detention."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong," said Remus, smiling. "Padfoot's always running from women."

"All the time," said Peter.

"Almost constantly," said Sirius.

"I see..." she replied with a slight smile. More soberly, she added: "How's James?"

"Moping around in the dorm," Sirius told her. "At least, that's what we're assuming."

"What did he say?"

"Well... we haven't exactly _spoken_ to him..."

"Then how...?"

"Map," they said again.

Lily's suspicion grew. "Why are you hiding from everyone?"

"We're not hiding from everyone," said Peter. "Look at us! We're here!"

"With you!" said Sirius cheerily.

"In the Head office, while everyone else is in the Common Room and your recently singled best mate mopes in his dorm," Lily retorted dryly.

"We were just checking in on _you_, Lily," Remus chipped in. "No ulterior motives."

"Why were you checking in on me?"

"You look like you could use some checking in on," said Peter.

"Not especially, thanks," said Lily. "Actually, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather..."

* * *

_Whatever I said, they ignored it. They were right, though—Sirius, Remus, and Peter. I didn't really want to be left alone. You can't think about the depressing stuff, like that you'd practically just given a girl the go-ahead to get back with the boy you fancy—when you're bantering with three Marauders._

* * *

"What was Carlotta doing here, anyway?" Peter wanted to know.

"She was looking for James," said Lily vaguely. "We ended up chatting."

"Yes, we know," said Sirius bitterly.

"Map?" asked Lily.

"Yeah," said Remus. "Also, you're a little green. Meloni has that effect on people."

Lily allowed herself a small smile. "I suppose this is good news for you, then. Never Carlotta's best mates, were you?"

The three of them exchanged a look.

"What?" asked Lily. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Sirius was a portrait of innocence.

"That look."

"There was no look," said Remus.

"Yes there was. You look..." She tried to place it: "Guilty." Then, she remembered how they'd been in the Entrance Hall, when they'd explained about Shelley and the bet. "And you did earlier, too. What's going on?"

"Nothing," said Sirius and Peter in unison. Remus looked all the guiltier, though, so Lily focused her attention on him.

"Remus...?"

"What?" said Sirius, jumping to his feet as though insulted. "You don't trust Pete and me?"

"Remus?" Lily repeated. Sirius scowled. "What did you lot do?" A thought occurred to her. "You voted, didn't you? You voted for Shelley, is that it? That's why you're hiding from James..."

"Yes," said Peter.

"You caught us," said Sirius, moving to impede Lily's clear vision of Remus. "We voted for Shelley, and now we feel awful, because of the bet, and..."

"_Remus_?"

"I'm about to be seriously offended, Evans."

Lily, craning somewhat around Sirius's body, continued to wait for Remus to say something. His eyes burrowed into the ground, and Lily might have repeated his name again, but then, rather abruptly, he looked up and told her.

(Two Days Earlier)

"Moony, your eyes are as beautiful as the stars."

"No," said Remus, "they're _more_ beautiful."

Sirius smirked and stopped even pretending to read off of his scribbled-over parchment that supposedly bore positive words for all of his classmates. Madam Keepdown maintained some kind of perimeter around the mingling seventh years, but if he and his fellow Marauders moved around enough, they successfully avoided her. They'd lost a distractible James in conversation with Reg Cattermole a few minutes earlier, but otherwise, the last half hour of positive energy had been a relative success.

"Oh, look, there's Carlotta," muttered Peter, spotting her close by, in conversation with Donna Shacklebolt. "You should go give her your compliment, Remus. I'm sure you have so many nice things to say to her."

"Carlotta Meloni is the ray of sunshine in my grey life," said Remus sarcastically.

"I _do_ feel a little sorry for her," said Peter. "It can't be _fun_ just now..."

"She called Moony _selfish_," Sirius reminded him.

"Maybe I am," said Remus grimly. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"You see," he spoke to Peter, "we spend _years_ trying to get Remus off his silly guilt obsession and two... _months_... with Carlotta, and she's completely wrecked all of our hard work."

The three of them glanced at the witch in question, and the lull in their own conversation allowed them to catch a bit of hers.

"Well, it's not really for a bloke, is it?" Carlotta was saying to Donna. "Although: what a bloke..."

"So this is about annoying Shelley, then?" asked Donna. "In that case, I _could_ potentially stoop to this level... if it were to annoy someone I _really_ despised."

"I don't _despise_ Shelley..." Carlotta replied, with feeling, but not without shades of doubt. "I just—you know... want to..."

"Destroy her," Donna concluded for her.

"Figuratively," said Carlotta lightly.

"Funny," said Sirius to his mates. "I thought she'd already done that."

"That _was_ a bit cold," Peter agreed. "She doesn't speak like that to Prongs."

"She'll win, though," lamented Padfoot. "That's just how it works."

"You think so, do you?" asked Remus.

"Sure. People don't _like_ Carlotta, but they know who she is."

"Right," said Remus, and as his gaze dropped to the floor, a very thoughtful spark lit in his grey eyes.

"What's up, Moony?"

"I just..." He trailed off. "What if...?"

"What?" asked Sirius and Peter together.

Remus turned to Sirius. "We haven't played a good prank in a while, have we?"

"We bewitched the Herbology section of the Library to read in Greek three days ago," said Peter. Remus ignored him. Sirius looked almost frightened, but more than a little bit intrigued, too.

"What have you got in mind, Moony?"

"Something awful and bad and you should _definitely_ not encourage me."

"Of course not." Sirius smirked. "Now what is it?"

* * *

"We fixed the vote for Shelley."

Peter groaned, and Sirius threw his hands up in resignation; Lily only stared at Remus.

"...And we know it was wrong," he rushed on, while Sirius retired to the desk again. "We wouldn't have done it, if we knew about the bet with Shelley and Carlotta, but she—Carlotta—was being... damned obnoxious, and we just sort of thought it would be fitting for her to lose to Shelley, and..."

But enough was enough.

Lily had snapped at the initial confession, and now anger and confusion and a plethora of other emotions she hadn't the time to identify bubbled up inside her, while she forced her voice calm and said: "You rigged it. _You_ three rigged it too?"

"What do you mean, 'too?'" asked Peter, but Lily didn't answer.

"He's your best mate!"

"We're aware," said Sirius wincing; he tumbled from the desk to the sofa. "But what did you mean by 'too?'"

"How _could_ you?" Lily went on, punching Sirius's arm, not _too_ hard ("Oi!").

"Well, we..."

"No, no, no," she stated furiously. "I am _tired_ of this. Why do you all feel compelled to make your confessions to _me _anyway?"

"Well we..."

"_You_ lot are telling James what you've done," she spoke over Remus. "And you're telling Carlotta. And _no one else_ is getting _anything_ off their chest to me again until the five of you have had it out..." She was already at the door by this point, but none of the Marauders had moved.

But enough was enough.

She took Peter and Sirius by the arm and actively dragged them out of the little office, so Remus was compelled to follow.

"Oi, Lily," grumbled Sirius, jogging along after her frenzied paces down the corridor; "your fingernails are _sharp_..."

"You see, _this_ is why my best mate was an antisocial Slytherin for years and years," Lily rambled on, without the slightest note of Peter and Sirius's complaints. "It's mad! It's mad that everyone has to be in everyone else's business, and you and Carlotta and even James couldn't just _communicate_—you had to go behind each other's backs, and then you talk to _me_ about it, and I'm just supposed to—well I won't. I won't, because it's _mad_. Agrippa's sake—what does it matter if Carlotta's a tart or if Shelley's gotten thin, or…" She'd stopped speaking to them altogether now: this was her general anger at just about all of her classmates, and the three Marauders just happened to play witness to it: "…and _Mundungus_, making money off of it, and all the twits voting because they hate Carlotta or Shelley or James or whoever, and..."

"Wait a minute." Remus had stopped following her footsteps. "'_We rigged the vote, too?' _Who else rigged the vote?"

"James rigged it for Carlotta!" said Lily. She breathed twice, because this was the moment to decide whether she would out Carlotta, or hope against reason that Carlotta would out herself.

But it wasn't her secret to tell...

"James was trying to get those idiots off his back, so he added votes for Carlotta. Now what do you have to say for yourselves?"

"Prongs is going to kill us?" offered Sirius shamefully.

"If you're _lucky_," said Lily. "C'mon."

The remainder of the walk to Gryffindor Tower consisted of additional explanation, and a little more ranting on Lily's part, but by the time they reached the entrance, she'd calmed down a little.

"Oddment," she said to the drowsy Fat Lady, and the painting swung forward to reveal a still fully active Common Room. Lily could not be bothered by it, though, and she didn't even notice the confused looks from Mary and Marlene as she marched the boys up the dormitory staircases, concluding at last by the door to the Head Boys' room. She knocked but did not wait for a response, and was therefore fortunate that a less desirable scene did not meet her when she flung open the door.

James and Carlotta sat on the bed, a blessedly safe distance between them, evidently in deep conversation, which the new arrivals completely disrupted.

Before either of them could offer so much as a confused utterance of her name, Lily held up her hand for silence. She was blushing deeply at having interrupted what must have been Carlotta _doing whatever she had to do_, but the Head Girl only used her general embarrassment to augment the command in her voice as she stepped aside to make way for the extraneous Marauders and said: "You three. _In_."

They obeyed, Remus and Peter with the appropriate amount of remorse, and Sirius entirely without it. He paused to smirk at Lily while he sauntered past: "I love it when you're pushy."

"I'm still angry with you," said Lily, raising a threatening finger at him, though her confidence in the statement waned somewhat.

"And I with you," he replied. lightly. "You might have popped a vein on my arm with those nails of yours..."

"What's going on?" James wanted to know, as he got up from the bed.

"Honestly!" said Carlotta, but without equal force. She looked only at Lily, who did not reciprocate.

"Everyone in this room," she said instead, eyes moving between Sirius, Remus, Peter, and the spaces above the respective heads of the other two, "has something to say to at least one of the others. Here's my part of it, okay? _Leave me alone_. All of you. Just _please,_ I am begging you, leave me out of it. And I know that now, you're all thinking, _well, if you want to be left out of it, Evans, perhaps you should take a stab at not dragging everyone around and telling them what to do_, but I'm only doing this because I—care about some of you, and—tolerate the rest of you, and I'm really, really just trying to do what's right by everyone, and I am hoping to God that you all will do the same."

* * *

_And on that unfathomably embarrassing note, I left_.

* * *

The door swung shut behind Lily, and James stared, bewildered, at everyone else. "Is she all right?" he wanted to know, but no one seemed to have a response, and so he followed her out onto the stair. "Oi—Snaps!" He ignored a few seconds years perched along some steps immediately below Lily. "Are you okay?"

She turned to face him, and there was something vaguely manic about her visage. "No," she assured him, shaking her head. "Not really, but—it's fine. Really, you know, because—I truly _despise_ this boat, but, as ghastly as it is... I know that I'm going to be... just fine. And that's a nice thing to know about yourself, you know?"

Positively drowning in his confusion, James shook his head: "Not at _all_."

Lily calmed. "Never mind," she said, her smile softening. "You should go in there, now. I'll—see you tomorrow."

He made another argument—said something else, but Lily didn't listen. She shook her head and urged him to be off, and he relented. Carlotta met him at the top of the stair.

"Do _you_ know what's...?"

"I need to talk to Lily, James," Carlotta said quickly. "I'll be right there."

"And _I'm_ going to stop pretending I have any idea what's going on and sit in my room until someone explains it to me," said James. "Cheers."

He went into his room, and Carlotta killed the time before the door closed by sending the second years away and joining Lily in the middle of the staircase. "You didn't tell him," she muttered. "And you didn't tell them—his mates, either. Why not?"

Lily shrugged. "I guess—his mates _loathe_ you, and they mean everything to him. So if he still wants to make a go of it with you, he must really fancy you, right?"

"But..."

"Well, _you_ didn't tell either, Meloni—and you knew I wouldn't. I reckon we're both predictable tonight."

"It wouldn't do any good..."

"Goodnight, Carlotta."

Without another word, Lily departed for her own room.

* * *

_SMACK_.

Carlotta winced even as her hand dropped from Sirius's face, and he let out a howl-like sound.

"Why is everyone hitting _me?"_ he demanded, clutching the red spot on his cheek. "It was Remus's idea!"

"It _was,"_ Remus admitted, ashamed. He looked so terribly apologetic, however, that Carlotta did not move to strike him as well. Instead, she folded her arms and stared expectantly at the both of them, as well as Peter, who stood by Sirius's side. "We're very sorry, Carlotta," he said. "We didn't mean for it to come off like this at all."

Carlotta's expression softened measurably. "How _did_ you mean for it to 'come off' then?"

"We were just fooling around," said Remus. "It was—a stupid prank. It was my fault—not theirs..."

"Moony..."

"No, Sirius—it's true; it was my fault... I was the one who was angry, and it was my idea."

"Yeah, but everyone knows I'm the bad influence..."

"You're not a bad influence..."

"Yes, because if I didn't encourage your lesser impulses..."

"You know, it's a bit insulting when you say that, because you're acting like I can't make my own decisions..."

"It's not that you _can't_, Moony, but you probably wouldn't make the _bad_ ones, if I weren't around to poke you until you did..."

"You were hardly _poking_ me, Padfoot..."

"Are you two finished?" James interrupted, and they both fell silent. "Honestly..." He was pacing in front of his bed, while the other three Marauders stood in a row before him like naughty children awaiting judgment from an angered parent. Carlotta stood a little off to the side, quiet now. "You lot are supposed to be my _mates_! Why would you do that to me? And to Carlotta? It's..."

"We're sorry, Prongs," said Peter loudly, taking everyone by surprise. "There isn't an excuse—we're just sorry, that's all. We shouldn't have done it. We should have told you that we were annoyed and spoken to Carlotta, but we didn't, and we're sorry."

James wasn't quite prepared to accept that, but he had no response. "Fine," he said eventually. "I'll talk to you lot later."

They nodded. "And if you like," said Remus, specifically to Carlotta, "we can tell everyone that you didn't... necessarily lose the vote."

"No," said Carlotta. "You don't have to. There's no real point to it, and..." She shrugged, "Shelley always wanted to be popular."

Carlotta looked at James, and he looked back. The other three Marauders made a point of _not_ looking, and they were all suddenly conscious of the fact that their presence was now both unnecessary and unwanted. Remus and Sirius exchanged doubtful glances, but regardless of their own hopes for the outcome of this tête-à-tête, they had no right to interfere... or perhaps they had somewhat abused that privilege in the last few days. And so, the three reluctantly started for the door.

"I'm sorry, Carlotta," said Remus as he passed her.

"We're really sorry," said Peter.

Sirius nodded. "'Sorry."

"It's... it's all right," said Carlotta again. Remus and Peter left the dormitory, but Sirius paused in the doorway.

"You'll be along soon, Prongs?"

But Remus grabbed Sirius's shoulder and pulled him along before James could reply.

* * *

_Almost there, now, Sam. I promise._

* * *

Lily wasn't even drowsy when a knock interrupted her half-hearted attempts to read herself into unconsciousness. So, with a sigh, she called, "Come in," and set down Daphne de Maurier. Sirius entered.

"What do you want?" Lily asked suspiciously. "And _how_ do you get up here? Really, it's ridiculous, you have to explain..."

"Someday, someday." Sirius strolled into the room, and then sat himself down at the foot of Lily's bed. "I see you're all ready for me."

"_Sirius_."

"Only joking."

Lily exhaled woefully. "What do you want? I'm really not in the mood to chat just now."

"I know," he answered genuinely. "I won't be long. But I owe you an explanation and an apology, and what kind of mate would I be if I let you drift off to sleep without either?"

"The nice kind?"

Sirius ignored this. "First, I'm sorry for dragging you into all of this."

"It doesn't matter," said Lily, waving him off. "You didn't really. I was already dragged in—you were just the hair that broke the hippogriff's back. What did James say, anyway?"

"Not much. Carlotta had more to say—we all had to apologize to her."

Lily snorted. "Lovely."

"But maybe there was good cause for that," the Marauder pressed on. "Listen, the others—Remus and Peter, they went ahead with the plan to fix the vote because they were sore at Carlotta for being an intolerable bore. That's true. But it's not why _I_ did it..."

"Oh?"

"I—well, I reckon I knew Prongs and Carlotta would break up if Shelley won."

Lily's eyes widened. "You knew about the bet?"

"No," said Sirius, "but I knew Carlotta—she's got too much pride to stick to it after that."

"You _would_, Sirius. Really," said Lily, shaking her head. "But it doesn't matter now, I suppose?"

"Did _you_ put her up to it, then? Making up with Prongs, I mean."

"No. I didn't stop her, though." She frowned, drawing invisible shapes on the cover of her book with her finger. "Could've. Didn't."

"And why not?" He pulled his legs onto the bed and crossed them beneath him. The image created was somewhat comical. "Sometimes I don't understand you, Evans."

Lily shrugged lazily. "I don't know—I suppose Carlotta wanted to take it back, and she had the chance, and... I sympathized."

"Says the witch wearing pajamas with kittens on them."

"They're _cute_. Look, there're puppies, too..."

"Oh, naturally..." They shared a laugh about Lily's fashion preferences, before Sirius got up. "I'll leave you to it, then," he said, beginning for the door. "'Suppose you've had enough excitement for one evening, without the added thrill of having Sirius Black in your bedchamber."

"Hang on, then," said Lily, and she sat up. "I have a question for you, too."

"Fire away."

"You fixed the vote against Carlotta for me—is that right?"

"'Bit full of yourself..."

"Sirius..."

"Essentially, yes."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "Why? I mean—in general, why do you think that... James and I should... be together?" When Sirius did not respond at once, she carried on: "Up until now, I've rather assumed it was just one of your arbitrary whims or something—or because we're matey and all that..."

"That's not really it," mused Sirius.

"I thought not. I mean—she's... _Carlotta Meloni_. You should be... cheering him on or something, shouldn't you?"

Sirius concentrated for a moment, as though contemplated how to best phrase this. At length, he began: "Prongs, Moony, Wormtail and I became mates in second year, right?"

"Right..."

"...And there wasn't—wasn't really a reason for it. I mean, I couldn't explain it. One day the four of us just... clicked, or something. See?"

"So far..."

"And when we were younger, I'd always assumed that the four of us would—you know—end up old, mad bachelors together, chasing twenty-two year old witches and getting hammered and never _really_ getting old, you know?"

"Mature."

"Yes, well... the thing is—I don't see that anymore. For some reason, and I can't explain it anymore than I can explain the fact that Wormtail and Prongs are best mates, because you wouldn't believe it to look at them—you, Evans, click."

"I click?"

"You click."

"Meaning?"

Sirius smirked. "It means that you had better adjust to the four of us fucking things up, because when you marry Prongs, you're stuck with us. We're sort of a collection—only come as the set, you know."

Lily couldn't help but laugh. "That's very nice, Black, but I have no intention of marrying James."

This detail failed to concern Sirius. "Sure, Ginger. Give it a year, yeah?" He saluted her, turned on his heel, and was gone. Lily climbed back underneath her covers. She sat there for all of a minute, before kicking off her blankets and skipping over to the desk. She took out a quill, some ink, and a fresh scroll of parchment, and she began to write.

* * *

_And that's the end of it. Well, just about, anyway._

_I hope you enjoyed my little story, Sam, drama and all. And I hope it's clear why I _did_ need to write this all down. If I'm lucky, it's entertaining for you, too. But at least there's a happy ending: reconciled lovers and all that._

_It's just that you can't hold a secret inside of you forever (or anyway, I can't) and I don't really know how I'll go about _not_ telling James about Carlotta's fixing the vote, unless I get it out on paper to you. It's karma, I suppose... everyone's got something coming to them. Some people have loads, some have a little, and I had _this_. _

_It's late now, though. It's taken me about an hour to get all this on paper, so I suppose I'll answer those questions from your last in the next letter... I'm finally feeling as thought I might sleep, so I'll be off to bed._

_At any rate, a very Happy Halloween to you! All my love to everyone at M.F.P., and goodnight and best wishes._

_Love,_

_Lily_

* * *

She sealed up the letter and tied it to Nico's leg. The owl took off, and Lily watched her until at last she disappeared in the cloudy overhang. Then, the witch sat down at the vanity. She stared at her reflection for several seconds, willing herself to look and feel even as cheerful—hell, she'd settle for resigned—as the farewell of her letter.

But it would not do. After a few minutes, she kept her word and went to bed.

That _was_ the end of the story as far as Lily knew it, but, of course, there is always more to a story than most people realize, and Lily had erred in a way that she ought to have predicted—a fundamental mistake made in spell of defensive cynicism. But she ought to have followed her own advice:

Never underestimate Carlotta Meloni.

(Earlier)

The door clicked shut behind Sirius, and the James and Carlotta stood awkwardly alone in the Head Boy's dormitory.

"So," said James eventually. "My mates are _great_, yeah?"

"But they mean everything to you," Carlotta quietly replied.

"Nah, not really—'could do without them, honestly. Gits, the lot of them..." Carlotta smiled appreciatively and sat down on the bed. James, a little confused by the change in her, followed.

What James did not know was that something extraordinary happened. The cocktail of emotions surging through Carlotta arranged themselves in a particular, familiar way, so that for a moment, she felt _exactly_ as she had, once before. For that instant, she felt transported to that other time and place: a beach, and a decision, and _Teeglow,_ and opportunities seized and missed.

"Fuck," she sighed.

"What?" asked James, surprised, because Carlotta seldom swore.

"She truly is an annoying bitch, isn't she? I mean—she just—gets inside your head like that, doesn't she?"

"What are you...?"

Carlotta shook her head quickly; she reached over and took James by the hand. "Dear," she said morosely, "I think I have to tell you the truth."

"What's that?" asked James.

She collected herself. "I—I didn't just bet with Shelley. I sort of—fixed the vote for her."

The reaction to that was to be expected. James withdrew his hand. "You fixed it for... _why_?" But almost by the time he'd asked it, he'd guessed the answer. "You fixed yourself to lose, because then we would have to..."

"Break up," said Carlotta quietly. "Yes."

She waited a few seconds for him to sort the rest of it out, and fortunately, he did so quickly.

"Why?" he eventually asked again.

"There's no simple answer," Carlotta told him truthfully. "Because I was afraid you were going to break up with me... because I was tired of being a girlfriend..."

"Then why did you—y'know—try to get back together? Why lie again...?" It was the oddest thing: he didn't seem angry yet—just curious. He understood the subterfuge, but the back-tracking didn't come so naturally to his concept of decision-making.

"I found out you'd fixed the thing for me," said Carlotta carefully. "And that meant you didn't want to get rid of me."

"Of—of course I didn't want to get _rid_ of you!" (Now he was getting angry...) "If I'd wanted that, I'd have broken up with you, like a..."

"Normal human being?" James nodded, getting to his feet. "But _would_ you?" she added.

"Of course!"

"Maybe, but..."

"But what?"

Carlotta sighed. "You accepted that excuse in the Great Hall pretty easily," she said. "It was a way out..."

"Don't put this on _me_," snapped James. "I'm not the one who manipulated the whole school into getting you dumped!"

"Yes," she pressed, joining him in standing. "But come on, James... weren't you a little—just _slightly_... relieved?"

"_No_."

"James..."

"No, I wasn't," he said again. "I felt like an idiot. I felt betrayed and stupid—that's how I felt—and it's got nothing on how I feel now..."

"I know. I'm _sorry_."

James didn't reply; he resumed his pacing, back and forth for a minute or so. Tensely, Carlotta waited for him to arrive at the final _why_—the trickiest to satisfy, no less.

"So why did you tell me this?" he came through finally, when he'd calmed a bit. "You didn't have to."

"Well, no," she admitted. "But it gets old, you know... being in love with someone who's not in love with you."

James's eyes widened.

"Oh, no—I didn't mean..." She laughed a little. "I'm not in love with you. But it could have happened that way. Very easily, I think. And it wouldn't have been any fun, so I wouldn't have liked it. Not with Shelley and... the others."

She didn't say the name: the one name they'd kept carefully out of this, and other conversations, because to speak it would break the spell and shatter the now cracked illusion that this ending of things (or some ending) was not, at least for now, inevitable. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, but Carlotta now realized that she had always fervently believed that it was.

"Do you hate me very much?" she asked.

"You're not my favorite, just at the moment," he allowed.

"All right." For some time, that word hung in the air, the last spoken communication between them, while Carlotta sat down, and James sorted out anything else he felt compelled to add. But there didn't seem to be much else _to_ add, because minutes—that in silence seemed hours—stretched on. Finally, Carlotta spoke up. "James?"

Startled, as though he'd forgotten she remained in the room: "Mmm?"

She just looked at him, expectantly, and James sat down again, this time at the desk. "I was just trying to figure out who really won the vote."

"Really?"

"Mhm. When did you rig it?"

Carlotta gave the details.

"Then there's a good chance you actually won, y'know?" said James. "And at least it's nice to know I didn't do a hilariously bad job fixing the thing for you."

"Between your mates and me, you had your work cut out for you," said Carlotta solemnly.

James chuckled, and so did Carlotta. When they stopped, the air between the two of them was significantly lighter. The tension released, the quiet became more comfortable, though it still seemed to be waiting for something... something that—with a labored sigh—Carlotta eventually needed to prompt.

"So," she began. "You know everything now. I almost hate to ask, but... well someone has to..."

James nodded slowly.

"Where do we go from here?"

* * *

Early November first, three Marauders sat in their dormitory—awake, though they all had classes in a matter of hours. Remus and Peter played chess; Sirius had a flask. They all sat on the floor nearest to the window.

"Pawn to E-five," Remus whispered, voice low for the sake of the sleeping Adam McKinnon.

"I don't know why you're ignoring the question, Moony," Sirius complained, balancing his wand horizontally on the index finger of his non-flask-bearing hand.

"Because Prongs has had enough people betting on his personal life in the last week," said Remus dryly. "And keep your voice down—Adam's asleep."

"It wasn't a _bet_," said Sirius. "It was speculation on whether we'll be allowed to see him again till he and Meloni break up again."

"Ten galleons Carlotta draws up a schedule of visiting hours," said Peter resentfully.

"See, _that's_ a bet. Good odds for Pete, too..."

"It's your move, Wormtail," said Remus, ignoring them.

"Knight to F-five."

"Bad move," remarked Sirius, climbing up onto the window seat. "It's 'cause you can't see the bloody board. If you'd just use a _lumos_..."

"It'll wake Adam..."

"No, it..."

"Too late," groaned Adam, from behind the curtains of his bed. A moment later, those curtains slid aside, and McKinnon himself emerged, somewhat bleary-eyed but without the look of someone who'd been yanked abruptly from sleep. "Thanks for trying, though, Lupin. Budge over, Black..."

Sirius sat up to make room for Adam, who then proceeded to take the flask from him.

"You're feisty after midnight," remarked Sirius.

Adam yawned. "You've kept me up for half an hour," he replied, before drinking deeply from the flask. The liquid hit his throat, and he coughed covering his mouth and handing the flask back immediately. "What the bloody hell is _that_?"

"He calls it a 'Graveyard,'" said Peter.

"Because that's where it'll get you?" asked Adam.

"No, because it's the last of every bottle," Sirius told him. "Where liquor goes to die. In this case: gin, firewhiskey, and ale..."

"Seek help, Black."

"I have. It's called a Graveyard." He lifted the flask in mock toast.

"Where's Potter?" Adam asked, while Remus and Peter continued their game. "Thought he'd be around now that he and Meloni split..."

"You're a rubbish eavesdropper," said Sirius. "I wouldn't count on his and Meloni splitting."

"I thought everyone said that's what happened after supper," said Adam. "That they broke up in the Entrance Hall."

"Nothing gold can last," said Sirius dismally. He took another swig of the Graveyard.

"You're going to be sick," Remus told him.

"No, I'm—what was that?"

"What was what?" said Peter, looking around, for Sirius's eyes had moved to the dormitory door.

"That noise."

"There was no n..."

"Yes, there was—it was on the staircase. I heard it."

"Someone's probably just going downstairs," Adam said reasonably, and, by the sound of it, he was correct; footsteps could be heard on the steps outside the dormitory.

"It's probably a ghoul," said Sirius, hoping to frighten Peter.

"Ghouls don't have footsteps," Peter replied.

"A murderer, then."

"Why would there be a murderer in the boys' dormitories?"

"It's probably..."

"It's _probably_ coming in here," said Remus: accurately, too, as the footsteps stopped outside the door, and the handle suddenly began to turn. The boys fell silent.

It was neither ghoul nor murderer, but only James. This seemed remarkable enough to the four of them, however, and they observed him with confusion as he strolled over and sat down on the nearest trunk—Remus's, at the foot of his bed.

"What are you doing here?" asked Sirius, speaking for them all.

"Well I was _going _to sleep in my old bed, but I reckon there's no chance of that with you lot up... _and_ drinking," James added, with a glance at Sirius's flask.

"Graveyard?" he offered, but James declined. Sirius voiced the second question they all wanted answered. "Where's the girlfriend?"

James sighed. "No girlfriend."

"No girlfriend?" Peter echoed. "What happened?"

"Nothing," said James simply. He considered the chess board. "And Moony's going to win this game..."

"Don't change the subject," insisted Sirius. "No girlfriend? No Carlotta?"

"No girlfriend, no Carlotta." He obviously enjoyed this.

"Carlotta didn't come back downstairs..." Remus said slowly. "Prongs, you haven't been disposing of a body all this time, have you?"

James merely shook his head.

"You're quite vexing, Prongs," Sirius accused.

"Well, _I_ find it vexing when my mates fix votes against my girlfriend, but..."

"You fixed the vote for Shelley?" said Adam, half laughing.

"It's not funny—it's really mean, actually, especially when you consider..."

"Prongs, no one cares," Sirius spoke over him. "No girlfriend, no Carlotta. _Explain_. And, tell the truth..." He sounded genuinely concerned: "You didn't murder her and hide the body, right?"

"We talked," said James. "And we decided not to get back together. And then she went to sleep."

The others continued to stare at him, puzzled.

"I don't understand this story," said Adam.

"You _are_ skipping part of it, aren't you?" asked Sirius. "Between the talking and the sleeping..."

"We didn't _shag_. She just didn't want to go to her dorm, because Shelley would be there, so I said she could sleep in my bed. And then she fell asleep, and I worked on homework, until _I_ wanted to go to bed, and I realized how uncomfortable the whole thing would be, so I came down here. That's the whole story—are you going to finish your chess game or what?"

"So she slept in your bed," said Peter, and he—like the others—ignored both James's question and the paused game before him.

"_After_ you broke up?" Remus pressed.

"And you didn't have anywhere to sleep?" said Adam.

"Prongs, out of curiosity," Sirius began, "how _does_ it feel to be a Hufflepuff?"

"_You_ don't get to make fun of me, Padfoot," snapped James. "I'm still angry with you: all three of you!"

"No, you're not."

"We're too likable."

"I can't believe you're supposed to be my best mates..."

"_I_ can't believe Carlotta stole your bed..."

"Shut up! It—it made sense at the time..."

"The blood hadn't circulated back to your brain yet?"

"We _didn't_ shag!"

"Well don't _brag_ about it..."

"Hand over the Graveyard, Black," said Adam. "With you lot back together, I'm never going to sleep without liquor."

* * *

**A/N: **Reviews are ALL the puppies.

Love and so much gratitude to all of you,

Jules


	35. All Souls' Day

**A/N: **Look! A chapter!

**Disclaimer: **Copyright Jo Ro

**Before:** In July, Voldemort makes demands of the Ministry of Magic, while systematically murdering those connected to a group called M.F.P. (Magic For Peace) who support muggleborn rights. Members include Mrs. Potter, Sam Dearborn (James's mother's cousin), and Sarah McKinnon, the latter two of which join Lily, James, the Marauders, Dorcas Meadowes, Emmeline Vance, the Prewetts, Frank, Alice, and other M.F.P. members in protest of a proposed law that would restrict the number of muggleborns admitted to Hogwarts. After returning to Hogwarts, Lily realizes she fancies James, just before realizing that he's dating Carlotta Meloni. She becomes penpals with Sam Dearborn. A bad season for love apparently, Marlene comes to terms with her feelings for newly-un-single Adam, Remus fancies straight-laced Clancy Goshawk, and after much ado, Carlotta and James break up.

Chapter 35- All Souls' Day

Or

"The Sound of Silence"

Lily Evans took her first legal drink in a muggle pub the day she joined the Order of the Phoenix. It was the beginning of July, 1977—an oppressive, muggy day—and she ordered a gin and tonic. Of course, her lack of proper muggle documentation meant that very little had changed on a practical level in the ordering process: she still showed the bartender a slip of bewitched parchment to convince him of her true age, but—because she _was_, in fact, of age—the deception seemed to be more acceptable. She took her drink to one of the many available tables (a booth in the corner), in the process walking past the only other three patrons in the entire establishment. Indeed, the bartender had sent her a curious look, not on account of her makeshift identification, but because she was an eighteen-year-old girl ordering gin, by herself, at quarter past five on a Sunday. At any rate, she _arrived_ by herself...

"You're drinking alone?" asked the wizard who joined her at the table shortly thereafter, carrying his own drink. "What would your mother say?"

James Potter spoke far more warmly than he had the first time he uttered those (or almost those) words, and Lily received them in kind. "Not to speak to strange men, I expect," she replied.

"But I'm not a stranger."

"Doesn't mean you're not strange."

"You think you're clever." James dropped down next to her, and she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

"_You_ need a new line, mate."

"Why? The old ones work so well."

"Only because I'm nostalgic by nature," she replied. "That's mostly why I keep you around, you know." As if to disprove this, she scooted closer and dragged his arm across her shoulders before taking another sip of her drink.

"It also explains your chosen meeting place," James said. He glanced around the stagnant room. The lack of traffic made the eerie, synthesized music that played in the background significantly clearer than it had been in the past; however, the Lantern was otherwise much as it had been on other visits, though Lily and James were not.

"It seemed appropriate," said Lily, idly stirring her drink with the slender, red straw. "Given this morning. You don't object?"

"No." He now watched her. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, brilliant."

Surprised: "Not really?"

"No, I am," she assured him quickly and, frowning, endeavored to explain: "I'm a bit sick to my stomach thinking about it, sure, but... it's a very _right_ feeling, too. I don't know."

"Yeah," James agreed. "Sounds about right."

Lily leaned back against the crook of his arm. "We should have toasted," she reflected.

"We're having supper up the road with the others," James reminded her. "We can give clever toasts to the Order and mad old Dumbledore then."

Lily smiled. Remembering the reason she had come alone, she added: "How's your dad?"

"Better. Sends his love... I told him to bugger off, though. I'm still curious as to _what_ you said to him when I was in the Hospital Wing to make him like you more than he likes me."

"I'm prettier."

"_Ha_. Right."

Lily made a face and then took another drink.

"So why _did_ you pick this place?" James asked. "Because it was our first date?"

"And our second," Lily reminded him.

"I thought the protest was our second date."

"So you were seeing someone else when we went on our second date?" she teased.

James snorted. "Play nice."

"I suppose," Lily mused after a while, "seeing everyone today—Caradoc and Dory and everyone... it got me thinking about... you know—November." She swirled her glass so that the ice chimed softly against the side of the cup. They were both very far removed from the Camden tavern booth just then, until Lily, brightening a little, added: "Anyway, I had my last _illegal_ muggle drink here—it's only right I have my first legal one here as well."

James looked at her glass skeptically. "And _that's_ what you ordered?"

"Gin is very romantic," Lily defended the decision.

"You're mad."

"You should see my boyfriend. Scotch and soda, indeed."

"It's perfectly respectable, Snaps."

"Of course it is—if you happen to be a cantankerous old man."

"Maybe I am. Don't limit me."

Lily laughed. "Well I've always had a thing for older men."

"I'm two months younger than you."

"And the dream dies."

"Git."

"Prig." Lily glanced down into her glass, and her tone changed. "Mad, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"I don't know—everything. Everything happening and changing like this..." She smiled again and raised the cup: "To the Order and mad old Dumbledore?"

James's scotch met her gin in between them. "And fighting," he added.

(Eight Months Earlier)

The day before he died, Phillip Stoake was no one in particular.

The day after he died, every witch or wizard in the country knew his name.

They forgot, though.

They forgot the fear of the second week in July. They forgot the warnings. They forgot the threats. They didn't forget the war, but they tried their very best to push it to the back of their minds... to concentrate on something else.

They forgot the Week of the Demands, as July turned to August, August to September, September to October. The weather grew chilly; leaves changed and fell; earlier and earlier, the sun sank in the sky every evening, and autumn came, the natural order.

The second of November was a Tuesday.

It was just a Tuesday.

In his London flat at a few minutes past seven, Frank Longbottom was just waking up. Yawning, he smiled at his still sleeping wife and stepped out of bed, careful not to wake her. He made his way into the kitchen and mentally ran through his planned day: training until two, a few hours in the duel simulation, and then an hour or two finishing paperwork for Moody. Frank smiled to himself—he'd get to supper with Alice tonight...

He switched on the wireless and set the kettle. The newscaster's voice became part of the morning background... where was the paper, anyway?

"_We've received a startling report..."_

"Oh, my Merlin." Frank dropped the tea cups he had been holding; they shattered against the tile of the kitchen floor, and a moment later, Alice appeared on the threshold from the bedroom, worried and confused.

"Frank, are you...?" She saw his face. "Merlin, Frank, what's _wrong_?"

(-)

Jack Lathe had taken neither tea nor breakfast that morning, and it was difficult to feel precisely _awake_ even as he materialized on the steps of Peverell Hall. It was a large old stone building—the sort of place wizarding historians paid homage to in lectures on seventeenth century magical architecture... it was the sort of place that _held_ lectures on seventeenth century magical architecture, really. And Lathe was by no means the first auror to arrive there on the morning of November the second.

There didn't seem to be anyone about who was _not_ an auror, actually.

It was a drizzly, colorless morning: the trees along the white stone path to the front gates were barren, immersed in a grey haze that might have been fog or smoke. No one appeared to be entering the hall.

Moody stood with Kingsley and half a dozen others near the top steps that led to the great wooden doors at the front. When Lathe arrived, straightening his hastily done-up tie and simultaneously pushing up the sleeves of his robes, Moody was barking orders to one of the junior aurors, some scared kid who'd only completed his training the week before.

"About time," grunted the older wizard, spotting the younger.

"It's six a.m.," Lathe defended himself. "And I only got Halliday's message ten minutes ago. He said there's been some kind of attack on the conference of..." His eyes scanned the façade of the hall, as if the aged edifice might provide him with some clue to what was going on. "Death eaters..." But that answer, at least, _was_ provided by the sight before him—by the green skull, translucent in the clouded sky above the Hall. It wasn't obvious at first, but you could see it clearly from where he stood, just in front of the doors.

"That's right," said Moody. "Last night, we think. A muggle summoned the police at about two about the mark. We've got Obliviators on that now..."

"Have you been inside?" asked Lathe. The others were quiet for a moment, and then Kingsley nodded.

"It's not pretty," he murmured.

Lathe swallowed hard, and then he nodded, too. "I'll speak with the witnesses, shall I?" That had been his particular task more and more at this sort of gathering these days.

"No," said Moody gruffly. "Afraid you won't."

"Why not?"

"Because there aren't any," said one of the others, a witch named Hart.

"You mean...?"

"No survivors," said Moody.

Lathe looked at him. "But Halliday said..."

"You'd better look for yourself," said Hart.

"You all should," said Moody.

Eckles, Forrest, and Robards arrived a moment later, joining the little group in front of the Hall. They all wore expressions of confusion and apprehension, similar to what Lathe imagined his own must be at the moment, as they surveyed the closed hall and its grounds—grounds which would have been silent, if the aurors hadn't been swarming the area like a lot of black ants.

"I'll wait here, thanks," said Kingsley, and Hart nodded her agreement. They had already gone inside and seen whatever it was that had left no witnesses. Moody, for once, seemed sympathetic.

"Get rid of that goddamn mark," he replied simply and then walked up the final four steps to the towering doors. Wand already drawn, he waved it once. The gates drifted open, and faint smoke floated out, disappearing in the fog.

Lathe and the other new arrivals followed the Head Auror inside. The vestibule was a wide, shallow room with a low ceiling and the air of having been done-over recently, according to modern fashions. The trendy, mustardy brown carpet was lightly coated in dust and about three dozen green parchment leaflets that must have fallen from one of the magazine stands along the wall. Two sets of double doors led into the main hall, but they remained closed for the moment, and one could make out nothing of what lay on the other side through the narrow, olive green stained glass windows. Between the doors, there was a strip of wall—beige painted stone, like the rest of the antechamber interior—and stuck to that wall, fastened by magic at eye-level, hung another green tinted leaflet, bearing, among other things (including some smaller lettering that Lathe hadn't the time to read), words in thick, black script: _Magic For Peace._

With another wave of his wand, Moody opened both sets of doors at the opposite end of the vestibule, and a few wooden steps formed the path into the main hall. More smoke—no, it was dust—wafted through. It became immediately apparent why the doors had remained closed: they were utterly unnecessary. The hall stretched out, longer than it was wide, and filled by several rows of wooden chairs—all occupied. The back wall toward which all of those chairs faced had been demolished. Stones poured over across what had once been a stage, highly concentrated near the base, and then sporadically scattered across the hall.

More aurors made their way into the room from this freshly hewn entrance. They spread out, some scaling the stony hill that bridged the cool morning exterior (tinted slightly green from the lingering mark in the sky just overhead) and the dead, dusty hall. Some rambled through the aisles—through the many chairs and their slumped, faceless occupants.

(-)

It was just a Tuesday.

At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it dawned a bright, chilly morning, quite ordinary, at least insofar as things were _ever_ ordinary there. Breakfast was a noisy affair; students chattered and bickered and ate and moved around as they always did.

James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew were all seated together at Gryffindor table, waiting on the tardy _Daily Prophet_, which would settle a bet between them about the score of the Chudley Cannons match. They'd missed it on the WWN the evening before—which Sirius blamed on Peter, but everyone else blamed on Sirius—and they bantered casually on the matter.

Lily Evans ate breakfast alone that morning. She did not object to this: she'd come down early and brought with her the book she'd begun reading. It sat open on the table, held there by her forearm, while her other hand attended to breakfast. When she looked across the table for the pumpkin juice, her eyes moved briefly over the staff table, and the Head Girl noted that Professor Dumbledore was absent this morning. She thought nothing of it and poured herself a goblet of juice.

The mail arrived before the newspaper—atypical, but not unheard of—and consisted of a letter from her mum. Lily placed that in the binding of her book, for later. It was well past eight o'clock now, and her friends ought to have come down if they wanted to have a proper breakfast before Defense.

Then _The Daily Prophet_ arrived, rolling from Lily's emptied plate to the table when the delivery owl dropped it. Lily snatched up the newspaper to prevent it from upsetting her glass, and in the process, she removed her arm from the book; the consequently unrestrained pages fluttered down. She set down _The Prophet_ and picked up the book again, flipping through to her spot, but several elevated voices around her interrupted the effort. She looked around again, and a few Ravenclaws spoke very heatedly over something from the newspaper.

* * *

Adam McKinnon sat with Prudence Daly, she at Gryffindor table. The two were being exceptionally adorable that morning. He held her hand; she laughed at his cheesy joke... the one about the leprechaun and the hag...

Prudence was still laughing when the newspaper arrived, falling just in front of Adam's plate. They didn't attend to it immediately, for Prudence poured herself another glass of pumpkin juice, and Adam took another slice of toast.

"You know, that's why my mum likes you," said Prudence, glancing at his plate.

"What is?"

"You don't eat meat. She doesn't either, you know."

"I _did_ know. It's the only reason she let me date you, I reckon."

Prudence's eyebrows rose perceptibly, but she seemed pleased. "Did you _ask_?"

Adam snorted. "_No_. It was only a joke. Would you _want_ me to?"

"I don't know—it could be sweet." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Anyway, they love you in spite of it, so I suppose you're in the clear. And, even more importantly..." They were still almost nose-to-nose, "_I_ love you."

Adam inhaled. He had about four seconds of leeway before he was obliged to respond; the third had not yet ticked by, when Damacus Weasley, seated to his left, interrupted.

"McKinnon..." The younger student actually grabbed his arm and, as Adam confusedly turned around, Damacus all but shoved the newspaper into his hands. "Have you _seen_ this?"

"Seen what?" asked Adam, distracted. He read the headline.

* * *

Marlene Price ran late that morning. She'd overslept and was still in the shower while her roommates all prepared for the day.

"I need to have sex," Mary MacDonald was complaining, while Marlene, on the other side of the curtain, scraped the last remnants of shampoo from her short hair.

"What you need," said Marlene, over the patter of the hot water, "is to stop beginning every conversation that way."

"It's true, though!" Mary called back; she was applying her eyeliner in the mirror over the tap. "Holding off was a bad idea."

"So have sex."

"I _can't_. I _promised_. Of course..." She paused.

"Of course _what?"_ Marlene replied suspiciously.

"If _you_ were to shag someone, it would be all right for _me_..."

"It _is_ all right, Mare. I don't care about the stupid agreement."

"Yes, but _I_ would feel better. So you need to shag someone, love..."

Marlene laughed as she switched off the water. "Oh, yes, I'll just summon one of the dozens of blokes queuing up to shag me. Why didn't I think of that earlier? You genius, you..."

A derisive "_Ha"_ told her that Donna had entered the room. Marlene grabbed her towel from the bar and began to dry off, rolling her eyes at Donna, though she did not see it. When the towel was secured around everything she cared to cover, Marlene stepped out. Donna stood over another sink, pulling her hair into as tight a knot as she could manage with her abundant curls.

"You're going to be late," she said unhelpfully.

"Well collect some food for me if I am," Marlene replied. She walked into the dormitory to gather some clothes, and Shelley sat on her bed, pulling on her shoes and listening to the wireless.

"You're going to be late," Shelley informed her.

"All a lot of divination experts now, are you?" Marlene replied. The last notes of Pink Poison's "Love Curse" played over the wireless, or tried to, but were cut off by the voice of _Charming_ Cherry, the witch whose saccharine coo greeted them every morning.

"Agrippa's sake," sighed Shelley; "if they play that _bloody_ song one more time, I'll..."

But Marlene held up her hand, calling for silence from her roommate, for Charming Cherry's tone was almost unrecognizable this morning; she spoke quickly, seriously, and shakily, and about something that had nothing to do with the song that had just concluded. Mary came into the dormitory.

"Well, you know you could always..."

"_Hush_," said Shelley to Mary, and the latter might have argued, but she caught sight of Marlene's expression, and she paused to listen.

* * *

Lily took the second floor staircase three and four steps at a time—she grabbed the banister so that her feet scarcely touched the stairs, and when she landed on the next floor, her pace only quickened. The grey corridors, the tapestries and paintings and suits of armor—Filch's cat, tardy students, dawdling on their way down to breakfast: she flew past them all, hair flapping around her, shoes pattering on the stone, and yet it was like a dream. She felt impossibly sluggish, no matter how much she pushed herself to move faster.

_**Attack on the "M.F.P." Conference in Rutland: Casualty Count Unknown**_

She shouted the password at the Fat Lady and tore through the Common Room, nearly toppling into a fourth year in the process... then up the stairs, quick, quick, quick as she could, which wasn't nearly quick enough. Up the staircase to her dormitory door, thrown open and slammed shut in an instant.

_...Aurors have confirmed Death Eater involvement..._

Then she had arrived, and the dorm itself seemed to spin around Lily. She looked about frantically, trying to remember where she'd...

The desk. Surely the desk.

_...Possibly as many at one hundred and twenty witches and wizards at the conference, located in the historic Peverell Hall... _

There stood a stack of old homework assignments on the desk, which Lily tore through, knocking them to the floor. No—she'd left it in her journal. All the letters were in her journal...

..._Multiple deaths confirmed..._

Several papers from the desk still floated to the ground when she turned towards her nightstand. She darted over, dropping to her knees and pulling at the drawer with so much energy that she almost pulled it out altogether. Only one thought—that letter—held any significance to her at that moment.

_...Few or no survivors..._

The notebook was in the drawer, and Lily jerked out the stack of loose parchment that had been placed in the binding. The top two fell to the floor along with the notebook itself; the third Lily's eyes scanned briefly. Still kneeling beside the nightstand, she read the letter, her heart pounding violently in her chest... she read the careless scrawling handwriting, because she had to _know._ But in truth, she already didknow. She already knew exactly what it said...

And there were the words of confirmation.

Lily sat down. Numbly, she attempted to steady herself against the bed, but her breathing became labored, and over and over again she read the words on the page that trembled in her fingers.

* * *

"Prongs!"

James utterly ignored his best mate's call, stepping past them all, out the portrait hole and moving briskly down the corridor, towards the stairwell.

"Prongs, where are you going?" Remus shouted after him.

"My floo powder isn't working in the Common Room," James replied, the emotion drained from his voice, the color from his face. "I'm going to the village."

"That's not a good idea," said Peter, as the other three struggled to catch up. James ignored them. Sirius and Remus quickened their pace, eventually falling into step with James.

"Prongs, you have to think this through," said Remus. "I know you're scared, but we don't know what's going on... it's not safe to..."

"I don't _care_ about _safe!_" James shouted, stopping abruptly. "This is my _mother_."

"And you won't do her any good by getting yourself into trouble!" argued Remus. "If the floo's down, something might be going on..."

James ignored this too and continued down the staircase. They were no longer alone, now; many students hastened about the castle, all of them talking loudly, one or two crying, and no one paying much attention to anyone else, so that there was a great deal of shoving. James pushed easily through them all.

"What exactly are you planning on doing, Prongs?" asked Sirius. "Apparating to Peverell Hall, and...?"

"I'll go home," he interrupted. "I've got to make sure she's..."

"You'll do nothing of the kind, Mr. Potter."

The Marauders stopped. Professor McGonagall stood in front of them, and she had never appeared so stern.

James did not falter. "My mother is M.F.P.," he said. "If you expect me to sit here and wait..."

"No, I do _not_," said Professor McGonagall stonily. "I will do _everything_ in my power to find out about every student's relatives. But you are _not_ leaving this castle, Potter. At least fifty wizards..."

"Fifty—it _can't_ be less than a hundred, Professor..."

McGonagall ignored his interruption: "At least fifty have been killed, according to what we _know_—not what we fear or suspect, but what has been confirmed, and it is my responsibility to make sure that nothing happens to any of _you_. You, Mr. Potter, are Head Boy. You will return to your Common Room, and then you will help your classmates keep calm."

The argument James wanted so desperately to make died in his throat, and he nodded.

"Very good," said McGonagall; she passed them a moment later, the steady stream of students parting for her. James did not turn back to the Common Room, however. He continued, just as before, toward the descending staircase.

Sirius swore under his breath, and they pursued again.

"Prongs!" Remus pushed around Peter to reach James; "McGonagall's right—you're not going to do anyone any good... we don't know what's going on out there..."

"I don't _care_ what's going on out there," snapped James; he jogged down the stairs now. "I just know my mother's in it."

"Prongs..." They reached the fourth floor landing, and Remus grabbed his arm. "Stop it. Stop it _now_." He was scared—properly terrified; "You have a responsibility, James, and you can't just run out on that now. The floo network has been shut down—that means the Ministry is closed off... and that means Merlin knows _what_ is going on. You have to stay here; you have to look after everyone else. Your mother isn't going to be any safer with you running off and getting yourself hurt..."

"Christ, Moony, I'm not going to get myself hurt!" James shouted. "The—the bloody tunnel leads right into the village, and I can apparate to my house—it's not..."

"Well what about when someone notices you're gone?" Peter spoke up. "What about your detentions—if you're caught, you could be expelled. And McGonagall will _definitely _notice now!"

"I don't bloody _care_," James replied. "Let go of me, Moony."

Remus did not respond, but James pulled his arm free anyway and stomped down the staircase. He reached the third floor, home to the statue of Gunhilda the Gorsemore (more specifically, the favorite passage to Hogsmeade), and the others followed, arguments paused.

"Listen," said James, reaching the statue of the humpbacked witch. "You lot don't have to cover for me. I don't..."

"Cover for you?" Sirius interrupted. "We're going _with_ you."

"What?"

"You don't expect us to let you go alone, do you?" demanded Remus. "I stand by what I said—you shouldn't go—but if you're going to, you can't be thick enough to think we'll let you go by yourself."

For the first time, James's confidence wavered. "No," he said, after a moment. "No, I don't want you coming. If it's dangerous..."

"'Thought you didn't care," said Sirius coolly.

"I _don't _for my sake, but I'm not going to drag you lot into this..."

"Why not?" said Remus. "You always _do_."

"No," said James firmly. "No, you're not going."

"If you're going, we're going," Sirius told him. His voice was deep and earnest and shaky, and it began to prevail upon his friend. "It's not what you want," Sirius went on, seeing this, "we know that. But you have to wait. You have to be safe."

"It's my mum, Padfoot..."

"I know," said Sirius. "She's like a mother to me, too. And if anything's happened to her..."

The ominous _if_ hung in the air for a few seconds, and its potential almost unraveled James's rationality. But the faces of the three Marauders before him, determined and calm, slowly took their effect.

James never did recollect the walk back to the Common Room that morning. Suddenly, he was stepping through the portrait hole, into the chaotic buzz of Gryffindor Tower, through the din of three or four simultaneous wireless broadcasts and the frantic chatter of his housemates. He could not say when the thought occurred to him in the course of that endless walk, or even whether it constituted a true _thought_ or resulted only from pure instinct, but eventually, he knew that there was one person with whom he needed to speak: one person who might be able to ease his mind, and even if not, would at least _understand_...

Adam McKinnon was in his dormitory.

However, the moment James entered the room, followed closely by his confused friends, he recognized that Adam had received no news. He sat close to the wireless set—Sirius's—and looked helplessly up at them upon their entrance.

So they could only wait.

* * *

"According to the most recent reports we're receiving," said the firm, professionally calm voice of the witch on the wireless, "as many as one hundred witches and wizards may be dead in Peverell Hall, site of the conference for _Magic For Peace—_or M.F.P.—a small organization devoted to the promotion of equality of blood status in the international magical community. It is believed that there were no survivors among those in the hall on Monday evening, but Head Auror Alastor Moody, who is present at the scene, has yet to confirm or give an official statement of any kind. The Minister of Magic is still scheduled to give his own statement later this morning."

* * *

Lily stopped by the boys' dormitory for a minute—she didn't even enter, only leaned against the door frame and asked if they'd heard anything. James didn't look up, but Remus shook his head, and then she was gone.

They did not know where she went. She wasn't in the Common Room when they went down half an hour later.

* * *

Carlotta sat beside Mary MacDonald in the Common Room. She didn't really understand how that had happened. Everyone had started cramming around the wireless again when the witch announced that they would be broadcasting the Minister of Magic's statement at any moment, but that was half an hour ago, and Mary hadn't moved.

Carlotta watched her for a little while, wondering what a girl like Mary thought about at times like this, but Mary only stared off into space and gave no easily detected clue.

* * *

Mary watched Marlene carefully. For twenty minutes, she watched Marlene hang helplessly on every repetitious word that emerged from the WWN across the humming Common Room.

She didn't say anything, because there really wasn't anything to be said yet. Marlene worried for her friends—her friends from the protest over the summer and for Sarah McKinnon and Adam. These were experiences that Mary did not share with her, but this morning, she thought, _was _a shared experience, and later—when things got worse, and she knew, instinctively, that they were about to get so much worse—she would be able to have shared this endless, agonizing morning. That, at least, was _something_.

* * *

Officially or not, classes were canceled that day. At any rate, no one went. McGonagall came by the Common Room, mid-morning, and because she made no objection to the collective's absence, the absolution went assumed. The head of Gryffindor stayed for a few minutes and repeated what seemed to be a hundred times that she knew no more than any of them.

* * *

"The magical community has suffered a great loss today," said the Minister, when he made his announcement at eleven. Gravelly through the static, his voice had a marching rhythm to it, and everyone in the Gryffindor Common Room stopped to listen. "Eighty-seven of our magical brethren fell in Peverell Hall, in an attack carried out by those wizards called the Death Eaters, ordered and executed by the Dark Lord. It is an act of war against innocents—an unprovoked massacre of defenseless witches and wizards, and this act will not go unanswered. The Ministry of Magic is dedicated to searching out those responsible... finding justice for our fallen family and friends—ending this reign of terror..."

James hung on every word. Of course, the Minister would give them no further details, and what James wanted was information—not trite battle cries and speeches of unity and brotherhood and strength in the face of a terrible tragedy. In a few days perhaps that would comfort him, but for now he only wanted to know what had happened—not what was to be done. He kept listening though, focused intensely on each syllable uttered, hoping irrationally for some kind of clue about what had happened. What had _really _happened...

The Minister spoke for maybe ten minutes. When he bid them goodbye, another wizard, with a low, nervous voice, introduced the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—Bartemius Crouch.

This speech was very different from the first. It lacked the anguish that had lingered around the edges of the Minister's words, though where he fell short in sorrow, Crouch compensated tenfold in anger. Crouch did not simply promise to find those responsible; he made an oath to avenge the attack, and there could be no doubt about his sincerity.

"The aurors will begin to fight this war," he said to them all, "as it has been waged upon us."

Marlene, who sat beside Adam while they listened, slackened her grip on his hand slightly—accidentally, even. He glanced at her, having forgotten for the moment that she was there at all. Marlene stared at the floor, her brow furrowed in concentration on the words that they all heard.

Mary looped her arm through Marlene's free one, but the latter did not seem to notice. She shook her head, and whispered (Adam could barely make out the words), "_What's happening_?"

* * *

The Common Room emptied around luncheon.

"We expect to have a full list of victims by tomorrow at the latest," a wizard on the wireless informed those who still listened. James retreated to his dormitory, and Sirius followed him—probably to ensure that he didn't try to run off again. Adam returned to the seventh year boys' dorm, and Remus and Peter joined the majority down in the Great Hall.

"Where the _hell _is Lily?" Donna demanded, when she met up with Marlene and Mary at Gryffindor table. "She can't just _disappear _like this. It's not right."

"You checked her room?" asked Mary. She had an odd, unfocused look about her.

"Yes, of course. She ran off this morning," said Donna impatiently. "Agrippa's sake, you can't just _do_ things like that on a day like this..."

Carlotta joined them, sitting down in the empty seat beside Marlene. "Will one of you go talk to Shelley?" she asked, leaning forward over the table. "I know she won't speak to me, and she's—she's..." (her voice broke a little) "...Well, she's sensitive..."

"Sensitive like a bludger," muttered Mary. Marlene sent her a reproving look, and Mary sighed. "Does she know someone? Someone in... you know… M.F.P.?"

"I don't think so," Carlotta replied. She poured herself a goblet of water, but didn't take anything to eat. Besides Donna, none of them had touched much of the food. "Except you know—the ones everyone knows. Tilda Figg's some kind of genius."

"Then what good will it do to talk to Shelley?" Mary wanted to know.

Carlotta didn't seem to understand her questioning, and to the surprise of all, it was Donna who took it upon herself to explain. "There aren't that many witches and wizards," she said, addressing Mary. "Eighty-seven is... it's just... it's quite a lot." She pushed loose curls back away from her face and then rose from the table. "I'm going to find Bridget."

She hadn't even left the Hall before Marlene was up from her own seat. "I'm taking some food to Adam," she announced, piling a lot of frightfully mismatched items onto a plate. "See you later."

This left Carlotta and Mary alone in their slice of the table. Carlotta leaned over to ask a nearby fifth year to turn up the broadcast on the WWN, and they both fell silent to listen.

_"The Minister of Magic,"_ said the woman, _"has confirmed the deaths of eighty-seven of our own in a ruthless attack at the hands of the death eaters..."_

Prudence stopped Marlene, just as the witch reached the Entrance Hall. Tears stained the Ravenclaw's face, and she shook a little when she touched Marlene's arm, but bravely, she choked out her question of: _"Where is Adam_?"

"Upstairs," said Marlene. The two syllables sounded strange even to her—hollow and unsympathetic, and she didn't know why they should sound that way, when her heart beat so quickly and the heat rose to her face. Why she should feel this way at all? Lightheaded, really, nauseous and confused and feverish... what it meant, she didn't know, except that the feelings were vaguely associated with Adam upstairs, and... and _why_ couldn't Prudence go up to him now and _fix _this?

"Is he all right? He hasn't... he hasn't heard anything? About his sister?"

Marlene shook her head.

"I want to see him," Prudence pressed on. Marlene nodded, attempting to formulate some kind of plan to get the other witch up to the Gryffindor Common Room (would anyone really _care _this afternoon?), but Prudence prevented her from voicing these thoughts, continuing: "I know I can't—but I—want to. So... so will you make sure that Adam knows he can find me, if he needs to?"

Marlene nodded again. The plate of food in her hands felt unfathomably heavy. Though cold, the china seemed to burn her fingertips.

Sarah McKinnon smiling at her in front of the Found of Magical Brethren in the Ministry. Sam Dearborn in his maroon hat. All of M.F.P. in the Hall, with their shirts and their songs and their willingness to fight and defend—defend _her_...

"Will you do that for me, Marlene?"

"Yes, Prudence," whispered the Gryffindor.

_"Immediate family members of the deceased will be contacted today," _said the witch on the wireless. "_And we have been informed that a complete list of the casualties will be made available as early as tomorrow..._"

Very quickly, James realized that he was waiting out the clock. If he didn't hear anything by the end of today, then his mother must be safe. But perhaps there would be no owl for him here at the school... perhaps it would go to his father (who must, by this time, already know), and he would be forced to wait for his dad to contact him...

And there were far darker possibilities, too. His dad wasn't a member of M.F.P., but James couldn't be _absolutely certain_ that he hadn't gone along to the conference. That would explain why James hadn't heard anything... why no one had bothered to come tell him that everything was okay or that his mother was dead or any _scrap _of information, because for Merlin's sake, if it had been the other way around, James wouldn't have cut off his dad from knowing anything... he would've joined him the second he could... apparated right to him and let him know...

Eighty-seven dead, though. That wasn't all of M.F.P. It was a large chunk, but it wasn't the whole organization. There were probably dozens that hadn't gone to the conference...

(His mum always went to the conference. He knew that. She _always _went.)

But if only she were one of the, say, thirty who survived. If only he could _wish _her a spot in that small number—if only the force of his will were enough to guarantee that she was alive...

"_It has been reported that the identification process has been expedited by the organization of the conference itself... members wore name tags_, _so only verification of those identities is necessary..._"

"_Name tags_," Adam chuckled. He actually sounded amused; anyone who knew him at all would've been frightened to hear it, though. It was an unnatural tone, dark and manic.

His stomach churned. It hadn't stopped since he'd first heard the news this morning at breakfast. For a moment, Adam thought of Prudence—she had said she loved him, and he had all but forgotten. In fact, he couldn't recall a thought in his head all day that hadn't involved Sarah...

He was going to be sick if he sat in this room another minute.

Without even bothering to switch off the wireless, Adam left the dorm, slamming the door behind him. He jogged upstairs to James's dormitory and found the resident on the bed. Sirius slouched over the open window with a cigarette.

"You haven't...?" (_heard anything_, was what he meant to ask).

James shook his head.

"Got another cigarette, Black?"

Marlene, and then Remus and Peter, found them up there a few minutes later.

"_Very shortly we'll be speaking with an auror directly involved with the investigation of the attack on Peverell Hall..."_

Donna found her sister in the library. A large group of students gathered there—students from all four houses. There was no wireless, but many were speaking in tones that Ms. Sevoy would, typically, have forbidden. Not today, though. Bridget Shacklebolt sat near the Herbology section, not alone, but with her arm around the shoulders of another first year girl. The other girl, a Slytherin, cried freely on Bridget's jumper, and Donna suddenly felt very out of place.

She turned swiftly to leave but the sound of her surname detained her.

A Hufflepuff boy, Benjy Fenwick, had called it from one of the tables nearer to the door. He rose from his seat as she hesitated: "Your—your brother's an auror, isn't he?" asked the wizard. Donna nodded mutely, stunned somewhat by the address. Near strangers did not usually speak to her. Hell, people she _knew _didn't usually speak to her, unless they were Lily or one of her housemates "Do you know anything? Anything that the rest of us don't?"

She recovered. "Why would I?" she snapped. "Just because I'm related to an auror doesn't mean I've got some way of knowing everything that happens at the Ministry."

"Right," said Fenwick. "Sorry." He returned to his seat, and Donna—well, she began to feel a bit ill.

"I'm sorry," she added. "If I hear anything..."

"Right." He nodded briefly. "Thank you."

"_But first, we'll speak with someone who is closely connected to M.F.P..."_

James needlessly called for silence in his room, and Adam threw his cigarette out the window. They all listened intently.

_ "Alaric Durwood works for the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Magical Games and Sports_, _and he has worked very closely with M.F.P. on a number of occasions. Mr. Durwood, we welcome you..."_

"Alaric Durwood?" echoed James uncertainly. "Who's that?"

"I've never heard of him," said Adam, sinking down onto the window seat. James looked to Sirius, who shook his head.

James and Adam, at least, recognized the significance of Alaric Durwood and his claim to having "worked very closely" with M.F.P. If he was the best they could do... well... they couldn't have found any _actual _members of M.F.P.—they couldn't have found a _really _close contact, or else it would be his or her voice now describing the origins and goals of M.F.P. to an anxious audience...

Time stretched out painfully. James managed to eat a bit of the food that Remus and Peter brought up for him. The longer he waited, however, the more he regretted staying at the school. He should've gone when he had the chance that morning. Sitting in that room—sitting there with Adam McKinnon—was absolute torture, and he knew that Adam must certainly feel the same way.

They were rivals.

Eighty-seven were dead. At the very most, twenty-five or thirty members had survived—had missed the conference—and James, with everything in him, willed that his mother be one of those. He had no power to change the facts—she was either alive or dead, and there was nothing he could do—but this exertion of his own desperate hope seemed itself an act of murder.

If his mother lived—if she took one of those coveted spots in the small number of surviving M.F.P. members, this fact reduced the chances of Sarah McKinnon's survival. And that was only one...

What of Sam? And Tilly Figg and countless others, in whose company James had grown up? Was he to condemn them to death?

He could push most of them out of his mind—he scarcely thought of Sam, because he could not really bear to do so; there was no imagining a world without Sam Dearborn, and anyway, James had not the strength to pray (for he was, he realized, praying) for a second miracle. Rationally (at least, it seemed rational), he could hope that one of the many he loved was alive. He must hope for his mother. Sam he could believe to be alive without a miracle—simply because it must be so—but for his mum to be alive... Grace Potter was a dedicated member of M.F.P. A higher up. One of the founding members. For Grace Potter to be alive, James needed a miracle.

And he knew that, a few feet away, Adam was praying for that same, impossible stroke of luck to be granted to his sister.

They were rivals.

_"...Of course, this is not the first time that the death eaters have targeted wizards—muggleborn, half-blood, _and_ pureblood—for harboring sympathetic views toward muggleborns and even muggles_..."

"Even muggles!" Lily repeated sarcastically. "Even muggles, Merlin, imagine that!"

She stood in the Head Student Office. She forgot why, but she had arrived after breakfast and not left. There was a letter crumpled up in her pocket that she dared not reread, and she spent the day organizing the quills and sorting point deduction documentation forms and rewriting the patrol schedules and Merlin knew what else, because she could not stand to be around anyone else.

Most of all, she could not face James.

_"According to our latest information, as many as half of the immediate family members have received letters from the Ministry. However, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement continues to urge the public to wait before attempting to contact the Ministry, either by owl or in person, for information concerning at-risk loved ones. The floo network is still shut down, but is expected to return tomorrow morning..."_

"Oh, Merlin, can't we shut that off?" groaned Mary, the endless drawl of the wireless at last becoming too much for her. She'd scarcely finished any of her meal and didn't see how she ever would with the voice from the wireless pounding in her head. "They're not saying anything _new_."

"How can you say that?" Carlotta growled. Her chin had rested in the palm of her hand for the last half hour, but now she straightened up, bringing her several inches above Mary. "I suppose you don't care at all what's happened to these people."

"That's not..."

"Anything that doesn't have to do with boys or make up is just dull to you, I suppose," Carlotta pressed on feverishly. "You don't—don't know what it feels like at all, do you? You can't even imagine the—the scope of it... what it feels like for them..."

Mary's eyes were very wide, her eyebrows invisible beneath the fringe of dark brown hair, but she made no attempt to argue. By chance, Carlotta noted that her knuckles were white around the fork in her hand, but beyond that, Mary gave no visible reaction, and that infuriated Carlotta more than anything. Couldn't she _feel _anything, surrounded by all of this? How could she possibly think about anything _else_?

"You stupid, silly girl," Carlotta continued, tears in her eyes. "How can you—how can you know that all of your friends are h-heartbroken, and—and just not _care _at all?"

Mary's face relaxed again; she set down the fork and straightened up. "You're quite right," she all but whispered. Carlotta swallowed, expecting a heated retort, and it almost frightened her when Mary gave none. "I can't imagine," was all she said.

* * *

It was just past four o'clock.

An entire afternoon had passed in nothing but the endless march of voices on the WWN, and no one seemed to be saying a goddamn word anymore.

It was just past four o'clock when something _finally _happened.

James, Sirius, and Peter played Exploding Snap on the bed. Remus, Adam, and Marlene sat near the window, speaking softly. Their attentions had strayed from the wireless, and they might not have heard what followed, but the sound of a familiar name cut sharply through the white noise.

"_What_?" said James loudly, abandoning his cards.

"What's wrong, Prongs?"

"Did you hear that?" He practically dived off the bed to reach the wireless, adjusting the volume hastily, and the others fell silent to listen as well, Adam rising from the window seat.

"_Yes, that's right..." _a witch's voice was saying—not the witch from before; this one sounded older and less calm, less polished... and astronomically more familiar... "_I've been helping the Ministry with that, yes," _she said. James could scarcely believe it—he thought he must be going mad from all the talk, and yet... "_It was... it was terrible in there_... _It's not something that anyone should see. I'm not—I'm not really allowed to say much about it, until the—until the families have been notified_..." (she was crying), "_but—but in case my husband hasn't been able to contact him yet, I would like for—for my son, James, to know that I'm all right—I'm safe... I love him very much, and I—I hope he c-c-can come home soon."_

"_Thank-you, Mrs. Potter_..."

"Shit," Sirius swore, falling back onto the bed. "Thank Merlin..."

"_Yes of course," _came Mrs. Potter's choked reply.

"_That was Grace Potter, leading member of Magic for Peace, who has spent the day identifying the bodies of her fallen comrades_..."

"Oh my God," whispered Marlene. Adam had taken a seat again, and Marlene reached out to hold his hand.

James couldn't properly breathe.

He couldn't _think_, except to acknowledge over and over and over that _she was alive_. _She was safe_.

He felt like he was waking up from a hideous nightmare; relief overwhelmed him. He didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, but the need to move seemed suddenly acute, so that he began to pace around, running his hands through his hair in frenzied distraction.

Adam McKinnon sat still in the corner.

"I'm going for a walk," James announced after a minute. He looked around to the faces of his friends, noting that Remus—though inhumanly pale—and Peter—with red eyes—exuded relief themselves. Sirius's expression grew doubtful.

"I'll go with you..."

"No, I'm not going anywhere," said James quickly. "I mean, I won't run. She's alive, Padfoot—I'll... I'll stay tonight. But I just—need some air. Outside of here."

He ended up in the seventh year boys' dormitory, but only for a moment. He stopped to fetch the Marauder's Map.

* * *

Lily heard his footsteps out in the corridor for a full minute before he arrived, so that when James did show up, she was—well, _almost_, prepared. She stood at the desk along the wall, her back to the door, when he reached the threshold.

"Did you hear her?" the Head Boy practically gasped. He'd been running—he was all out of breath.

Lily couldn't face him. She switched off the wireless and nodded—he saw the movement of her head and stepped into the office. "She's okay... and if she's okay then maybe some of the others..."

(The letter, now balled up in her hand, seemed to have become unbearably heavy.)

"I'm sorry," Lily cut him off. Her voice sounded alien—coarse and unsuitably angry—and that startled James.

"What are you sorry for?"

"I should've..." Lily broke the sentence for a moment; she concentrated on preventing the hot tears that sprung up in her eyes from progressing any further. "I should've showed you earlier."

"Showed me _what_?"

Lily turned. She took in the sight of James quickly, recognizing that he looked terrible but had probably looked much worse before the sound of his mother's voice on the wireless had renewed his hope. The Head Girl did not analyze his appearance for long, however, and in fact she barely met his eye at all. She moved away from the desk and stretched out her hand. It was a moment before James understood that she was giving him something: a crumpled page of parchment, which he took with reluctance he could not explain.

He unfolded the parchment and smoothed it out, immediately recognizing the handwriting, though he could not quite identify it. The wizard looked up at Lily, who watched him carefully.

"What is this?"

"A letter," she replied quietly. "From Sam."

"I don't want to read it," said James. He tried to return the letter. "I don't..."

"At the end there... the last few sentences..." Lily now spoke over him. "I've read them a hundred times. The fifth line from the bottom—I'm so sorry, I should have showed it to you earlier..." She began to weep. "I just—I couldn't stand to say it... I couldn't face—I couldn't face you, and say it out loud..."

James looked down at the letter. It was the second page of something, he could tell, because it started out mid-sentence with the tumbling handwriting he now easily identified as Sam's.

A few phrases stood out to him as his eyes dropped down the page, but he registered nothing. The last few sentences, though, he caught.

_No need for unbelievable excuses this time—I really had better get along, because I must have supper with Mum tonight. I'm off to Rutland on Monday for that M.F.P. conference, and she seems to keep a very balanced ledger of time spent with her versus time spent gallivanting about with my mad friends. I'm kind and keep the latter column much fuller than the former—it gives Mum a nice sense of righteous indignation, which she loves._

_With fond thoughts and an affectionate pat on the head,_

_Sam_

"That doesn't mean anything," said James, when he'd finished. "He's... he's Sam. He might've slept in... missed it completely. He's Sam, that's all—he always..."

"He was there," Lily gasped. "He was there. Sam was there. He was in Rutland, I know..."

"Maybe he changed his plans," James interrupted furiously. The respite ended and fresh panic swept over him. "He's... he's Sam—he's all over the place. He might have drunk to much the night before and stayed in bed for all we know..."

"He's gone, he's dead!" Lily cried, covering her face with her hands.

"Stop that!" James ordered. "Don't _say_ that!"

She'd stopped saying _anything_ now. Half seated on the edge of the desk, half standing, Lily struggled to regain her composure. The tears were easily stopped, but her breathing remained irregular for another minute. She turned away from him again, drying her face and smoothing back the hair behind her ears.

"You're right," she said after a long while. James sat down on the sofa and rested his chin in his hand. "You're right, we can't know for—for certain." Lily faced him, dry eyed again. "I'm very glad for your mother," she said. "And—and you're quite r-r-right about—about—your cousin. I'm quite sure he's all right after all..."

"When did you get this letter?" James muttered.

"A-a few days ago, maybe, I don't know. Tuesday or Wednesday..."

"All it proves," James insisted, "is that he _intended _to go. It doesn't mean that he actually went."

"Yes, you're right."

"It's almost more likely that he didn't make it to the conference, if you know Sam..."

"Yes, I'm sure you're right..."

"Sam's never—he's never on time for anything, for one thing. Showed up two hours later to my tenth birthday party, you know... and he forgot to bring a present at that..." James almost smiled, very falsely; "He's all right. I'm sure of it."

"Yes," said Lily again. "You'd know best, I suppose."

"Would you stop just agreeing with me?" James snapped.

"Well what do you want me to do?"

"Say what you _really _mean!"

"It won't do either of us any good," she answered curtly. "To say it—it won't do _anyone _any good."

James got up off the sofa and walked toward her. "Where have you _been _all day?" he asked, uncertain why it mattered but convinced that it did.

"What?"

"Where have you been? In here?"

"I wanted to be alone," Lily said, brushing off the question absently. She indulged in a few calming breaths, which restored some of the color to her face and cleared her thoughts a little. Tiredly, as if performing an exhausting task for which she had no taste, and yet not without sincerity, Lily asked: "How are _you_?"

"Not _fantastic_," James admitted dryly.

"Right."

After an uncomfortable moment, Lily picked up the point deduction documentation forms she had been dealing with and began to shuffle them around, somewhat needlessly, except that it was something to do with her hands.

"Listen," said James, "I'm sorry I shouted, I just..."

"No, no," Lily cut him off hastily. "Please, don't... it's nothing."

"Yes, but... I'm sorry, that's all. Listen, will you come on back to the Common Room? Everyone's there—your mates are looking for you..."

Lily looked up from her papers and then shook her head. "Not—not yet. I'd rather not just now."

"You're not going to stay here all evening?" he half accused.

"No, I'll be along. I'll be along in a minute, but I can't..." What she _couldn't_ went unarticulated, and Lily did not seem to feel the need to elaborate. "Please, just go."

"But..."

"I'll be there soon," she said. James hesitated still; he didn't _want_ to leave Lily. He didn't want to go and be near everyone else. He didn't want to sit with the other Gryffindors—the ones who had no idea about Sam or Sarah or Victor Vance or anyone... who's greatest fear would be for someone they read about once... oh, it wasn't their fault, he knew that, but now the fact of his mother's survival had sunk in, and all he could think about were those bodies that she had spent the day identifying. James didn't want... well he didn't know _what _he wanted... but he didn't see how he was supposed to be all right, sitting in the Common Room—or even up in his dormitory—if there wasn't _someone _there who might possibly understand.

(Someone who wasn't Adam... whose bad fortune seemed guaranteed by James's good news).

Of course, Sirius and Remus and Peter were there. They'd been there all day, just trying to sort him out, and now he behaved like a petulant child for the simple reason that Lily had not. For once, Lily didn't want to comfort or mend others; she wanted to be left alone to fix herself, and James could not begrudge her that.

"I'm sorry," he said again, but without context.

"What for?"

"I've—well, just believe me, I've been a git."

"James, today of all days..."

"That's not an excuse. I'm perfectly all right, you know. I'm here, I'm safe, and all my mates are acting as though I'm the one in danger, but it's not as though I've been in Peverell Hall, and even _I'm _acting as if I have been and it's rubbish, and I'm..."

"You're not perfectly all right," Lily interrupted him. She twisted her fingers together nervously but spoke in a voice sad and patient. "Those are your _friends_, James. You're a mess same as everyone else is, and that's allowed today."

James nodded doubtfully. "Promise you'll come back soon?" he asked.

Lily nodded. James backed away. He stopped near the door, considering something else to say, but Lily had already returned to her pretense of work, so he left her alone.

* * *

James received a letter. Adam did not.

James's came from his father, and it was a short note, scribbled that morning, it appeared.

_Your mother is all right. No word on Sam or any of the others. Going to Rutland now. Will write again soon. _

Mr. Potter had selected a smaller, quicker owl named Sligh, and the paper was torn from the scroll in the foyer of the Potters' house. In his mind, James recreated the scene of the note's authorship: his father had been on his way out of the door, stopped by some nagging sense of unfinished business, and in his haste, he had neglected any meaningful details. Mrs. Potter was all right, but _why _this was the case remained a mystery: she _couldn't _have missed the conference, could she? She _never _missed the conference, and yet the WWN seemed convinced that no one in Peverell Hall had survived...

Adam received no letter.

A little after five o'clock, Professor McGonagall found him in the Common Room. He had come down to be with his younger sister, Frances; Marlene, Mary, Remus, Peter, and a few of Frances's friends sat with them, a quiet, miserable little circle near a window. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, covering the messy table between Adam and Marlene in golden light. When the portrait hole admitted the head of Gryffindor, everyone in the room promptly fell silent. They all seemed to guess the nature of her errand, and the message that she delivered, though enigmatic, was immediately apparent.

"Your mother and father are in the Entrance Hall," McGonagall told them.

A strange, unconnected thought floated through Adam's mind just then:_ Fairy Lights_. It was some stupid Melodia Jordan song—Sarah's favorite. He must have heard that ridiculous album a hundred times in his life, and Sarah had once explained to him that the witch who sang it, who wrote it, Melodia Jordan, had written it about her time as a Hufflepuff at this school. Adam had always thought it odd that someone as sensible as Sarah (Sarah Holland McKinnon, twenty one years old, twelve inch cherry wand with a single unicorn hair) should fancy such an... an overly sentimental song. It was her favorite, though.

Sarah was dead.

He knew it at once, of course.

He didn't bother searching for an alternative explanation. Frances sat terrified at his side, and everyone—not just those at the table, but everyone in the whole Common Room—stared at them as they received Professor McGonagall's brief report that their parents awaited them in the Entrance Hall. Everyone watched as they learned—or at least, as Adam learned—that their sister was dead.

Oliver and Florence McKinnon met their younger children in the Entrance Hall. Audrey—Adam's second oldest sister—was with them, as was his younger brother from Ravenclaw. Donald, the boy, cried. Audrey was very pale. The moment Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon locked eyes with the last two children to arrive, Frances understood for certain.

Adam said nothing, even as he walked up to his family; his mind dawdled in the surreal haze, and he heard that silly, cheerful song Sarah loved.

But Sarah was dead.

* * *

Remus and Peter helped Marlene pack up a few things for Adam. He'd already left: all the McKinnons (and two or three other students who had lost immediate family members, whose names the Gryffindors would not know until the next day) had gone down to the village and apparated from there. Adam had returned only briefly to Gryffindor Common Room.

He had spoken very clearly, and that struck Marlene as strange, for it was abundantly clear that his head was in some kind of fog. His eyes were glazed over, and he only nodded to indicate what they'd all already guessed.

He hadn't taken anything with him—not even a toothbrush. He'd simply put on a cloak and said they were all going home. He'd bid goodbye to Marlene and his roommates, and then he was gone. Professor McGonagall asked if Remus might pack up some clothing that they could send along for Adam in the morning.

Marlene and Peter had joined Remus, Sirius staying with James, but the Marauder seemed rather useless at the task, and Marlene took over quickly.

She grabbed practical, seasonally appropriate clothing and shoes and tossed them into Adam's trunk. She enlisted the two Marauders to take anything of Adam's from the lavatory, and, because she did not know how long he would be gone, dropped his book bag—with his books and supplies—into the trunk as well. She put his broomstick in the magically expanded slot in the trunk allotted it and added the book he'd been reading from his bedside table, but that was it. Nothing else recreational—not his music... nothing. He could come back for that, if need be.

"Did you know her well?" asked Peter, when Marlene had finished and locked up the trunk. "Sarah McKinnon?"

Marlene sat down on Adam's bed and shrugged. "A little."

She was distracted now, though. Marlene loved Adam; she did, and she knew that, but before all that she was his friend. She was his best friend, and in light of that fact, an unpleasant chore awaited her. "I suppose one of you had better tell Professor McGonagall that he's all packed," she said to the two Marauders. "I have to go to Ravenclaw Common Room. Someone ought to tell Prudence that he's gone."

Remus frowned. "I'll come with you," he said, and Marlene could've hugged him for that.

They walked in silence to the fourth floor; Marlene knew the path more fluently even than the Marauder did, due to her former relationship with Miles. The riddle required for entrance to the Common Room posed the greatest complication, but they were fortunate there. A small group of third and fourth years sat huddled outside the entrance. One cried—the others were silent, but the two Gryffindors were nearly upon them before the younger students noted the new arrivals. They all looked up with a mixture of surprise and, inexplicably, distrust as Marlene and Remus approached, and Marlene spoke quietly to them.

"Do you think one of you might fetch Prudence Daly from your Common Room? I've got to speak to her."

"Has she lost someone?" asked one of the witches abruptly.

"I've got to give her a message, that's all," Marlene explained. "Won't you find her and tell her that Marlene Price and Remus Lupin are out here to speak to her?"

The girl, a freckled creature with a long, pointed face, nodded at last. She rose from her seat on the corridor floor, but did not make it to the door before it opened, seemingly of its own accord. Clancy Goshawk stepped out, dressed in a blue bathrobe and pinstriped cotton trousers.

"Dahlia," she rushed, speaking to the freckled girl and failing to notice the two Gryffindors at first, "your sister is looking everywhere for... Oh, hello." She pulled the bathrobe a little closer around her middle. Remus flushed and muttered a reply. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to see Prudence," said Marlene. "Prudence Daly. I don't suppose _you_ could fetch her for us."

"P-Prudence? Yes, yes of course. Dahlia, come along..." Dahlia started toward her, but Clancy remained, eying the other younger students uncertainly. "All of you, come inside," she beckoned. "It's getting late... there's a nice fire. Come on then..." Reluctantly, the others followed Dahlia, and Clancy added to the Gryffindors: "I'll just be a moment." Then she, too disappeared.

Remus cleared his throat. "I suppose you can handle Prudence on your own..."

Truthfully, Marlene did not know how she found the energy to smile, even as feebly as she did. "Stay put, Lupin."

Clancy returned with Prudence, who seemed calmer now than she had been. The latter walked directly up to Marlene, while the former hung back at first. When Remus met her eye, however, Clancy approached him.

"It's awful, isn't it?"

Remus nodded.

"Do you—do you think you might know anyone?"

"I've _met_ loads of them," said the Marauder. "I went to a protest with them once."

"A protest?"

"In the Ministry, this summer."

"You were _there_?"

"Yeah. So..." His voice broke, "So was almost all of M.F.P., though."

"I'm sorry." Clancy's eyes dropped to her slippers. "I can't even imagine."

Prudence took the news fairly well, although she must have expected it the moment Clancy came to fetch her.

"He had to leave right away," Marlene was quick to assure the Ravenclaw. "He didn't have a minute, you know. His family was waiting for him..."

"Yes, of course," said Prudence softly. "He's... I wonder if he was very close with Sarah? He talked about her quite a bit..."

"They were close, yes," Marlene replied. She realized rather too late that it hadn't been a question. "He's closer—I mean—he was closest with Sarah."

Prudence pursed her lips, lines of concentration forming on her forehead; her chin dropped to her chest and she inhaled and exhaled deeply through her nose. She looked as though she were trying to figure out a particularly difficult arithmetic problem, but could reach no solution. "He'll be heartbroken," she said at last, in a tone of surrender.

"Yes," Marlene agreed effortlessly.

* * *

"Sarah McKinnon's dead," said Donna, when Lily entered the Head Girl's dormitory that evening. Her friend sat on the bed, knees pulled up against her chest; Donna's face was stoic, but no more relaxed than her body. Her head rested against the wall behind her, until Lily came closer, and she adjusted, following the witch with her eyes.

"I know," said Lily, in turn avoiding Donna's stare. She took Sam's letter out of her pocket and placed it on the desk, pausing there for a moment. "Sirius just told me as I was on my way up. Adam's gone home? Where's Marlene?"

"With Mary in the dormitory. You didn't come to supper."

"I wasn't hungry."

"Where have you been?"

"Head offices."

"Doing _what_ for Merlin's sake?" snapped Donna.

"Working. Listening to the wireless. I just didn't feel like..." But as she spoke, Lily turned toward the bed again. Donna's legs stretched flat across the comforter now. She'd continued to watch Lily very carefully, her eyes wider, more open and revealing than Lily had ever seen them. There was something helpless about her. Lily broke off mid-sentence and then began again. "Have you heard from Kingsley?"

Donna shook her head.

"I expect he'll write tomorrow," said Lily.

"Yes."

Slowly, Lily walked to the bed, where she sat down at the foot and asked: "How are you?"

Donna dropped her gaze. "Ill," she said. "There was a girl at supper who was crying because her—her aunt's a member of M.F.P. She's gone home now—she left right after supper. But she was crying, and I just—just felt _ill_. Bridget doesn't really understand it... she was—I don't know, I expect she's too young. She doesn't realize it..."

"Doesn't realize what?"

"How—how _stupid _it all is," said Donna bitterly. "How completely ridiculous it is. All of this. You and I both know... knew people who... who are dead now—M.F.P... Dearborn, Sarah McKinnon, the Vances... Lily, it's been two years, and these people died exactly the same as my parents did. For _no reason_, Lily. Just—just for being there. There wasn't a battle... this isn't a war... it's just... it's just a massacre. Two years later, and nothing's changed at all."

Everything Lily wanted to say seemed hollow—silly and naïve.

_For no reason_. She had been dancing around that idea for hours.

She kicked off her shoes and then stood up, walking around to the other side of the bed, where she joined Donna. But encouraging, hopeful words did not come to her. She was useless to her friends today, and all she could think of was the vacant reminder: "We don't know anything for sure, yet. Mrs. Potter is alive—we don't know..."

"Eighty seven people are dead," Donna interrupted her, disturbingly calm. "Whether or not they're our mates, they're dead."

At a loss, Lily nodded. "I know."

For a long time, they sat and talked. Donna repeated some of the rumors she had heard in the Common Room and at supper, and they exchanged information from the wireless that had caught their attention.

"I just don't understand," Donna said, much later, before she drifted off to sleep, "_how _it could have happened. How could they have killed so many people so—easily? They were witches and wizards, weren't they? They must have had wands. It doesn't make _sense_."

It didn't. Not at all.

* * *

Sam wasn't dead.

James decided this late that night. The other Marauders had gone back to their dormitory, and he lay in bed, awake and likely to remain so for some time. He was exhausted, but his mind raced, and over and over he forced that conclusion on himself. Sam wasn't dead. Sam couldn't be dead.

Tilda Figg was dead. He knew that. They'd said so on the wireless at around ten o'clock. She was the only officially released name, although a few others had gotten out in the evening paper... no one he _really_ knew, except Gabriel Simple, who had always come to his parents' Christmas parties.

Of course, Tilda Figg had been a guarantee, James thought. The second he'd read the damn article, he'd known Tilly would be there. She was head of the bloody organization. Of course she was dead. And that he could receive the news with so little surprise—horror—bothered him.

Tilly Figg, with her ugly, kind husband who'd died a few years back, and her fuzzy graying hair, and her squib daughter, and that silly, magenta house in Kent. Tilly Figg was dead. Sarah McKinnon was dead. His mother was alive, and Sarah McKinnon was dead.

But Sam. Sam had to be alive. The idea that Sam Dearborn could be dead was absurd to the point of comical.

And anyway, he'd have heard something by now if Sam had been in Peverell Hall. His father or mother or someone would've contacted him. They wouldn't have shut him out like this if Sam had been there.

Each time he reached this conclusion, the same relief that he'd felt at the sound of his mother's voice earlier spread through him, and he felt absolutely awful. Eighty seven dead. Eighty seven witches and wizards from a handful of countries, of all blood statuses, all ages—his mother's best friends, and he could hold tight to the firm belief—conviction, even—that Sam must be alive.

James nodded off a few hours before dawn and woke abruptly at six without having realized that he'd fallen asleep. His room was still and grey when he started suddenly in his bed, disquieted by a dream he could not quite remember. Awake and with an unnatural alertness, he showered and changed hastily before going down to the Great Hall.

The enchanted ceiling swirled around in iron colored formations that morning, and though very early, James arrived after a few dozen others. Professor Dumbledore had returned and took his usual place at the center of the staff table. James poured himself a cup of tea, but he had no appetite for breakfast.

A third year girl brought the wireless down about twenty minutes after James arrived, and the small number of students present listened to the announcements. You could hear it all throughout the hall. The list of deceased was said to be in the morning paper, but there were no more details. Sirius, Remus, and Peter came down at eight o'clock, and, after confirming that James had not heard anything new, they ate their own breakfasts in silence.

* * *

Lily woke famished and achy. Donna had slept in her bed, and the Head Girl ultimately drifted off in the window seat, so her neck throbbed when she sat up. Her friend was awake already, having dosed long before the Head Girl, but she was still stretching and yawning in the bed.

"You should have kicked me out," Donna remarked.

Lily did not contest the point, but got to her feet, stepping gingerly on the cool floor and finding that the muscles in her legs protested as they extended after a night spent contracted. She hobbled about, collecting a fresh set of clothes and stepping into the lavatory. When she emerged, a quarter of an hour later but changed and showered, Donna was gone. Lily went directly to breakfast.

The other shoe dropped, so to speak, when the morning edition of _The Daily Prophet _arrived.

On page two, in four little columns, with just over twenty names each, printed in black ink, and arranged in alphabetical order by surname, were the dead.

_Dearborn, Samuel _appeared about halfway down the first column.

When James located that name, he stopped reading. Remus said something to him; Peter, who had been craning over his shoulder with several others, collapsed back into his seat at Gryffindor table. More students filled the gap left by his absence, and as James's grip on the paper slackened, Sirius took it from him. He kept reading. He searched for any other name he might know.

_Figg, Tilda. Graves, Louisa _worked in Quality Quidditch Supplies. He'd seen her almost every day this last summer._ Jordan, Elisha. Jordan, Garrett. _They'd been the first to arrive to the Ministry, bringing with them all those other M.F.P. members. _McKinnon, Sarah. Mimieux, Clemence _had been flirting with Fabian Prewett half that night they'd spent in the lock up. _Kline, Maura _was a few years ahead of them at Hogwarts, but he didn't really know her. _Salazar, Aldo _had been at one of the Potters' Christmas parties. He spoke four languages and had refused to converse with Sirius in anything but slangy French. Sirius had met _Simeon, Cole _when he was very young—his aunt had advised him against consorting with "that sort of wizard." _Ulvan, Tobias _was indefinitely familiar. _Vance, Victor_—Emmeline's husband.

_Dearborn, Samuel._

Every time his eyes moved across the dark lines of print, Sirius tripped over that name.

It was unreal, the hall dissolving in a new surge of panic and confusion, as the eighty seven—oft discussed in the last twenty four hours—materialized in print, named and killed in an instant.

That was it.

* * *

They called off classes again. Lily made herself vanish the second she had seen James. Gryffindor, indeed. She couldn't muster the courage to say a single word to him. She walked away from the brewing storm in Great Hall, quickly as she could, and didn't stop until she found herself in a room without occupants—the Library, as it were. The Librarian must have been at breakfast, for the entire room was silent. Lily crossed to the very furthest corner, sat down, gathered her knees up against her chest, and, through her tears, she gasped for breath.

* * *

Apart from Sarah, Marlene knew—reallyknew—only those whom she'd met at the protest in August. Many of the pureblood and half blood students knew or knew of a handful of the dead through various family acquaintances. The Common Room that morning was far more chaotic, less solemn, than it had been the day before. Mary sat beside her on a sofa, with her arms wrapped around Marlene's shoulders as the blonde wept openly.

Shelley Mumps sat on the sofa next to them, and she kept spitting demands at whatever official happened to be speaking on the wireless: "_How _could you let this happen?"

Carlotta tried to speak with her, but Shelley staunchly refused to pay her any attention.

* * *

James smoked a cigarette in his room.

He lay on his bed, legs crossed at the ankle, with one lean arm bent behind his head.

You could see anything through the smoke of a cigarette. It clouded up the actual room, blinded him to the ceiling up above, but if you couldn't see what was really there, anything might take its place. He might be in the Great Hall just then. He might be at home in his own bed or on the lumpy mattress in his room at Godric's Hallow. Or he might be in his old dormitory. Nothing had ever really gone wrong in that old dormitory, had it?

* * *

Footsteps in the library brought Lily back to the present. They came slowly at first, and the Head Girl thought they must belong to the Librarian, returning to her post. Lily wiped the tears from her face and tried to collect herself, but as she stood up, the footsteps sped up and changed course, until they brought their owner to Lily's own corner of the room. It wasn't Ms. Sevoy, but Colista Black.

The Slytherin appeared every bit as surprised to find Lily there as the reverse.

"Where is everyone?" she asked.

Lily had no idea what that might mean. "Who?"

"Everyone," Colista only repeated unhelpfully. "They were—everyone was up here yesterday. I suppose I thought..." She trailed off regretfully, as if realizing that she had said too much... revealed a dangerous vulnerability she now wished to redact. Lily felt far more at the disadvantage for having been caught in such a state, however, and she only told Colista that she had not see anyone there since breakfast.

Colista stood still, seemingly paralyzed for the moment, as Lily mumbled some excuse and began to pass by her. Ever composed—ever neat and clever and prepared—Colista now could not so much as react. Her smooth dark hair wrapped faultlessly around her head; her complexion lacked blotch or blemish. Nothing obvious had changed in her, and yet she seemed like a wax reconstruction of the living Colista Black.

Lily traveled the width of two or three bookshelves before Colista's paralysis ended, and she called out suddenly: "This is _your _fault." She turned to Lily even as the Head Girl paused. "This _all your fault_," she repeated, lower but more hysterically. "You and—and your bloody kind! All of it! All of this—this war is happening to us because of you... you mudbloods!" Lily faced her. "If you would just... if you had just left everyone alone, they wouldn't be doing this!"

All at once, Lily's head cleared, and she emerged from the grief stricken dream that had shrouded her into a new kind of fit. She didn't register taking out her wand at all, but she felt everything inside her bubbling up and then exploding as she jabbed the wand once in the air and Colista flew to the ground, missing the nearest bookcase by a matter of inches. Lily walked up to her, wand aimed, and she heard herself demand, disbelievingly: "How_ dare _you?"

Colista flinched, expecting another hex, and that jarred Lily, pulling her back to her senses. She swallowed. She relaxed. She regained control and put the wand away. Without a word, stunned by her own reaction, Lily turned on her heel, making quick progress toward the exit.

* * *

Someone knocked on James's door late in the morning. He claimed the right to behave immaturely and did not respond.

"James, I know you're in there."

"What do you want?" he retorted, recognizing the voice.

"To stand shouting at you through your door, obviously."

"Come in, then."

"It's locked." James, still flat on his back on the bed, grabbed his wand from the bedside table and unlocked the door from there. Carlotta Meloni stepped into the room. She closed the door and stood uncertainly near it for a moment.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"James, you mustn't pretend..."

"_Carlotta_," he interrupted through gritted teeth. She flinched and then nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry. I'm—I'm so, so sorry, James."

He only managed a sort of nod in reply, and Carlotta stepped further into the room. She hesitated at first, but then summoned the courage and moved to the bed, sitting down on the edge. Slowly, James sat up.

"So what _did_ you come up for?" he asked, and he pulled his legs around to join her on the edge of the bed.

"To check up on you, of course. I know there's nothing I can _say_, but..." Her hand suddenly covered his (or endeavored to, being much smaller), which was balled up on the scarlet comforter. "I think I owe _that much _to you."

"You don't owe me anything."

Rather unexpectedly, Carlotta's eyes watered up. "_God_, I wish this was all over."

James turned to her, surprised, and he softened as a result. "You wish _what_ was all over?"

"_This. _This—this war. This dying and—and _Merlin_, how could this _happen_?"

"I don't know," James confessed. He moved his hand from beneath hers, replacing it on top. "I—I can't understand it either." Carlotta's chin rested on her shoulder, which was almost aligned with James's. Tears clung to her eyelashes and one slipped down her cheek. They neither of them moved for a time.

Then she kissed him.

He didn't object. He kissed her back a little, but even as she moved her hand to the side of his face, and then to his neck, James felt strangely deadened. His mind did not go blank; the rapid succession of worried thoughts continued their flashing through his brain; the anger and helplessness that ruled his mood stood steadfast.

Eventually, they pulled apart; Carlotta closed her eyes and rested her forehead against James's. "Oh dear," she sighed.

"Carlotta..."

"I know," she cut him off. "And you're quite right. That won't solve anything." She sat up straight, wiping the tears from her face. "Wish it would."

"Yeah."

"Do you mind if I stay for a little longer?" the witch asked in a small voice. "It's very lonely out there."

"All right." He lay back down on the bed. Carlotta brought her legs up underneath her. "But I don't really want to talk, you know."

"Yes, I know." As she spoke, her eyes fell upon a scrap of parchment resting near the foot of the bed, and without asking, Carlotta picked it up. "What's this?"

"From my mum," said James gruffly. "It came a little while ago. Just telling me about—my cousin. Must've written it last night. I think I'm to go home tomorrow."

* * *

"Yesterday," began Professor Dumbledore, when he addressed the school at supper, "a great tragedy befell the magical community."

_Because of you_, said Colista Black, over and over and over again in Lily's mind.

"Many of you have lost a friend or family member..."

Lovely, brave Sarah McKinnon, seated on the edge of the fountain in the atrium at the Ministry. Marlene could _see _her there, in that silly shirt... but she could see her any other day, as well, at the McKinnons' house, playing Quidditch, chatting with one of her sisters... The finality of it—her death—was surreal.

"And there are no words to express the grief we feel in the wake of this loss. There is no explanation to be offered that will ease the pain that we—that we all must feel today. There is... nothing to be said."

Fittingly, Dumbledore fell silent, and the suddenness of it brought James out of his own reverie. It seemed for a moment that the Headmaster _would_ say no more, but then he carried on.

"As you may have heard, a memorial service for the fallen witches and wizards is to be held on Sunday. Anyone who wishes to attend may do so. In the mean time, any student who wishes to return home, to spend time with his or her loved ones may do so as well. The Hogwarts Express will depart Friday, and arrangements will be made for you to contact your parents, should you desire to go home. You may also stay at the castle if that is your wish."

"I don't reckon I have much of a choice," muttered Sirius. "The flat's leased. Unless I want to go home with dear old Regulus."

"You'll come home with me," James told him. From then on, it was treated as a settled matter, and Sirius made no argument.

"Classes," said Professor Dumbledore, "Will adjourn until next Thursday. Your heads of houses will explain the procedures in greater detail, but, in the mean time, Madam Keepdown wishes to inform you that should anyone wish to speak with her... during this difficult time, she is available to you."

Madam Keepdown, seated at the staff table, inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement of this, and Dumbledore, having said all that he wanted or needed to say, resumed his seat.

"That's _it_?" asked Marlene faintly. "First thing he says to us since this happens and that's _it_?"

"I suppose so," Lily replied. Of course, what else remainedto be said? She poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice.

For the first time since breakfast the day before, it seemed that most of the school had actually turned out for a meal, and supper that evening bore a closer resemblance to the typical mealtime scene. The conversations lacked excitement, but they were earnest and unrestrained, and they gave the hall a sense of energy.

Near the end of it, Professor McGonagall rose from her seat at the staff table and asked that all prefects, as well as the Head Boy and Girl, visit her office immediately following the meal. "The Prefects," she said to the student body at large, "will collect the signatures of all students who wish to return home during this time. Please see one of your house prefects before you retire to bed tonight."

If Remus had not been compelled to go to McGonagall's office, James did not think he would have bothered going himself. As it was, however, no escape option presented itself, and when he'd finished his supper, the Head Boy joined the prefect in the trip to Professor McGonagall's office. James _did_ time the exit to avoid meeting Lily, however. He was conscious of that fact—that he didn't want to see her or speak with her or think about their last dialogue. Now, they could only discuss one thing, and he didn't want to face that conversation.

Sam had died in his chair in Peverell Hall. James clenched his fists, red and white at the knuckles. His mother had identified the body. Sam had not defended himself. He had not died in battle. He had surely died very, very afraid, and now he was gone, quite simply because he had worn a nametag for a club.

_I'm off to Rutland_, he'd said in that letter.

James didn't want to see Lily, because what was the point?

The two Gryffindor boys were neither first nor last to arrive in the Transfiguration teacher's office. At least one prefect was missing from each house, and those that had arrived mingled awkwardly in the meantime. The others filed in, stepping around the growing multitude of students in the small space, and when Lily did arrive, half a dozen prefects separated James from the door anyway, so there was little danger of confrontation.

When all had congregated, Professor McGonagall, who stood behind her desk at the front of the room, repeated her notice that the prefects would be responsible for collecting signatures from their housemates. She picked up from her desk a stack of scrolls, which she began to distribute.

"Any under age student who wishes to return home must sign a list, and a permission form will be sent to his or her parents tomorrow." The scrolls filtered back through the prefects as they passed them along, and Professor McGonagall went on: "Please return these to me before breakfast tomorrow morning."

She seemed ready to dismiss them, but one of the fifth year prefects spoke up. "My parents are out of the country," she said, a slight tremble in her voice. "I'm sure they won't get the owl in time. But I'd like to go—to the memorial..."

"We can't allow you to leave the school without a parent or guardian's permission if you're underage," said McGonagall. She had not taken a moment even to consider the point; her response came automatically—almost mechanically, and were every word she spoke not burdened by obvious exhaustion, it might have seemed that she really did not care. But these last two days had not been easy for Professor McGonagall: why or how James was not sure, but you could see it in each of her movements... she had aged, somehow.

"If you could contact my brother instead," the young prefect spoke up; "He's eighteen—would _his_ permission do?"

McGonagall seemed doubtful, and so it may have been utter, if piteous, dishonesty when she replied: "I'm sure it will." She looked around the prefects: "Are there any more questions?" The collective murmur suggested there were none, and McGonagall dismissed them.

"So will you wait?" Remus asked his friend as they exited the Transfiguration teacher's office. A crowd briefly formed outside the door, but it thinned quickly as the prefects all started in different directions. "To go home?" His eyes remained fixed on the scroll of parchment he had just been given, and since he scanned it absently, he failed to notice at once that James didn't pay him much attention. "Prongs?"

"Oh—I suppose so. It won't make much difference, a day."

"We don't even have to sign this, do we? We're of-age. Although I suppose it'd be a bit strange to show up unannounced on our parents' doorsteps, you know?" This time, Remus looked up to check the lack of response, and he saw that James stared off down the corridor, inattentive to the conversation. Following his gaze brought Remus to observe that it was to another departing Gryffindor that the Head Boy looked—Lily.

You couldn't glean much about her state from the shape of her retreating figure, except that she moved very quickly and seemed hunched over. She walked alone, apparently eager to keep it that way.

"How's Lily?" Remus asked, guessing the answer.

James started. "I don't know."

"Well do you want to find out?"

"No. I think she wants to be left alone."

"All right." Remus considered an attempt to speak to the Head Girl himself, but was deterred as someone called out James's name, bringing both Marauders to a halt. Peter jogged up to them.

"What's wrong, Wormtail?" James wanted to know. Further along the corridor, Lily had paused as well.

"It's Padfoot," said Peter, somewhat breathless. "You'd better come."

"We've barely been gone fifteen minutes for the love of Merlin," muttered Remus. "What could he have possibly done?" But he followed the other two in their hasty withdrawal toward the descending staircase.

They soon reached the Entrance Hall, where a small crowd had gathered at the foot of the marble staircase. Peter, leading the way, pushed through toward the front. Whatever had happened—and it was not immediately clear—seemed to be somewhat resolved, as a handful of students huddled around someone sitting on the last step. At first, Remus thought Sirius held the attention of his classmates, but when he and James arrived on the Entrance Hall landing, he found that it was, in fact, Regulus Black.

A dozen people spoke at once, and even James struggled to make himself heard over the deluge of voices. "_Regulus_," he said for a third or fourth time, and the Slytherin lifted his gaze to the Head Boy. His face—so very like Sirius's—was almost utterly void of color, except for a trickle of red descending from his lip, and when he looked at James, his eyes gleamed with anger.

"Where's Sirius?" James asked coldly.

Regulus said nothing. His chin fell to his chest again, and James repeated the question.

"He went outside," replied someone else—another Slytherin, Colista Black. She sat on the step above Regulus's, her arms folded across her chest as if she were very cold.

"What happened?" asked a new voice, and Remus found that Lily had followed them from McGonagall's office. She looked around the crowd expectantly, but they all remained quiet, suddenly quite conscious of the _Head Girl_ badge pinned to her robes. James did not wait to find out; rather he pushed through the group and hurried after Sirius. "_What _happened?" Lily demanded again.

"It was Sirius's fault," one of Regulus's friends spoke up. "He started it."

Lily stepped down to the first floor landing so that she now stood directly in front of the injured Slytherin. "Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?"

"No," said Regulus. Colista began to protest, but he interrupted her sharply: "_Shut up_. I don't need to go to the Hospital Wing..." This to Lily: "I don't need anything."

"_He hexed you_," said the friend who had spoken before.

"And I hexed him—_leave it_."

Lily frowned, evidently trying to figure out whether she should dock points or send someone to the Infirmary. "What exactly happened?" she asked again, but Regulus refused to answer. Rather, another voice cut through.

"It seems very clear to me," he said, coming down the stairs. Lily's expression visibly changed. She pursed her lips, eyes now very intentionally focused on Regulus. "Sirius hexed him," said Snape—the latest prefect to arrive. "An older student assaulted his younger brother. It seems extremely clear what happened."

"I said _leave it_, Snape," said Regulus, glaring at his housemate. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. He hexed you, didn't he?"

"_Leave it_."

Evidently preferring the reaction his statement produced in Lily, Severus readdressed her: "Your mate hexed a younger student—what are you going to do about it?"

"Not today, Snape," said Lily wearily. "Really, _not_ today." She turned physically away from him and, in the process, seemed to block from her mind, as she once again attended to Regulus. "Will you tell me what happened?"

"No."

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"You're bleeding."

"It's nothing." He wiped his lip with his sleeve.

"I'm going to have to tell Slughorn and McGonagall what happened."

"I don't _care_. Are you going to dock points, or can I leave?"

Lily glanced over her shoulder at Remus, who shrugged noncommittally. "I suppose you can go," she said at length. "In fact, everyone had better get back to their Common Rooms."

"You're just going to let Black off like that?" Snape demanded. "Of course, because he's your best mate now, I suppose..."

Lily ignored him completely. "Everyone, make sure to see your prefects about signing up to return home," she called to the scattering students. In the small crowd, she quickly located Remus, who jerked his head toward the towering wooden doors across the hall, a wordless assurance that he would attend to his friend. He soon left with Peter to do so, and while Lily did not doubt that Remus would take care for Sirius's present mental state, she rather suspected he would fail to dole out any punishment.

She could deal with that later, though. She could talk to McGonagall or Slughorn or someone. Perhaps they would show more interest in the matter than Regulus had. Now, she lacked the energy to pursue matters further.

Turning away from the doors through which the two Marauders had just disappeared, Lily found that she was almost alone on the marble staircase, except for one Slytherin.

"I suppose you're sympathetic to someone for lashing out like that," said Colista Black derisively. Her eyes flickered toward Lily, a small smile turning her lips upward.

"I won't apologize for that," Lily retorted. She folded up the parchment that Professor McGonagall had given her not ten minutes before and stepped hastily upward.

"I didn't _ask you to_," Colista snapped, and when Lily continued her rapid exit, she called after the Gryffindor: "_I'm_ trying to apologize!" Now, Lily paused. "I—I lost someone too. I suppose you think that's strange, but I did. He was..." Lily turned in time to see Colista's smile grow very sad, "...He was a gardener, of all things. He worked at my mother's house, when I was younger. Lawrence Freeman. I didn't even know that he had anything to do with M.F.P., but he used to teach me about the trees on the grounds..." Lily dropped two steps. "You know what's... what's really _funny_ about it almost?" She sniffed and cleared her throat. "My last name is Black... but I'm... I'm not even on the bloody family tree. I'm not even recognized as an official _Black_. You see my great-great-somebody was a bastard, so they never recognized my line. We kept the name... Dad's so very proud of it, and—and for _what_? It's pathetic! He's spent his whole life trying to _make it _with that stupid family, and any time they acknowledge that we exist, he actually thinks he's making some kind of progress. And I've—I've done the same thing, my whole life. I've been a good little Slytherin, and tried to get in with all the good little purebloods, and for _what_? I don't think I've... I don't think I've ever liked any one of them half as much as I liked that silly old man who told me about the trees..." Wiping tears from her eyes, Colista resumed something that attempted to imitate her usual dignity. "I blamed you because it sounded a lot nicer than admitting that the people who killed all those witches and wizards believe the same things that I've always—I've always said I believed. I'm sorry."

Lily found herself tightly pinching the parchment she carried between her fingers. There were no tears in her own eyes; the ache that had plagued her for days remained, seeing no alteration. Colista finished her story, and the only new feeling that Lily could properly identify was anger.

She didn't _care_. She didn't care about Colista Black's goddamn gardener... or at least, she didn't care that Colista Black cared about it. She didn't care that Colista Black _felt bad_ about all those people dead, or that Colista Black was having an identity crisis over it. She didn't give a damn about Colista Black's grief. She _resented _it.

_With fond thoughts and an affectionate pat on the head..._

Sam was _dead_. Lonely, beautiful Sam Dearborn was _dead_. Adam's sister was dead. Emmeline Vance's husband... Lawrence Freeman, whoever he was, must have meant a lot more to someone else than he did to Colista. And all those wonderful, kind people who had marched through the Atrium that summer for _her _sake were completely and irrevocably gone, because no one had been able to stop those that would kill them... because of what Colista Black "said she believed..."

Lily didn't give a damn about Colista Black's grief.

With the greatest effort, she did not say as much. "I'm very sorry for your loss," she said instead, and then she turned to go upstairs.

She climbed rapidly up to Gryffindor Tower. Donna did not haunt her room tonight, but Lily found the solitude she had relentlessly sought in the last forty-eight hours unsatisfying. Even frightening. She'd left the window open, and so the autumn air chilled the dorm through, and the Head Girl made at once to change into warm pajamas. She wanted only to go to bed, so that this day might possibly end.

She shuffled furiously through her drawers, scarcely paying attention to what she was doing. She just wanted to sleep until next week, when classes would start up again. She couldn't go home, after all: how would any of this be explained to her mother? She'd never even discussed the fact that _blood status _existed, much less the war. An empty castle awaited her for the next week, and that was it.

Lily pushed aside sweaters and socks and at last located her warmest flannel pajama trousers, but as she dug about the top drawer for a jumper, a softer, thinner material met her touch.

She recognized it at once. What dreadful, masochistic urge prompted her to pull the cloth from the drawer, Lily did not know, but from the bottom of the drawer, she drew out the t-shirt that Sam had sent her a short month before. _M.F.P. _The green lettering glittered in the dim room, and angry tears blinded her.

* * *

Remus and Peter found their friends outside, underneath a large willow by the lake. In the muted dusk light, Remus doubted momentarily that the shadowy figures he spotted there—dark, uncertain shapes against the grey sky, half joined to the thick black tree trunk—were, in fact, the other two Marauders. As they drew closer, the bodies assumed greater clarity, and almost at once, Remus noticed that Sirius glared at them. Before they were close enough to say anything—before they were indeed close enough that Sirius might sense some condemnation from their expressions—he decided what their mission must be and said loudly: "Reinforcements have arrived, Prongs!"

Remus waited until they had come up on the pair to speak himself, and when he did, it was only to ask: "What happened?"

"Regulus is a git, what do you _think_ happened?" Sirius retorted. He reclined among the roots of the tree, while James sat far straighter, his back rigid against the trunk.

"Did he say something to you?" Remus pressed. "About the attack?"

Sirius refused to reply. He only dropped his head back, as though the leaves overhead held some great interest for him. James remained equally uncommunicative, and so Remus repeated the inquiry to Peter.

"Padfoot saw his brother after you lot went to McGonagall's, and he..." Wormtail trailed off. The rest, presumably, cast Sirius in something of an unfavorable light.

"And," Sirius picked up dryly, "I told Regulus that he and his death eater mates would get what was coming to them."

"And they started quarreling, and then someone started hexing..."

Sirius rubbed the large, purple bruise on his cheek appreciatively. "In Pete's defense," he said, assuming a solemn expression, "he tried to tell me to lay off before he scuttled off to fetch my leashes."

"Well what was I _supposed _to do?" snapped Peter. He sat down on the grass near James's feet. "You were being an idiot. Regulus had all of his mates there, and what if—what if you're _right _about them?" He flushed scarlet, but his eyes drifted out across the glassy lake. A crease formed over his brow, and he continued heatedly: "What if you're right about his mates? If they are what you say—if they are death eaters? Do you want to—to-to start trouble with them?"

"That's exactly what I want to do," Sirius replied. He sat up now—leaned forward over his bent knees. "I'm already _in _trouble with them, Wormtail. What do you imagine it _means _to be a disinherited Black, anyway? I'm in trouble with them, and I plan on continuing to get into trouble with them whenever and however I can."

"But you don't want to get expelled," Remus spoke up, finally joining the others on the grass. "And you're already on probation, Padfoot..."

"Oh, who cares?" Sirius relaxed again. "There's a war on. School isn't..."

"You can't think like that," argued Remus. "If you go starting fights with every sodding pureblood out there, you'll..."

"Catch a few death eaters?"

"End up dead or in Azkaban."

"Everyone ends up dead eventually," said Sirius carelessly, and Peter looked back at him immediately.

"What are you talking like that for, Padfoot?" he asked. "That doesn't... it's..."

"_What?_ Spit it out, Wormtail."

"Don't you... don't you think we're going to _win_?" It sounded more like an accusation.

"I have no idea if we're going to win," said Sirius. "That's how it works, you know."

Peter's gaze fell again. "How _can _we win, though?" he asked slowly. "If the death eaters can do something like this? Just—just march into a room and kill dozens of witches and wizards... we—we can't possibly win against that..." He looked earnestly to Sirius for an answer, and then to James, but the latter had not uttered a word since the latter two arrived, and he now maintained that pattern. His long, calloused fingers sat interlaced in his lap, and he stared at those, lost to his own thoughts and apparently indifferent to the conversation that developed around him. "What happens if we _lose_?" Peter went on.

Sirius was the one to reply. "The war?" he said with a shrug. "Like I said—everyone ends up dead eventually."

"So that's _it?_" Wormtail stared incredulously between his three friends. "You're just—giving up? We're all going to die, is that it? Like Sam and the others..."

At last, his words affected Sirius. He started and looked to James, who, on the other hand, had not batted an eye. "Shut up, Wormtail," Sirius ordered, and Peter obeyed, but still James did not stir. For the moment, he was unreachable. Sirius looked at him sadly, but Prongs only continued to gaze down at his fingers. Remus crossed his legs and stared out across the lake. Peter fell back on the grass, eyes turned to the sky. His friends' thoughts dwelled in the last two days—all that had happened, all that had been lost, but Peter's mind grew far more troubled, for he could think only of what was to come. So the Marauders sat in the silence that followed, as the last remnants of light faded, and the night swallowed them up.

* * *

(To be continued)

* * *

**A/N: **I was not expecting to end the chapter here at all. Even when I decided to split it in two, I was not expecting this, but there you go.

On that magically cheerful note—

Reviews are your team in the World Series!

Cheers,

Jules


	36. Soldiers

Copyright Jo Rowling

**Before: **At the end of sixth year, Adam McKinnon tells Marlene he loves her, but she turns him down, and he starts dating Prudence Daly. In August, Lily, the Marauders, Donna, Sam Dearborn (a cousin of James's), and Marlene attend a protest in the Ministry, and then they go to Frank and Alice's wedding. On November 2nd, there is an attack on the annual conference of M.F.P. (Magic For Peace) members—an organization headed up by James's mother and including Sam. Mrs. Potter, having missed the conference, survives, but eighty-seven attendees, including Sam and Adam's sister, Sarah McKinnon, lose their lives. Such a blow to the magical community causes classes to be postponed, and students are allowed to return home to spend time with their families. Lily decides to stay at the castle, because she hasn't told her mother about the war.

Chapter 36- Soldiers

Or

_(Don't Fear) The Reaper_

Mr. Denham was a tall, thin man of about fifty. He was completely bald, the top of his pale head reflecting the artificial light of his office. He had a yellow pencil mustache, small blue eyes, and a long, flat face. His black tie seemed to choke the narrow neck extending from it. The office in which he stood appeared well suited to him: neat, new, prim, and shiny, quite the opposite of the aurors' chaotic offices, from which Grace Potter had just come.

"Mrs. Potter," began Mr. Denham in a soft, inoffensive voice, as he offered the witch the chair in front of his desk. "Please, I hope that you understand the purpose of this meeting. It's merely a formality."

She nodded.

Evidently flustered by the lack of response, Mr. Denham sat down. "Now, Mrs. Potter..."

"Grace," amended the woman, quietly but firmly.

"Of course. I only have a few questions for you. I imagine that it has been a very difficult morning for you... I'm sorry to have to ask you to..."

"Mr. Denham, I promised Mr. Moody that I would assist him with the identifications as soon as I am finished here," Mrs. Potter interrupted briskly. "I don't take any offense at being asked to speak with you. Eighty-four people died this morning, I hardly think the fact that I ought to have been one of them is going to go ignored."

"A witch of your position..."

"Mr. Denham, I am aware that _my position _is the reason that I am sitting in your very nice office, rather than in an interrogation room downstairs. Believe me, I am quite grateful for that. But witches and wizards of the same status as I were killed and _have _killed today, so let's set aside the business of positions for now. Your questions, Mr. Denham?"

The wizard nodded. He folded his hands on the top of his desk, at last relaxing a little, though he still spoke formally. "You are member of the organization known as M.F.P., Mrs. Potter?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You were not at the conference in Rutland?"

"I was not."

"Where _did_ you spend last night, in that case, Mrs. Potter?"

"I was at my home."

"There were others there as well?"

"My husband and two house elves."

"I see. And why did you choose to stay at home?" Noting his guest's hesitance, Denham added apologetically: "You understand that I _must_ ask."

"Yes." The witch swallowed. "My husband is ill. He has been for some time. Healer Bergmar at St. Mungo's will be able to confirm this. Alex—my husband, has been seeing him for a year. The last few days have been particularly... uncomfortable, and so I stayed home with him."

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

"I'm very sorry to say it," replied Mrs. Potter lightly. "Of course, I hope that once confirmed, you will only share this information with those who need to know it. We haven't even told..." She stopped abruptly. "It's very personal."

The wizard nodded. "Mrs. Potter," he went on, businesslike again, "Had the organization, to your knowledge, received any threats before the conference? Pertaining to the conference or otherwise?"

"Not since July—the ones we all knew about."

"There had been _no_ additional contact, that you know of, between death eaters and Magic For Peace?"

"None that I know of."

"Did any member that you spoke to seem worried about attending?"

"Almost all of them."

This surprised Denham. "Why?"

"Because of the war. Because of what happened in July."

"Were _you_ worried, Mrs. Potter?"

"I—I suppose the problem is that I wasn't worried enough. If I thought... if I had truly believed that they were in any real danger, I..."

"You—would have stopped the conference?"

"No. I would have gone, too." She frowned, but a little life returned to her as she carried on. "Mr. Denham, if it isn't too much of an intrusion, I have a question for _you_." He nodded. "How does a group of witches and wizards murder eighty-four other witches and wizards without taking a single casualty of their own... without allowing for a _single _survivor?"

Denham unfolded his hands long enough for one to rub the shining skin on his head, as if smoothing back hair that did not happen to exist anymore. The other bony hand rested flat on the desk. "Eighty-_seven_ witches and wizards," he said at length.

"What?'

"Three more victims have been found."

"Found?"

"A reporter and two wizards who we believe were hired for security. So there were eighty-seven victims." His tone changed. He leaned forward, and a near perfect triangle formed between each of his elbows and the top of his head. "To answer your question, Mrs. Potter, the way you kill eighty seven witches and wizards without taking a single casualty of your own and without allowing for a single survivor, is the same method you would take in killing just one. You disarm him."

"But eighty-seven..."

Now, Denham spoke over her. "Mrs. Potter, is it common practice at such gatherings as these for the members to turn in their wands? For security purposes?"

"No," said Mrs. Potter quickly. "No, of course not."

"Can you think of a reason why the members might need to use their wands, through the course of the conference?"

Sharply: "Perhaps to fend off attackers."

"And yet none of them seemed to have done so."

Mrs. Potter frowned deeply. "I don't understand..."

"I'm simply asking," Mr. Denham said, a distinct chill growing in his voice now, "How eighty-five wands ended up scattered across the hall, nowhere near their owners. _Eighty five, _because the two dead wizards hired for security seemed to have carried theirs."

"How is that...?"

"Possible? To disarm eighty-five witches and wizards?"

"_Yes_."

"_My_ theory," said Denham, leaning forward, and, as if in response, Mrs. Potter straightened, so that her back stretched flat against the chair behind her, "is that they gave up their wands willingly."

"Why would...?"

"Why would your comrades give up their wands at such a potentially dangerous event, Mrs. Potter? For an event which you have said yourself gave them some anxiety?" Mrs. Potter nodded. "I imagine," said Denham, "they did it because someone that they trusted asked them to."

Mrs. Potter nodded again. There were tears in her eyes, but her expression remained stoic. She had already begun to understand, after all. "Did you call this a formality, Mr. Denham?"

"Yes, Mrs. Potter."

"That claim might be the only formality in the whole thing."

"I take formalities quite seriously, Mrs. Potter. Perhaps more seriously than your friends downstairs in the auror department... your husband's former coworkers in D.M.L.E. might."

"You mentioned my position," Mrs. Potter murmured. "Did you mean as a pureblood or as a member of M.F.P.?"

"Both. The combination of the two, really."

"I understand." Her hands shook a little, and she folded them purposefully on her lap. "You see, I was raised to believe that purebloods are untouchable. I was raised a Dearborn, Mr. Denham. My mother was an Abbott. My grandmother was a Selwyn. I was born a Dearborn, and I married a Potter. I never believed that I was better than anyone, but I don't think that I ever really understood the _lie _of it all... the way I was raised. Being an _untouchable._ My cousin Sam—who grew up with my son—was born a Dearborn, too. _His _mother was a Travers. She claims ties to Nott, Greengrass, and Ollivander lines, and Sam is one of those eighty-seven, so I'm not asking for your formalities, Mr. Denham."

"Then we'll both stop playing games."

"Your game is pretending to be scared, and mine is pretending to have the patience for this," said Mrs. Potter. "So you'll excuse me if I don't stop just yet. Your questions, Mr. Denham?"

Denham smoothed back his phantom hair again. "I believe we can cooperate, Mrs. Potter."

"_Grace_," she amended again.

"Yes. I'll need the names of those house elves..."

(Three Days Later)

The clock in the hallway had not yet struck eight, but Grimmauld Place was dark and practically silent when Regulus Black sat down to supper. He chose the sitting room and took a seat on the sofa directly in front of the fire. The crackling flames alone cut the quiet, and Regulus reflected that if he were not so used to the place, he might have found it a bit eerie. After a bit, however, Kreacher's creaking movements in the kitchen could be heard, and that comforted Regulus a little, knowing that the house elf was tidying up, having prepared the supper before him—chicken, potatoes, carrots, and a large mug of butterbeer. At a time like this, it was easy to let fear of imagined danger take over when unexpected movements haunted the old house, but Regulus preferred to be calmed by the indications of any company. Anyway, most evenings, even a ghost would've been welcome relief from the solitude at Grimmauld Place.

Kreacher had come to collect him at Platform Nine and Three Quarters an hour before, with the assurance that Regulus's parents would be home in time for supper, but he had chosen to eat alone... partially because he did not care to sit in the dining room and endure a dozen reminders to eat slowly and sit up straight (much less the questions about school), and partially because Regulus did not believe that his parents _would_ be home any time soon at all. So why wait? They'd gone to the Malfoys' this evening—something about Cissa's engagement... Regulus had mostly ignored Kreacher's excuse—and they would, he assumed, be there late into the night.

Consequently, the sound of the front door, not ten minutes after he sat down to eat, _did _shake Regulus a little. Kreacher remained in the kitchen, no one else ought to be about the house, and so, when footsteps and a low voice, calling his name, drifted through from the foyer, Regulus set down his plate and rose from the sofa.

It was a woman's voice; he recognized it a moment later.

Bellatrix Lestrange entered into the sitting room rather as if it were a part of her own home. She was overdressed for an evening check-up on her fifteen-year-old cousin. As she collapsed onto the sofa, sleek, chocolate brown dress robes spilling over the cushions, she looked like a young debutante returning from a ball.

"What are you doing here?" Regulus asked, while Bellatrix toyed with a strand of her long, shining black hair.

"'Came to see you," she said. "And dinner was a bore. Poor Cissy couldn't slip out, but I could, so I did. Home to mourn our _fallen brethren_, are you?"

"I couldn't very well stay at the castle with almost everyone else gone," Regulus replied. His cousin had taken his seat, and so he pulled a large chair closer to the fire and sat there instead.

"Well, you won't have to worry about that much longer, I suppose," said Bellatrix. "One more year, isn't it?"

"Two," came the correction.

"Really?" Bellatrix shrugged. Her lovely, sharp profile shown in the firelight. "Bit of a waste of time, Regulus. You've got prospects of your own, you know. Seems a bother. As long as that old bat Dumbledore's in charge, nothing's going to change."

Regulus dropped his gaze. "I take my O.W.L.s this year," he muttered. Bellatrix turned her head inconsiderably, but enough to observe Regulus. She studied his face, his gestures. She noted in his voice the strange blend of hesitation and longing. "I—I don't _have _to continue after that."

Bellatrix sat up. "No," she said softly. Regulus looked up to her again. The reflection of the firelight in her eyes stared back at him. "You _are_ the heir of your line, now, after all. You'll have... greater responsibilities, soon." She smiled, clueing him in that she did not refer to the responsibilities of being heir to Grimmauld Place. Not exclusively, at any rate.

"Soon?" he echoed.

Bellatrix detected that the hesitation outweighed the longing in that single syllable. She rose from the sofa and walked toward the fire; when she reached the mantle, her words were carefully chosen: "Second thoughts, cousin?" She turned her head in profile to him again.

"No," replied Regulus. "But it's... difficult... to understand."

"_What _is?"

Eighty-seven witches and wizards. It was difficult to understand how _that_ was meant to be his cause.

"What I'm to do," he lied.

Bellatrix relaxed. She smiled and faced her young relative full on, but in doing so turned away from the fire, and as a result, obscured her own face almost entirely in shadow. As though speaking to a favored pet: "Don't worry about that, Regulus. When it's your time, you'll understand exactly what's asked of you."

* * *

"Where's Twitchet?" James inquired of the dark foyer, just before his father waved his wand and lit the lamps along the wall. Sirius took a seat on the bottom step of the great staircase that stood between James and Mr. Potter, and when he did, the suitcases he had been levitating at wand point—his own and James's—dropped to the floor with an indelicate _thud_. "It's barely nine," James carried on rapidly. "Is he in bed already?" Mr. Potter tied up his dressing gown, looking as though, before the arrival of the two younger wizards, he had been in bed himself. James continued, before his father could reply: "Or is he in town again visiting Mariette? He's there more than here these days, isn't he? I don't see why he doesn't just get a job _there _instead, but I suppose he's got his Potter code or what-have-you. Anyway, where is he?"

"He _is _in town," said Mr. Potter, taking full advantage of the quick breath in James's monologue. "But he isn't visiting Mariette. He's left the house."

James raised his eyebrows. "Left the house? He's been sacked?"

"If you like. With the other two as well."

Moving away from the kitchen—toward which he had advanced in his search for the house elf—James approached his father. Sirius stood up as well. "The elves have been sacked? _Why_?"

Mr. Potter shifted uncomfortably. "Your mother thought it would be best."

"_Why_?" James repeated, astonished.

"Because they were required to testify on your mother's behalf, for her alibi, and she believed letting them go would put off the Ministry from complaining that they might have had a conflict of interest, as her employees."

"But they were free elves," said Sirius. "They wouldn't _have_ to lie for her."

"The Ministry scarcely recognizes an elf's testimony as it is," said Mr. Potter. "The fewer conflicts of interest, the better."

"Why did Mum need an alibi? They can't believe that _she _had something to do with Peverell Hall! Where is she anyway?" James looked up the staircase, enveloped in shadow as it was, as if expecting her to appear in response to his demand.

"She's in bed," said Mr. Potter. "And I understand that the inquiry with the Ministry was a mere formality. Have you two eaten?"

"We got a bite in London," said Sirius.

"Then it won't make much difference to you that the house elves aren't in tonight anyway," said Mr. Potter. Still, James struggled to comprehend this latest development, spoken of so casually by his father, and his confusion thwarted his ability to articulate the many questions suddenly swarming him. He did manage to express that he wanted to go upstairs and see his mother, but her husband quickly frustrated that scheme. "She hasn't been sleeping well, James. I am sure you can understand. You really ought to let her have these few hours, and you may speak with her at breakfast tomorrow." He fidgeted a bit, and then started for the kitchen. "I'll make some tea, shall I?"

"_Tea_?" James mouthed to Sirius, as Mr. Potter moved beyond them. Sirius only shrugged.

* * *

Bridget Shacklebolt had fallen asleep on her sister's shoulder, and even the older witch seemed ready to drop off as they bobbed along in the dark backseat of a taxi. The closer they came to the Shacklebolts' home, the more apprehensive Lily became—the more regret crept over her for agreeing to go home with Donna for the next few days.

"Well you can't stay here by yourself, can you?" was Donna's response, when Lily had told her that she couldn't very well go home—to a muggle home—on account of a war her mother didn't even know existed. "You ought to come home with Bridget and me. There's enough room, and you'll be much better at talking about this sort of thing with Isaiah and Brice than I will."

Even if she hadn't detected a hint of genuine concern behind the excuse tagged to the invitation, Lily would likely have accepted. She didn't know what to say about any of it; she certainly was _not_ going to explain anythingto Donna's younger brothers, but the idea of missing the memorial—and of spending the weekend in an empty castle—was unbearably lonely.

That line of reasoning made less and less sense as they approached their destination, though. Surely she would be intruding. The Shacklebolts, having lost their own parents not too long ago, would want to mourn as a family, and Lily would only be in the way—an outsider, standing awkwardly on the edge, unable to participate in her friends' grief. They would be very polite of course, very kind to her, but at a time like this, she would not belong.

She wished she'd stayed at the castle. She wished she could write her last letter to Sam over again. She wished she'd said goodbye to James. Said something to him, anyway. He'd been there at the station and she had just...

"Shouldn't be long now," said Donna, breaking a quarter of an hour's silence in a low murmur that would not disturb her sister. She stared listlessly out the car window. "I can't stand traveling this way, you know. Tediously slow."

Lily didn't bother reproaching her friend, though the cab driver kept sending them curious glances. The owl cage strapped in the front seat (Donna's, for Lily had left Niko in the owlry at school) set him off the moment they climbed in, and now every strange comment Donna made earned them a wary eye in the mirror. Little time remained in this man's company, however, and Lily intended on tipping well.

"I'm sure there won't be any supper left out for us," she went on. "The boys will have eaten already. Kingsley won't be home yet, and I'm sure they haven't fixed anything for us. We might have to go out to fetch food. We ought to have caught something in London—stupid, really, but..."

"We'll sort it out, Donna," Lily interrupted.

"I suppose so."

Bridget stirred; she was awake a moment later, and as she sat up, she massaged the red spot on her face that had perched against Donna's shoulder. "You're not very soft, Donna," she said with a yawn.

"Neither are you," replied the other. "We're almost home."

They arrived all of five minutes later. Against Donna's protests, Lily paid the fare, though she did allow Donna to carry one of her bags into the house. The entryway was dark, but there came a visible glow from the dining room, and there, the three newcomers found Brice, Isaiah, and an older woman whom Lily did not know, but Donna greeted at once with surprise.

"Aunt Dahlia."

Donna bore no great resemblance to her aunt, Lily thought, except that the older witch, a tall and stately woman, bore the same broad, angular shoulders of her niece. Dahlia's eyes were black, however, and her short, coarse curls carried heavy streaks of white. She had a longer nose and more pointed jaw line; her face was longer, too. Her mouth, though, seemed to have the same shape as Donna's, especially when she spoke:

"I sent the housekeeper home two days ago," said Dahlia. She extended a brief hug to both Bridget and Donna, and then raised an eyebrow at Lily. "You're not my niece."

"This is Lily, she's staying with us," said Donna, distracted. "And Audrey's not the housekeeper. Kingsley didn't mention you'd come in..." She set down her bags and ruffled Brice's hair by way of greeting, nodding toward Isaiah as well, but keeping her attention focused primarily upon the unexpected visitor.

"He's hardly been home more than ten minutes since Tuesday," Dahlia went on. "Lily, was it?" Lily started at the somewhat sideways address, and then nodded, proffering her hand.

"Lily Evans."

"A pleasure. Dahlia Shacklebolt. Have you three eaten?"

Dahlia had a direct, efficient manner of conversing; after ascertaining that they had not had supper yet, she went about fixing plates for each of them, while Donna levitated their bags into their respective bedrooms. Only when they were all seated did Dahlia make the expected inquiries about the trip and the term.

"How long are you staying, then?" Donna asked, gathering up the last of her potatoes with her fork.

"A week or two. Perhaps a little longer." She glanced purposefully at Brice and Isaiah, and Donna must have understood the significance of that, for she nodded and offered no comment. When supper was finished, Donna led Lily back to her room, and the two set up a bed. Donna transformed one of her pillows into a spare mattress, and then disappeared into the hallway for a moment, before reappearing with a stack of blankets. Lily made up the bed, while Donna sat down on her own, staring uselessly at her suitcase.

"Do you want to go out somewhere?" the hostess asked at length. Lily looked up from smoothing out the thick, tangerine colored bedspread. "London or something? We can see Marlene or Mary or someone... go to the Leaky Cauldron..."

"Is something wrong?"

"No." She answered a little too quickly, though. "I just don't feel like being home after all. And Aunt Dahlia can look after Brice and Isaiah and Bridget."

Lily sat down on her own newly constructed bed. She watched her friend frowning at the bedroom, as if searching, half-heartedly, for something she'd misplaced. "All right," she said.

* * *

"...Elinor Ulvan says the Ministry won't release any more information about the attack, but I expect they'll have to in the next few weeks. At least for immediate family." John Lupin's knife sank into the side of the slab of beef on his plate. He paid diligent attention to the separation of a neat little bite, and disposed of it, without once making eye contact with his son.

It was a cheap cut of meat, certainly inferior to what they served at Hogwarts, but prepared on the rarer side and therefore more to Remus's taste. That was a nice gesture, really. Remus, himself stirring mashed potatoes around on the green china plate before him, wondered if his father had done it on purpose or merely out of habit.

"...This can't go on much longer," Mr. Lupin continued pedantically. "The Ministry has to take more drastic action. Crouch ought to have this in hand. There has to be some sort of solution to _catch_..." The expected, oh-so-typical break, "...Well, _You _Know Who." At this, he glanced up at Remus's plate, still half full, and that prompted an actual look to his son. "You're not hungry? I can get you something else if you want..."

"No, it's fine." Remus took a dutiful bite. "Haven't much of an appetite."

"You look... tired."

"So do you."

"Coming off a double," said his father. "You... you have another week, don't you?"

Remus could not clearly remember a conversation with either parent that didn't contain that hint of apprehension and that did not, eventually, circle back to his furry little problem.

"Yeah, another week. Did you make these potatoes?"

"Yeah."

"They're awful."

Mr. Lupin laughed (nervously, maybe) and returned to his supper and the lecture on the war.

* * *

It was almost nine o'clock when Lily and Donna showed up at her front door, and Marlene could have cried for relief. "Agrippa's sake, let's get out of here," she said, before Lily had quite finished her invitation. She was already wearing her pinstriped pajamas and her hair was pulled into very slight pigtails, in anticipation of spending the evening curled up in bed with the record she'd purchased on her way home from the station, but going out with her mates meant _physical_ escape from the flat—the ideal. "Mary said she wanted to go to bed early," Marlene added, pulling the elastic bands out of her hair, "but you might go over and have a word with her anyway. I doubt she'll say 'no' to a drink at the pub."

"Should we wait for you to dress?" Lily asked.

"No, go ring Mary. Mum's asleep." She closed the door before Lily or Donna could respond, and they were compelled to obey. Mary agreed to come out with them as well, but she, at least, asked them to sit in the kitchen while she fetched her coat. Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald, always eager recipients of any news from the fascinating and bewildering magical world, welcomed them enthusiastically. Tonight, even Lily labored to contrive cheerful information, and she found herself rambling about the bed that Donna had conjured up at the Shacklebolts'. The MacDonalds found it thoroughly entertaining and drilled her for details, until Mary emerged from her bedroom, having applied a coat of peach colored eye shadow and touched up her rouge.

"Let's fetch Marlene," she instructed loudly, pulling on her maroon coat. "Bye Mum, bye Dad..." Kisses for them both: "Don't wait up."

Now fully dressed, Marlene stood by the lift, when they stepped out of the MacDonalds' rooms. "I don't believe I ever realized how little I have to wear this time of year... muggle-wise, I mean," she said, as her friends approached. She opened up her iron grey jacket to reveal a thin blue t-shirt. "I didn't bring much home, either. I wasn't thinking when I packed."

"We'll be back at school in a few days," Donna reminded her. "So where are we going?"

They agreed on the Leaky Cauldron, especially since Donna was fairly convinced Tom would give her free drinks, and they apparated from the lift.

* * *

Peter went to bed early. From his room, he could hear the wireless and his mother's vague, worried murmurs in response to its incoherent voices, and he didn't know if that comforted him or not. The flat was draughty, and he considered rising from his bed to draw the curtains in front of the window—as if that might help—but he didn't end up doing it; he didn't even turn off the light. He stayed under the thick flannel blankets his mum had stacked there for him and did not move, except every once in a while, when he angled his head just slightly to the right—to glimpse his wand on the bedside table.

He tried not to think of the eighty-seven dead people—many of whom he'd met over the summer—and yet he found himself morbidly fascinated with the thought of what had actually transpired in Peverell Hall. Had they fought back? In all that chaos, hadn't anyone been able to—to _hide _or anything? He imagined himself in the room as it happened—ducking behind a chair, or apparating away... _why hadn't any of them managed that? _What could _possibly _have kept eighty-seven witches and wizards in a room full of death eaters?

The thought lingered in his mind until the hum of the wireless in the next room lulled him to sleep.

* * *

Without communicating their intention, the four girls—Lily, Donna, Marlene, and Mary—paused before the door to the Leaky Cauldron, taking a breath before the plunge. Yet, when they entered, the fear that perhaps none had really understood turned out to be irrelevant: the pub wasn't crowded. Witches and wizards occupied a handful of tables, but they did not face a crowd.

"It looks like a bloody Tuesday," said Donna, surprised. "I've never seen it this quiet on a Friday."

All eyes had turned to the witches upon their entrance, but they reverted back to their own business quickly. Mary raised her eyebrows, almost offended by the lack of interest, but only said: "Let's get a table, shall we?"

"I'll fetch drinks," said Donna. She made her way up to the bar, while the others started for a vacant table. They hadn't quite made it there, when a witch at a table in the corner rose and waved them down, calling "Marlene!"

She was a petite, round-faced witch, with dark brown hair cut in a bob—an unfamiliar look on her, so that it was a moment before Marlene properly reacted. "Audrey!"

Audrey McKinnon—Adam's older sister—flagged them over to her table, the only other occupants of which were another witch and wizard, in their early twenties like Audrey. "I almost didn't recognize you—your hair, sorry, it's so short," Marlene was saying as they took the offered chairs.

"I could say the same to you," said Audrey. "And you're taller, too. I don't think I've seen you in..." She shrugged indefinitely, though Marlene could have told her it had been over a year. This last was the first summer in years that she had not frequented the McKinnon household.

"How are you?" asked Marlene shakily. "How's your family?"

"About as well as can be expected..." She introduced her two companions as Isadora and Seth, but provided no additional background. Marlene, in turn, reminded Audrey of her own friends' names, and then Donna returned with drinks. Audrey greeted her with some awkwardness, and then added: "I hope you weren't terribly surprised by your aunt staying at the house. She turned up on Wednesday and I said I ought to write to you, to tell you I wouldn't be around, but Kingsley said he would attend to it..."

"He didn't," said Donna, a little curtly. "But he never does."

"These are friends of my younger brother's," Audrey told her friends. "And I take care of Donna's brothers while she's away at school."

"Shacklebolt, then?" asked the witch, Isadora. Donna nodded. "I suppose you must know a thing or two about what _really _happened at Peverell Hall?"

"_Izz_," Audrey muttered, blushing.

"I don't know more than anyone else," said Donna. "My brother can't go spilling secrets to everyone, just because he's an auror."

"Your brother's an auror?" Isadora pressed.

"Isn't that what you meant?"

"Shacklebolts are old wizarding blood," said the wizard, Seth confidently. "Your parents _must_ know something. That's how the Ministry works..."

Audrey turned scarlet; she opened her mouth, but Donna cut her off. "My parents are dead." That resonated; they all sipped their drinks uncomfortably.

"How are your mother and father?" Marlene asked of Audrey after a moment.

"Dad's not taking it very well," said Audrey. "Mum's a little better... especially now that Felicity's come home."

"Oh, that's good, then... that she could make it back..."

"For the memorial, yes. And there was a private ceremony yesterday. But..." Audrey hesitated; "I think she's had a bad influence on Adam. She's... she's angry, that's all, and now Adam's getting worse."

"Of course she's angry," said Donna, before Marlene could voice the shock that clearly registered on her face. "She _should _be angry."

"Not like this," said Audrey, but Isadora spoke over her in noisy agreement with Donna.

"It's about time people were angry," she said. "That's what Barty Crouch was talking about the other day. The aurors have to be allowed to _act, _or else nothing is ever going to get resolved, and the death eaters and—and You Know Who are just going to keep up like this..."

Isadora, Seth, and Donna continued their branch of the conversation and Marlene, leaning back in her chair, drew Audrey with her. "What do you mean Adam's getting worse?" she asked in an undertone.

Audrey's face fell. Ready to cry, she began, "I don't know what to do anymore, Marlene. Oh, the family's all right. We've all got each other still, you know? It's only Adam. We all sit up and talk after supper, but he hasn't been coming out of his room at all."

"Have you asked him about it?"

"A little—he won't really speak to anyone. He was all right when he first came home," she explained earnestly. "But the last few days, he just stayed in his room all day, and Felicity was the only one who could talk to him at all. And then he left for half the night, and I think he just wandered around. Dad tried to have a word with him, but I don't think he would say anything. Today he went out again around lunch, and then he was in his room the rest of the time, and he didn't eat anything that I saw... his girlfriend was over for a bit, but I don't know that it did him any good, because she left after about twenty minutes, and he still wouldn't come out of his room, after." Audrey frowned into her drink. "Now he's said that he won't go to the memorial on Sunday, and that's got Mum in pieces... I shouldn't be out at all right now..." This she added regretfully, "But I've been in that house for the last three days, and I just..."

"Oh, of course," said Marlene. She patted Audrey's shoulder comfortingly. "You can't be expected to take care of everyone."

At last the tears that clung to Audrey's eyelashes slipped down her cheeks, and, sniffing, she said: "I just miss Sarah."

"I'm so sorry, Audrey." Marlene ached with pity, but it felt so fuitle; there didn't seem to be much she could say or do, much as she wished there were. Then, as if she'd heard this wish, Audrey answered it the next moment. She brightened, even as the idea occurred to her.

"Won't you come over and talk to Adam?"

"What?"

"Oh, not tonight… tomorrow." The idea took form, and she found more and more encouragement in its conception. "Come over tomorrow and see Adam. He'll talk to you, won't he? You're his best mate..."

The idea had both occurred to Marlene and appealed to her, but she wasn't sure it would be entirely appropriate. "I don't want to bother your family."

"Oh, Mum loves you, and it won't be a bother at all. _Please come_."

"All right, I will."

"_Thank you_." She sniffed again. "Tomorrow... better make it a little later. My grandparents will be in for the morning. Would four o'clock do?"

Marlene said that it would, and the plan was set. Across the table, Lily sat beside Mary, neither girl really paying much attention to the dominant conversation there—Isadora, Seth, and Donna's—though it was difficult to tune them out entirely.

"Well this is an upper," said Mary, staring into her bottle. Lily smiled weakly.

"Not exactly a cheery night out, I suppose."

"Not exactly, no. Why is the pub so quiet anyway?"

"I suppose people don't want to go out," said Lily. She glanced about; mostly everyone seemed to be keeping to themselves. "I suppose they're afraid."

"It's not as though You-Know-Who is going to attack the Leaky Cauldron, for Merlin's sake."

Lily shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because that would be mad. It's... it's the Leaky Cauldron! It's an institution!" Mary took an indignant sip of her beer.

"I don't think Voldemort cares much for institutions." If the pub had been quiet before, it fell silent now. Isadora and Donna momentarily ceased their debate, and the witches and wizards at the surrounding tables paused as well. It was a few seconds before Lily realized that she had been the cause of this, and even then, she did not immediately recognize _how_.

After nearly a minute, the strangers returned to their own conversations, but those at Lily's table remained still.

"I didn't mean to, I'm sorry," she said quickly, and that was the truth. She hadn't meant to say the name. She'd said it before, sure, but always with a bit of hesitance... always consciously, if at all. This time, it had just slipped out.

Just as the conversation resumed, a little awkwardly, Lily finished the last of her beer and announced that she was going to get a bit of air. Marlene anxiously offered to go with her, but Lily shook her head and slipped out before anyone could argue. She walked to the nearest streetlamp and stood under its yellow light, wishing she'd brought a hat and gloves. Standing there, she lacked the energy to resist the reminders that naturally came to her... the smell was a little different, for it hadn't rained tonight; she wore a black coat, instead of the flimsy blue dress; her legs and neck had been bare... even in the cooling evening air of August, she'd been warm from drinking and laughing and singing... The last time she stood here outside the Leaky Cauldron had been after Frank and Alice's wedding reception.

She'd spent that night with Marlene and Donna and Frank and Alice and their families and the Marauders and the Prewetts and Sam. It seemed to Lily now that she had spent most of that time with Sam. He'd kept coaxing her into singing. They'd all stumbled into the pub soaked from the rain—the end of the drought—and then it was all just an exhilarated blur... how wonderful they had all felt, fresh from victory and alive with a sense of hope that they had a chance to change things. And now when she closed her eyes, she saw his name in the minute black newspaper print. Dearborn, Samuel.

How different from his funny, graceless signature.

Up the road, there was a liquor shop, and Lily headed over there. In the hideous florescent lighting, she bought a pack of cigarettes and then started back toward the pub. Mary met her several paces from the door.

"I've been sent to find you," she said.

"Smoke?"

"No thank-you."

Lily lit her own with the matches the clerk had given her and leaned against the side of the building.

"I just wish everyone would stop talking about it," said Mary, sighing.

(Saturday)

Mrs. Potter sat at the breakfast table when James came downstairs the next morning. She appeared collected and clean as ever, but looked awful.

"Good morning," said James, taking the seat closest to her. She must have caught the resentment in the greeting, for she started at once on an apology for having failed to see him the night before. He disregarded it with a hasty, "Don't worry about it, Mum," and then added: "How's Adele?"

"Not very well off." Mrs. Potter scooped a portion of the grapefruit before her with a spoon; she chewed and swallowed before continuing, in a forcibly even voice; "She's lost her son, after all. And there's been a note from Caradoc for you."

"Where is it?"

"In the vestibule."

There were two additional place settings, each with a grapefruit sliced down the center and a spoon. James selected one and left the other for Sirius. As if just noticing that her son's friend had not come down with him, Grace asked: "Is Sirius still asleep?"

"Yeah, he'll be at least another hour, I reckon." It was early still—not yet eight—and Sirius lacked his best mate's appreciation for the youngest hours of the day. James eyed the breakfast before him uncertainly and then sent the same look to his mother. She was pale; her eyes were bloodshot, and her hand trembled slightly over her breakfast, and that negated the implicit orderliness of her black mourning robes. "Mum—the house elves..."

"I've let them go."

"That's what Dad said. What happened? The Ministry doesn't really believe that you had anything to do with... what happened? They _can't_."

"Of course not." Another bite of grapefruit. "Just a formality."

"Then why did you—?"

"Because it was the right thing to do, James," she said impatiently. Seeing he had not begun on his breakfast, she went on, "Eat your fruit before it gets warm, and then you had better attend to the note from Caradoc. He likely wants you to go over to the Dearborns'."

She was right. The note contained an invitation to their home in Poole that afternoon. Some family was coming over to sort through Sam's belongings, and Caradoc wanted James there. James passed Sirius on the staircase—the latter going down to breakfast, the former up to speak to his mother, who had by this time relocated to a study upstairs, and updated him on the day's schedule.

"You sure I should go?" Sirius pointed out. "Family, and all that."

"They won't care, and you can't very well stay here. You won't even have the elves to talk to."

Sirius shrugged, "You're the boss," and continued his descent, and James hurried up to find his mother. Mrs. Potter sat at the desk in the blue room, attending to letters of her own, when James entered.

"Doc says to go over after luncheon," he told her. "Is that all right for you?"

"Yes, of course. I won't need you this afternoon." The owl perched beside her on the desk ruffled his wings. James frowned.

"Don't you want to come along?"

"Be reasonable, dear," said Mrs. Potter wearily. She sat with her back to him, but the quill in her hand paused over the parchment before her. "I'm the last person the family wants to see."

"Mum, I'm sure..."

"Well, then you're wrong. Adele said that she doesn't wish to see me, and frankly, I don't blame her." James had considered this possibility somewhat, and so the statement didn't completely surprise him, except for the apparent certainty of everything. As he did not reply, Mrs. Potter supposed he required clarification and went on in an oddly unemotional way: "James, M.F.P. was _mine_. My project, my cause. They were _my _friends, and I wasn't even there. I was home. Home in bed, and Sam and all of the others were out there because _I_ recruited them." She lost herself in a thought for a moment; James was frozen in his spot several paces away. When his mother resumed, it was with more force: "...They were all just—sitting there... Tilly and I picked out that particular place, and that's where..."

"Mum, _please don't_," her son pleaded suddenly. He couldn't stand to hear it. "None of it's your fault. I won't go to the Dearborns.' If they don't want you..."

"Rubbish." Mrs. Potter regained herself. "I've got loads of things to do, James. I'll be in Rutland setting up portkeys and floo stations all afternoon, _and _I'm supposed to tea with Tilly's daughter. Caradoc will want to see you. And you loved Sam..."

James agreed mostly just to end the conversation, so that she would stop saying his name. It hurt more to hear her say it than anyone else, because he knew that she had seen him. She had gone to identify bodies, and in her voice he could tell there was a vision of Sam that he could not bear to imagine. He went downstairs and joined Sirius in the breakfast room and told him that they were to go to the Dearborns' at one o'clock.

* * *

Saturday morning there was a bit of a row at the Shacklebolts. Lily sat awkwardly on her makeshift bed as one does in such situations, while Donna, her aunt, Bridget, and Isaiah had it out in the corridor. Donna wanted to return to Diagon Alley that afternoon for potions supplies; Bridget and Isaiah wanted to come along, though Donna did not think it safe, and Aunt Dahlia did not want _any _of them to go. She seemed to think it a question of safety, though she hadn't made such a fuss the night before.

As the four older Shacklebolts bickered in the hallway, the bedroom door creaked open. At first, Lily thought Donna had slipped away, but her arguments still sounded out in the corridor, and Lily saw that her visitor was, in fact, six-year-old Brice. He hesitated by the door, small hands clutched to the golden door knob, until Lily smiled at him. Then he came into the room. Lily had helped Donna put him to bed before their expedition to the Leaky Cauldron, and so he felt quite reacquainted with her. He trotted the length of the room, stopping when he reached the foot of Donna's bed and leaning against it. He dropped his gaze shyly.

"I've never seen that bed before," he said.

"Donna made it yesterday."

"With magic?"

"Yes."

Brice twisted a bit of the blue blanket of Donna's bed around his finger, eyes fixed on that little project, even as he said in a loud whisper: "I heard Aunt Dahlia crying this morning." Lily nodded. She had no response, but she patted the space on the bed beside her and Brice came to sit there. "When is Donna and Bridget going to Hogwarts again?"

"On Monday, I suppose."

"And you too?"

"Mhm."

"Is Isaiah going?"

"No, not on Monday. He'll go someday. So will you."

"When I get my letter."

"That's right." Lily smiled. "And do you know when you'll get your letter?"

"When I'm eleven."

"_Exactly_."

"Kingsley is twenty-four," Brice told her after a while. "He went to Hogwarts before I was born."

"Who told you that?"

"Isaiah."

"That sounds about right. I remember when Kingsley was at Hogwarts. He was captain of the Quidditch team."

"Now he's an auror."

"Mhm. And you're proud of your brother, aren't you?"

"Mhm," Brice mimicked, without really understanding the question. "Will you take me to the playground today?"

"I think so, yes. With Donna. But not until later."

"This afternoon."

"Yes, this afternoon."

At length, Donna had her way—partially, anyway, for she agreed to take Bridget and Isaiah, and it was decided that they would floo to the Leaky Cauldron just before lunch. Brice alone would stay with Aunt Dahlia.

Of course, when it came time to leave, the plan complicated again, as Donna could not make up her mind the exact order that her younger siblings ought to floo. At last, Lily grabbed a handful of the powder by the fireplace, went on ahead, and allowed her friend to sort it out for herself. Donna, then Isaiah, then Bridget followed.

Donna asked Lily to wait with the children for a moment while she, once again, gave her regards to Tom, who was a little busier this afternoon than he had been the night before, but Lily was not alone with Bridget and Isaiah for more than a minute before a young witch in maroon robes approached her, beaming. It was several seconds before Lily grasped that this woman—leaner and stronger, and with a short crop of golden brown hair—was, in fact, Alice Longbottom.

"Agrippa's sake!" Lily exclaimed with a jump, and Alice laughed. "Oh my Merlin, Alice, I didn't even... how are you?"

They embraced tightly before Alice responded. She was paler, too, Lily saw; her face as well as her body had leaned, and she looked much older—but Lily was simply accustomed to seeing her with more make-up. She smiled brightly at Lily, however.

"I'm all right. Agrippa, I've missed you."

"I've missed _you_," Lily agreed, giving her hand a squeeze. "And what have you done to your hair?"

"Do you like it?"

"I love it. Are you starting a band, then?"

Alice laughed again; the sound reverberated in the dull hum of the pub. "Sadly not. It's frightfully practical, though. I don't know about the darker tone, though. I can't make up my mind which I like better, and Frank is frustratingly unopinionated on the subject. Says he likes both, the uncooperative git."

"How is he, then? Oh—I'm sorry..." Lily remembered her companions. "This I Isaiah and Bridget Shacklebolt. This is Alice Longbottom. She—she works with your brother, and she used to go to Hogwarts with Donna and me."

"I guess you've got Donna here too somewhere, then?" asked Alice.

Lily explained, but Donna herself returned a few moments later. The two exchanged greetings, and then Donna was in a bit of a hurry to get on with the shopping, and Alice hadn't much time to have her lunch. Lily suggested that she stay with the latter and meet up with Donna when it came time for Alice to return to the Ministry. Donna agreed, and Lily and Alice took places along the bar.

"I've missed you so much," Lily repeated, when they were seated. "You and Frank."

"Merlin knows we miss you," said Alice. "And Hogwarts. Training isn't anything like schooling, if you're wondering. Except the studying. Loads and loads of studying and memorizing spellwork, but then loads of legalistic business, too."

"And do you do any field work?" Lily prodded.

"First years don't do field work properly," Alice told her. "We work in the auror department, but we—first year trainees don't actually go out, no."

"But you work with all those aurors, so..." She trailed off a little, but Alice understood.

"And here I thought you missed me," she said dryly. "You're just trying to get information out of me."

"No, I..."

Alice waved her off. "Some of the older aurors will take on trainees as assistants... we're really just owls with prospects—sending memos, taking notes... we're actually working with Magical Law right now, to see if they've got a case against these blokes—the Hartwright brothers... but that's not what you're asking about, of course. Frank and I will do work for Moody quite a bit," she admitted, "So—so that day, we did go to Peverell Hall..." Alice tapped the bar idly with the bottom of her wedding band. "We saw it. We're some of the few trainees that did."

"And?" Lily pressed.

"And _what_?"

The younger witch sighed. "What happened, Alice? How did it happen? How could they kill eighty-seven witches and wizards all at once... why weren't there any survivors?"

Alice dropped her gaze. "I can't talk about that, Lily. I can't talk about anything like that, of course."

"But you _know_?"

"I can't even say what I know, dear. I can't talk about it at all. Telling you that I was there is probably technically against the law. I hardly know anything, and _everything _is _always _classified anyway."

Lily wanted to protest; she fumbled about momentarily, in search of some question that _could _be answered, but conscience intervened, and she surrendered. "You're lucky," she said eventually.

"Am I?"

"Sure. You're working towards something. You don't have to sit around, cooped up in the school when everyone else is dying."

"I think I'm lucky, yes," was Alice's measured response. She continued to stare at the countertop, and the heaviness in her voice suggested meaning Lily could not understand. "In many ways I'm very lucky. But you'll get your chance too. And it's not... it isn't _easy_."

"I know that." She did, of course. She couldn't explain it—not even Alice would understand it. This wasn't a game for her—she wasn't simply _angry_... She was—well, she just couldn't explain it.

"But tell me about something nice," Alice went on. "Tell me about Hogwarts."

"Something nice?" The last time Lily had seen the castle, on the other hand, half the student body had been crying as they shuffled onto the train to be with their families. "I don't know."

"There must be something. Quidditch or gossip or something..."

"I don't know," said Lily again and honestly. She couldn't seem to remember before Tuesday. Alice frowned.

"I've been thick, Lily, I'm sorry. Of course—they were your friends too..."

"I barely knew them, really."

"But they were your friends."

"Sam Dearborn and I were writing to each other all term," Lily said after a moment. Alice nodded, leaning forward in anticipation of something else—but that was it, really. Sam Dearborn and she wrote to each other all term. That was the extent of things. He was James's cousin. She hadn't said goodbye to him. To James. To Sam. Her last letter had been a self-absorbed mess—she couldn't even remember how she'd signed it. She ought to have said something to James at the station in London, too. Had Sam even read her last letter? Did it make the slightest difference? The next morning, after her letter, after Halloween, when she'd found out about James and Carlotta, she'd thought _I've got more to tell Sam_, and she'd thought about her next letter to him, and she'd thought how much would have changed by the time she wrote to him next, and _he's dead, he's dead, he's dead_—she'd be sick if she didn't stop herself from thinking right this second: "How's Frank?" she asked again.

"He's well. He loves the training. And the flat—Merlin, he's madder about the flat than I am. 'Acts like a ten-year-old at his first sleep-away party"

"The flat?"

"Sure, the place in..." Alice stopped. "I must have written you about that..."

"You didn't reply to my last, _dear_," said Lily. Alice's fingers disappeared in the roots of her short hair. How much had changed since they'd last exchanged letters...

"It's just—you can't imagine how mad everything is right now. Twelve hours of work a day, and a—a dozen little side projects... Mum stopped by last week to point out I hadn't spoken to her in a month, and..."

"It's fine, Alice."

"It's not. I'll be better, I promise."

"Don't worry about it. Concentrate on saving the world first, yeah?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Want to eat?" Lily asked, and Alice sighed with relief.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

In a spell of uncharacteristic impetuousness, the Dearborn patriarch of the early nineteenth century had done away with the Dearborns' ancestral domain and constructed a new home for his family in a briefly fashionable quarter of Poole where several other magical families were simultaneously putting down roots. These houses all vaguely resembled one another: large, square, brick, with terraced roofs, and though the other families' roots proved brittle—they had vacated the manses within a generation or two, and the houses were thereafter "muggled," as Adele Dearborn called it—the bond of similar origin was strong. Most of the muggles in the neighborhood insisted their homes were haunted, and half of them might have been right. At any rate, it was taken as a matter of course that the house at the end—with the immobile cream lace curtains that so diligently concealed the interior—was the home of a witch. And they were _quite _right about that.

It was the home of a witch and, until recently, her young wizard son.

The neighborhood knew of no substantial reason for suspecting this house; it was simply traditional to do so. Everyone who had lived on that road for a hundred years had suspected both it and whoever happened to be living in it, and there did _seem_ to be something strange about the place. Hardly anyone was ever seen coming or going; the young man might step out occasionally, but not the old woman. On top of that, there were a dozen little things—like Mrs. Dearborn's apparent interest in nocturnal birds, for on the rare day that an upstairs window was left open with the curtains drawn back, one might spot a large brown owl perched there. Then, when someone from the city had come by once during the black outs, the old woman had refused to let him inside—insisted there was no problem and she would inform the authorities if anyone attempted to interfere with her again. There was a cat, too—an ugly yellow thing that wandered about the yard and never strayed beyond. Perhaps there was nothing strange in that _itself_, but when one already suspects a witch, the presence of the cat seems to be a crucial piece of evidence.

Only the long-time residents of the neighborhood paid the house any attention, however, and only because they were so used to it. Newcomers invariably ignored the place, and even those familiar with the stories of the odd old Dearborns often forgot that it existed. Most days, if called upon for whatever reason to think on the block's residents, one would remember the Andrews, the Lanes, the Parks, Mrs. Hordoddle, and that awful American or Canadian or whatever he pretended to be in the house with the badly kept garden—but not the Dearborns. In recollection, the mind seemed to step around the last house on the road all together.

Nonetheless, James took care to make a good show of opening the black iron gate at the front of the walkway, though he knew perfectly well that it would have recognized him and opened on its own. Sirius followed him through, watching the approaching edifice with a kind of suspicion. He had never been here before, but he felt that he had. He'd spent his childhood trapped in addresses like these: subtly disguised houses, whose neighbors had no concept of the contempt the residents held them in.

When they reached the front porch and James rapped twice upon the door with the elaborate gold knocker, Sirius said something or other which reminded James of his friend's skepticism, and he said: "Sorry to subject you to this." But Sirius only grinned.

"'Ought to be the motto of our friendship, that."

"The _truly _pathetic thing is—we've already got a motto."

"_Merlin_, we're annoying."

An almost naked house elf opened the door for them. His name was Galloway, and James greeted him as such, receiving a slight bow and a reply of "Master Potter," as the two young wizards were ushered inside. "You will go up to Master Samuel's room," said Galloway, as he led the way through a wide corridor. The walls were cream colored, the floor a soft white carpet: the entire foyer gleamed.

"Where's Aunt Adele?"

"She sleeps." Sam had explained Galloway's unusual accent to James once: Adele Dearborn loathed "those abominable elfin voices" and from a very young age, trained those in her house to speak with what she deemed a more pleasant intonation. The effect was awkward, but Adele must have approved of it well enough, as she kept up the practice.

"Just as well," James muttered, in response to Galloway. They continued to follow the elf up a set of stairs. The second floor was much the same as the first—still, white, and somewhat antiseptic. A thin line of gold ran along the trim on the walls, and that constituted just about all of the color in the décor. Four doors were visible from where they emerged on this storey. All but one was closed, two concealing guest rooms, the third a lavatory, and the last, tucked in the corner and slightly ajar, was Sam's. Or had been. James moved ahead of Galloway to reach it.

Sam's bedroom was large, and the walls were dark green, covered extensively with pictures and posters. A large banner for The Hobgoblins canvassed the space over his wide, plushy bed, and stuffed behind the pins that secured it was a worn ticket for one of their shows. Most of the decorations were for musicians, but there was one for some racing broom brand popular in Italy, and, draped over the disorganized desk by the window, was an ugly orange Chudley Cannons flag. Of _course_ Sam had liked the Cannons. A set of glass doors in a white wooden frame opened up the wall furthest from the door into a small balcony, and a small bay tree growing in a whicker basket was visible through the window.

Sam's brother Caradoc sat on the edge of the bed, but he rose when James and Sirius entered. Dorcas Meadowes had come, too; she stood, looking somber, near the desk and the Cannons flag, which clashed with her own deep purple robes. Besides the two of them, the others were strangers. There were two witches and a wizard, all apparently in their twenties and pacing about the room anxiously. The witches were eventually introduced as Clo and Simone, the wizard as Oscar, and the lot of them as "Sam's mates from the book club."

James looked unimpressed. "This is it?" he asked of Caradoc.

"Afraid so," said the older wizard unhappily.

"Egbert?"

"They weren't—on excellent terms, toward the end."

"But it's his _brother_."

"You were at the Ministry in August. You know how it was."

"Well what about the cousins then?"

"They'll be at the private service on Tuesday."

"Bully for them, but they ought to be here _now_..."

James continued his debate with Caradoc, but Dorcas had caught Sirius's eye, and he moved toward her at the window.

"Gryffindor Black," said the older witch with a smile. "This is not the occasion I would have hoped to see you next."

"No," agreed the wizard. "How's your sister?"

"Not well."

"Vance was a good bloke."

"The very best."

"You knew loads of them, I reckon?"

Dorcas nodded. "And I suppose I'll know many more." She dragged her index finger along the rough material of the Cannons flag. "It was very good of you to come. Sam had many friends, but few _close _ones, and most of those went with him. But maybe that's a blessing." Sirius couldn't speak to that, so he changed the subject.

"I've only been to one of these things once," he told her. "And I was about six, so I don't really remember how it goes." There hadn't been anything like this for his uncle Alphard, as far as Sirius knew. Once the will had been read, the family apparently went from nostalgic, if reluctant, lamentation to complete denial of the wizard's existence. Even if they _had _done something for Alphard, Sirius doubted he'd have attended.

"Oh we box things up, arrange the personal items, burn or save the letters," Dorcas told him. "Sam didn't have a will, only a child, but his mother has a list of things she would like—family things, mostly, and the rest is disposed of. I don't know how Adele wishes to do that."

"Isn't _anyone _else coming?"

Dorcas shrugged her round shoulders. "Is Grace Potter expected? I would think she would..." She thought better of the sentence and let it drop off, but Sirius raised his eyebrows indignantly nonetheless.

"It's my understanding that she wasn't invited," he said curtly. "And she would've done anything for Sam."

This returned the smile to Dorcas's lined face. "A Black defending a Potter. Good Merlin, it feels like the forties again. But you needn't be hurt for Grace. She's a great witch. I know it."

"Glad to hear it."

James and Caradoc arrived at some kind of understanding, at least enough to proceed with the business at hand. The former joined his friend and Dorcas by the window, greeted the witch, and said to the other that they would stay for a few hours at least, if Sirius didn't mind. Sirius didn't, and they returned their attentions to Caradoc, who was speaking again.

"Thank you all for coming," he said, like these words might sap the last breaths of life from him. "I know it would mean so much to my brother to have you here. The house elves have arranged most of his things already—clothes and what-not. It's really the personal items that are left for us: anything you see about. I _think_ I have collected everything Mother wants saved, but if you'll just speak to me about anything you wish to take—I would be very grateful." He checked the gold watch on his wrist. "Galloway will bring along something to eat shortly, and we'll do the letters in an hour or so, I think."

They set off, packing things away into boxes at wand point for the most part. James wandered over to the wall with the Hobgoblins poster and plucked the ticket from behind the pin that fastened it there. According to the minute black print, the show had been in 1974—and that seemed to agree with James's memory of Sam telling him all about something that had happened there... some idiotic story about a wizard who mistook Sarah McKinnon for his mate's girlfriend, and Sam had almost dueled him... it was ridiculous really, just the sort of situation that always arose around Sam—like a surprise birthday party for his aged and perpetually bad-tempered mother or a protest in the Ministry of Magic.

James emptied the contents of a desk drawer into a box and considered the fact that Sam was a much better person than he: this prompted by the finding of a photograph of Sam and one of his dull, elderly aunts...the sort James never had the patience to visit. Sam would drop in on them all the time. Have tea, sit for an hour, chat, and probably be genuinely interested in what the healer had said about the aunt's aching knee. Sam could talk to anyone. He would, too. He'd completely skipped a phase of adolescent self-absorption, James supposed, because even when he was sixteen and James only twelve, the older wizard didn't seem to resent time spent with his young cousin. They endured the weddings their mothers forced them to attend by sneaking out and playing cards; Sam had tried to take him fishing once—a colossal failure—and, though James couldn't really trust his memory on the matter, it seemed to him that they had gone to a great number of Quidditch games together. There was one he remembered in particular, though, because it had been in his second or maybe third year—no, definitely second year, because Abraham Dyer had been chasing, and that was his last season—and Sam spent half the match hassling James with questions about Hogwarts. Well, not _hassling_; James hadn't quite reached his imminent adolescent self-absorption himself, so he'd been more than happy to tell everything about the school. But James remembered it now, because it was the first time he noticed that Sam was no longer telling _him _about the great and mysterious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but rather the reverse; James had by then spent more time at the school and passed into a realm beyond Sam's experience.

James helped Clo and Simone with clothes. Clo, who, though initially somewhat frightening, with her studded boots and heavy eye-liner, turned out to be a very good-natured witch. She fell in love with every jumper in the chest of drawers, and she fought with the box for custody of several of them. Simone laughed at her friend's dilemmas, and Oscar expressed confusion over each and every decision made.

Merlin's sake, Sam could be an idiot, though. Did he really imagine Adele would let him get away with being a Hufflepuff? That woman had the narrowest definition of acceptable behavior James had ever witnessed, and that meant her children were to be Slytherins or Ravenclaws—respectable houses: certainly nothing as _frivolous_ as a Hufflepuff.

If, of course, that _was _the real reason for Sam's departure from Hogwarts. James only half believed it. James's mother had once hinted that it was really Lon's doing—Sam's father, but James always supposed if there _was _another reason, someone would get around to telling him when he was older.

Sam liked the Hufflepuff story, though. It suited his self-mythologizing. He was always saying those things, like how he was the shortest Dearborn in six hundred years, or how a house elf had cursed his fingernails as a child, and now they never grew. It seemed ridiculous, of course, but if it were to happen to _anyone_...

Sirius and Dorcas worked very slowly; they spent half an hour just throwing shoes in a box and discussing other things in low, earnest voices. James drifted into their conversation for a little while, when he was looking through some blank postcards from places Sam had never been. Dorcas recounted to Sirius how she had heard about the attack—the cup of coffee in her hand, the innocent gesture of switching on the wireless, the hours spent in frantic search for Emmeline, whom she _thought_ might have attended the conference with her husband... Why did Sam have those postcards anyway?

He hadn't _been _to any of these places, and no one had sent them to him—anyway, there was on writing on them. Whatever did he keep them for? The unimpressive photographs of buildings or grey-cast beaches or a quaint stone bridge with a babbling brook...? There were a handful of muggle cards in there, too—what _did_ go through that bloke's brain anyway?

Caradoc monitored everyone. It was a disgrace, really, that Adele couldn't even be bothered to get out of bed. She ought to have been there—she ought to have organized the thing, rather than leaving it to Caradoc to throw together at the last moment. At the very least, she ought to have made sure that people _knew _about it. More than just a few random mates and a spare cousin ought to have been there. Sam always had a hundred friends; every time James saw him, he seemed to be dashing off to meet some new mate or just arriving from an appointment with one. Adele always dismissed this, though, and now she seemed to be dismissing Sam's death.

But no, James regretted that particular resentful thought: it was unfair.

The letters were the main event for that afternoon. That tradition in James's family—and maybe in others, he couldn't really be certain—was to gather after an unexpected death like this, all the family and friends, and sort through saved letters... not to read them, of course, and one could only take or examine correspondences of one's own. The rest were burned.

Sam had kept a great many of his letters, stored in a little wooden chest and tied in stacks. Unfortunately, the organizational system stopped there. Letters from his mates in Boston from two years ago sat just below a month old note from Sarah McKinnon; there were Christmas cards tied with a letter from an apothecary that had just received a special order for him; James found two of his own saved letters bundled with a curt note from a muggle library.

Lily had written to Sam. James knew this, and he wondered vaguely if hers were in here. But they'd be burned with the rest. They weren't _his_, and you couldn't take any letters that weren't yours. That was it. The rule.

He had tried to speak with her, with Lily, at Kings Cross the day before; they hadn't spoken since she'd handed him the crumpled up letter in the Head Offices, before they knew for sure, and then a few days had passed, and James thought he'd like to say something to her. He couldn't think want, but he'd seen her across the platform and started towards her, and he thought she'd seen him (he was almost certain she'd spotted him, really), but maybe she hadn't, because she turned away when he drew near and went off with Donna, and he hadn't stopped her, because, after all, he didn't even really know what it was that he needed to say. All the same, he wished he'd said it.

The whole group sat on the floor of Sam's bedroom, surrounded by envelopes—some with return addresses, some without—everyone searching for their own handwriting or stationary or anything that looked familiar. James found all that he thought could be his from over the years, but he had already decided that he didn't want to keep them and set them with the unclaimed letters. He also found two or three of his mother's—those, he kept to return to her.

Sirius and Caradoc offered occasional remarks to James (Sirius having nothing to do, except to observe the experiences of the others), but otherwise, only Simone and Clo consistently talked throughout the process. Then, they had not been at it very long, before the house elf Galloway returned. He stood in the doorway until Caradoc took note of him, got to his feet, and approached the elf. They spoke in muted voices for a moment, then Caradoc returned and said to James: "Mum wants to see you, James. Galloway can show you the way, if you don't mind terribly. We'll wait for you to burn anything..."

"Don't worry about it," James assured his cousin. Galloway led the way out into the corridor and guided him up to the third floor, which consisted almost entirely of his great aunt's bed chamber. The elf bowed slightly to him outside the room, and James was left to open the door and announce himself.

Adele Dearborn's bedroom maintained the spirit of the rest of the house far better than Sam's did: pale yellow walls, lace curtains, a crystal chandelier, and a fluffy white bed, in which his aunt—in a grey dressing gown—lay, propped up by half a dozen pillows and mostly covered by the thick down comforter.

"James, dear, won't you come in and close the door?"

Never had "dear" been attached to a name with less warmth. However, James complied with Adele's request, as well as a second one, to bring the painted chair with the cream velvet cushions from the desk to the spot beside her bed, so that James might have a "nice chat" with her. As he sat down, he fancied his aunt might invite him to kiss the mildly ostentatious diamond rings on her fingers, but she did not.

Adele Dearborn was a small woman. Her yellow hair was smoothed back away from her face, collecting in a wispy knot just above her neck. She had beady blue eyes and a pinched face, and—along with the jewelry—she seemed to have powdered her face and applied a smattering of dark purple paint to her lips, so that the bed-ridden routine lost some credibility for James.

She was ugly, he thought. He'd never noticed it before, but she was. And she'd been ashamed of Sam. She blamed her niece, and she'd been ashamed of Sam.

A few pleasantries, if that was the word for it. (They were rather painful for any categorization that included the word "pleasant.") It was so good of James to come. How were things coming along? Would he like some tea? Didn't Caradoc look well? By the time he left the house that afternoon, James couldn't remember replying to any of these, but he must have, because Adele kept asking him things.

He would, very distinctly, recall the more substantial portion of the meeting, which began with the blank statement of: "I suppose your mother has informed you of the situation."

"She mentioned you didn't want to see her anymore," said James dully. Adele took exception to his frankness and required a moment to compose herself. _I'm an invalid_ _after all_, she might have said. Practically did say.

"I am sorry that this might cause you some discomfort, dear boy. I assure you that the affair hurts me a great deal more."

"Shame."

She didn't hear him. "What did you say? Speak up, my dear."

"I said _it's a shame_," James repeated, louder, "that all of this _dreadful _business should cause you any discomfort."

It was funny, really, how many of James's conversations with adults went like this: he would be snide, and they would pretend they didn't understand. Thinking about it, he really did get away with _loads_. At any rate, Adele pressed on: "However, I wanted to speak with you today, because I want you to believe that I do not hold _you_ responsible for what your parents have done."

"_Parents_? I thought it was just mum who'd thrown Sam to the lions."

Adele winced, but she wasn't sure how seriously to take James. "My niece," the witch all but whispered, "chose to reject her family many years ago. But it is only now that my son had to die because of that."

The anger swelled, the heat rose to his face, the blood pounded in his ears, all the usual symptoms announced themselves. In a corridor at Hogwarts, faced with Snape or someone, he'd have drawn his wand and hexed something. He'd have punched Mulciber in the jaw. Knocked one to Sirius. Shouted at someone. Seen red and that would've taken over and he would've gotten angry.

He would've shouted at his aunt that it wasn't his mother's fault. That Grace was brave and Sam was brave and all of M.F.P. was really, very, very brave. If anything, it was Adele's fault, more than Grace's. Sam took pleasure in annoying his parents—they were going to be ashamed of him anyway, weren't they? Why did she think he took such pride in M.F.P.?

James had it in him to tell Adele this. But he was tired—so bloody exhausted.

"I'm very sorry," was his strained reply. Adele mistook the tremor in his voice for sincere remorse—guilt, even, for his parents' supposed crimes. In her obvious appreciation of the apology, however, she belied her own claim that she did not blame James. She almost smiled.

"Your mother"—with so much loathing, though—"has made some... questionable decisions, with regard to your upbringing..."

_Merlin_, _the maternal affection must have been bloody overwhelming for Sam_...

"...But I firmly believe, James, that you are a good boy. Certainly the family has worried about you in the past...

_Well that's nice to hear._

"...But now, you are such a strong young man—Head Boy, Quidditch Captain... you have always favored the Potters, but there _is _something Dearborn about you..."

_It's the chin. Classically Great Uncle Rogan, right there._

"...And you must know that you have—other family, James. If you so choose, you are—we are perfectly happy to have you any time at all, dear boy. I do not want you to think that your parents' choices will prevent you from being a member of this family. You are a Dearborn, and you are a Potter, and as long as you want it, there will be a place for you here."

"_So why did he stay?"_ Sirius had asked him earlier. They'd approached the front of the Dearborn house, and James—before he could stop himself—had half-choked on the confession that Sam had always hated this house and that his family had been ashamed of him and he'd felt a fiendish need to make them ashamed of him and they never appreciated him for what he was. Which was excellent. He was excellent. Maybe Sirius hadn't been able to help himself either, for he'd asked: "_So why did he stay?"_ After all, _Sirius_ hadn't stayed... He'd gotten so sick of the place that he'd have gone mad if he stayed at Grimmauld Place another minute.

To Adele, James, rising from the chair, said, "Thank-you. I'd better get back to the others—don't want to miss the letters."

* * *

Even when the bedroom slid into sufficient focus, and even after she'd recognized it as belonging to Donna, Lily struggled to remember why she lay there. Then it came back to her, and she rolled onto her back.

Generally speaking, Lily found that falling asleep in blue jeans was a mistake. The copper button cut uncomfortably into her stomach and left red ridges in the skin just below her belly-button. The trousers had probably lost all their shape, stretched out as she curled up into a ball on her side, and now that she lay on her back with her legs extended flat against the bed and her stomach pulled in, the jeans felt too loose.

Distant, muffled voices drifted into the room. She pushed herself off the bed and followed them into the kitchen.

When Lily emerged, bleary-eyed and disheveled, Donna was directing milk into a cup with her wand, Brice—deeply focused on not spilling—held said cup with both hands, Bridget and Isaiah sat at the table eating biscuits, and Aunt Dahlia leaned against the counter beside the sink, concentrating on the newspaper and twirling a quill between her fingers—presumably working on the crossword. The whole room smelled of the biscuits.

Donna finished pouring the milk and glanced up at her friend. "How was your nap, then?"

"Good, yeah... how long did I sleep anyway?"

"Long enough for me to make biscuits." She offered one to Lily.

"Long enough for you to become the sort of person who makes biscuits, too, I see."

Donna made a face, but forfeited the opportunity for a more characteristic response due to the presence of immediate family. Instead she said, "Don't be thick: I'm brilliant at everything." Then she added: "Kingsley's just come home, actually. Took an early day."

The auror in question revealed himself a moment later, coming from his room. He greeted Lily politely and inquired about that morning's trip into Diagon Alley. Then he sat down at the table and pilfered one of Isaiah's biscuits.

"We ran into Alice Griffiths—er, Longbottom, whatever it is," Donna told her brother, as she put the milk away again. "One of _yours_, Kingsley."

"Mmmm, it's a wonder," said Kingsley absently. "The trainees don't generally see the light of day."

"She was at luncheon."

"Still a wonder. This isn't bad, Donny." He indicated to the biscuit he was chewing on. Donna, who was wiping down the counter, froze.

"Did you just call me 'Donny,' you bast..." She broke off and cleared her throat, while Kingsley chuckled to himself. "_Donny _is never allowed to resurface as a nickname. _Donny _ends now."

"_I_ like it," said her older brother.

"You really are turning into Dad, Agrippa's sake."

"It suits you, Donny."

"Not in front of the children, Kingsley." Donna resumed her cleaning. "You _know _how it goes—Brice'll hear it once and then start saying it, and his mates' parents will complain about their _little tykes _being exposed to that kind of language, and I'll have to explain what a bad influence their older brother is..."

"Anyway," Bridget interrupted, "we could always start up with _Kiki _again."

Kingsley laughed out loud now. "_Merlin_, that's worse..."

"Kiki?" Aunt Dahlia questioned, looking up from her crossword puzzle.

"It's what I used to call Kingsley when I was a baby," Isaiah said. "I couldn't say his name—_Kingsley _came out sounding like _Kiki_."

"It amused Donny over there to no end, as I'm sure you can imagine," Kingsley exposited.

"I used to introduce him to my parents' friends as 'Kiki,'" Donna recollected fondly. "Remember when those witches from Mum's work came over..."

"When you told that woman that she and I had the same name? Oh, you _were _a brat." He hopped up from his chair and set the kettle. "Tea, anyone?"

"_Merlin_, you were furious. You thought you were _so_ excellent. You'd just made prefect, I think..."

"And Quidditch Captain!—You'll have some, Dahlia?—Don't forget Quidditch Captain!"

"You won't let me."

"Well, that story gets funnier if you—where's the blue cup? No the dark blue..."

"Brice is using it."

"Brice can't use it!"

"You're such a _child_, Kings..."

"I'm not being a child—he'll break the cup."

"_I will not!_ Look!"

"He's _fine, _Kings, just use one of _these_..."

"How does the story get funnier, Kingsley?" Bridget wanted to know.

"What? Oh yes." Kingsley had now arranged the tea cups along the counter and turned to face Bridget at the table. "As it turns out, that witch works on the floor above mine now..."

"You're _joking_..." said Donna.

"'Remembers, too. Calls me 'Kiki' every bloody day!"

"She doesn't..."

"'Does, too. Moody hollered at her entire office for sending irrelevant memos to our floor, because she'd sent one to me labeled like that..."

"Isaiah, I think _Kiki_ might be your best invention yet..."

"I _was _a clever baby, wasn't I?"

"Did you ever tell you boss that it was intended for you?" asked Aunt Dahlia.

"Wait a minute, I'll have a cup, too, Kings."

"Yeah, yeah—so I'll tell you what happened. Moody finished shouting at half that floor—bad day, you know..."

Kingsley continued on, and Lily—who had drifted toward the wall furthest from the action—tried to disappear into the scenery. The Shacklebolts had so little time together, after all...

That, anyway, was the more comforting narrative Lily imposed upon this moment, though it oversimplified everything.

Truthfully, she didn't feel like an intruder at all. The Shacklebolts could carry on perfectly well with her there; they might have enjoyed the audience even. The easy back-and-forth, the comfortable, familiar nature of everything—and yet they managed to have a referential, nostalgic conversation without seeming exclusive. It was possible, Lily reflected, that the ache of longing stemmed from the knowledge that she hadn't experienced a familial relationship like this in, well, years, possibly _ever _(she'd been so young, after all). More likely, however, she realized _how much _she would have liked to have gone home this weekend.

_To spend time with your loved ones_, Dumbledore had said. They were to go home to be with their loved ones. Because when things like this happened, you were supposed to be with your family. You were supposed to be home. She was _supposed_ to be able to go to her mother—at _least_ her mother—and be held by the person who loved her more than anything else, who was more familiar, who knew her better, who would've done everything in her power to assuage the overwhelming sadness of all of this. And it hurt even more, because when Lily closed her eyes, she couldn't properly picture her mum's face.

Kingsley's water had boiled and he began pouring it from the kettle into a series of cups. "Have one, Lily?" he asked, but she smiled and declined.

* * *

Marlene started at the sound of her name, called from the kitchen as she flipped through the record crate in the sitting room, and—in such a small flat—the young witch marveled that she had managed to miss her mother, standing there by the counter with a glass in hand.

"Where are you rushing off to, then?" Vivian Price asked, as Marlene turned back toward her, pulling her arms through her jacket.

"Adam's," said Marlene. "I didn't know you were home from work yet..."

"Off at three on Saturdays. And what are you taking with you there?"

"What? Oh." Marlene glanced at the sleeves she had selected. "Just a few of the classics. Do you mind?"

"Go ahead, Sugar, but there'll be trouble if they don't come home again in perfect playing condition."

"Promise, Mum."

"Mmm. Have fun with your mates."

The unlikelihood of this notwithstanding, Marlene assured her mother that she would, and she once again turned toward the door, only to be stopped by the repetition of her name. "Mhm?" Vivian frowned now, and the green glass in her hand shook a little, Marlene noticed. "What's wrong?"

She opened her mouth to reply, closed it abruptly, and then set down the glass. She seemed to choose her words carefully before beginning again: "What's going on, Marlene? What are you doing here?"

"I told you..."

"_Marlene_—I didn't go to a fancy boarding school, much less one for witches and wizards, but I know it's a touch out of the ordinary—even for Hogwarts—to send the lot of you home in the middle of the term."

"They were fixing the plumbing, Mum—the Ministry of Magic said it wasn't safe for..."

"Try again, Marlene. I told my mum more tales in my time than you do, so it'll be a while before I'm convinced. I'd wager you were suspended or the like, but they'd have written to me, I'm sure, and with all your mates around, too, I don't see how." Vivian folded her arms, and Marlene considered her options. This was rare, a confrontation, but she knew that if she only stood her ground long enough—and long enough might not be much more than two minutes—her mother would give in and decide that she would rather believe the lie than start a fight over it. Between mother and daughter, there was the understanding that if Marlene lied to Vivian, she had a good reason. After all, Marlene usually did not _need _to lie: few expectations were placed upon her and fewer limitations. Consequently, she took even herself by surprise when she replied to her mother's demand with the truth.

"There's a war," she said. "In our—in the wizarding world, there's a war, and a lot of people died in it last week, and there's a memorial on Sunday morning, and Professor Dumbledore sent us all home to be with our families beforehand."

Vivian stared. "A _war?" _she asked, before turning skeptical. "How could there be a whole war that no one's bloody noticed?"

"Well..." Marlene tucked the records into her bag and advanced further toward the kitchen, eventually sitting down at the counter, though still trying to find a way to explain. "It's not that you haven't noticed, you just don't know what it is. Last week, in the papers, there was something about a pipe exploding in Rutland, yeah? An old building was half demolished... something like that..."

"I dunno." Vivian didn't read the papers much. "'Mighta seen something about it."

"Well, the building wasn't empty, and it wasn't an explosion. It was an attack, and—and loads of people died." With reluctance, but she had little to lose at this point: "Including Adam's sister."

"An _attack?" _Vivian repeated, panicked. "The war is _here_? But who's attacking us?"

"It's—it's not like that, Mum. It's not with—you know, countries and bombs and that... it's more like a—a rebellion, or—something, like that, I don't know. You see, there's this—man, this wizard, and he's got some... followers, and they're trying to... to take over."

Vivian's blue eyes were wide. "Take over _what_?"

"Well..." Marlene frowned. "The country."

"The magical one, you mean?"

"Well..."

"I mean," she went hurriedly on, "He can't very well sack the Prime Minister, for Christ's sake, can he? He can't just knock off the queen! Not when no one's even heard of him—what's his name?"

Marlene sighed. "You're right," she lied. "And you—you won't have heard of him, that's true, so... it's—it's just the magical world that's... fighting." (What good would it do to tell her the truth anyway?) "It'll all be over soon enough, I'm sure."

"So—you don't think this... wizard will win?"

"Oh no." Marlene managed a smile, and perhaps she was a better liar than her mother gave her credit for, because Vivian seemed to believe her when she added: "They'll catch him any day now." Then again, the lie was more palatable. "But this is like all the rest, Mum, please remember that. You can't talk about it. Not to anyone. Not even the MacDonalds, see?"

Vivian surrendered the point, but Marlene took the time to lean over the kitchen counter and kiss her mother on the cheek before she made her way for the door, adding—though no inquiry was made—that she would be home later, but she didn't know when exactly.

"Marlene, sugar..." Marlene waited, hand on the door knob. "You're safe, aren't you? No one's going to try to hurt you, yeah?"

"Perfectly safe, Mum. Love you."

"Love you too."

After that, Marlene hurried out in the hallway. She never could stand apparating in front of her mother, and it wasn't exactly advisable to do magic in the flat itself. The advantage of living in a densely populated area was that the "underage magic" bit was difficult to assign to any one underage witch or wizard, but there wasn't much point in taking the additional risk. Anyway, as long as she was stepping out, she could visit Mary on her way.

By Mrs. MacDonald's instructions, Marlene found her friend down in the MacDonalds' shop. Her father was working behind the counter, and Mary stood at his side, twirling a strand of dark hair around a pencil and not appearing particularly helpful.

"Apples are marked down this week," said Mary, when Marlene came up to the counter and leaned over it.

Marlene ignored this and replied: "Can I have a word?"

"Sure." Mary climbed out from under the counter and led the way to the front of the shop, beyond Mr. MacDonald's earshot. "Something wrong, Mar?"

"I told Mum," Marlene replied. "About the war and everything. I told her not to tell your mum and dad, but I thought you should have a warning anyway."

Mary frowned. "I wish you wouldn't have. Viv can't keep a secret to save her life."

"Oh, I don't know about that—I haven't seen any 'Newham Woman Unveils Entire World of Witches and Wizards Secretly Living in England' headlines lately. And she's had six years to muck that one up."

"'Doesn't mean she won't have a chat with mum and dad about our _potential peril_," said Mary. She grew increasingly irritated. "You might at least have warned me beforehand."

"She asked me and I told the truth, that's all. I didn't want to _lie_."

"Why not? It's worked well enough for the last six years, hasn't it?"

"Well she's bound to find out eventually. They all are, Mary."

"Maybe not." Mary folded her arms over the bright floral print of her blouse. "It might be over sooner than we think, and we'll just have worried them for no good reason."

"Well, they _are _parents," said Marlene sullenly. "It won't kill them to fret a little."

"Easy for you to say. You've never given them anything to fret about."

"You're not so bad, Mary."

"I wasn't talking about _me_."

Marlene softened. She reached out and wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulders, drawing her closer. Mary sighed and relaxed. "I'm sorry, Mare. I know it's... but you're parents aren't as fragile as you think they are. If anything, they've proved that by now."

"I know." Mary gave Marlene a quick squeeze around the middle before moving back. "Aren't you supposed to be at the McKinnons'?"

"Mmm, I'm going now. Late, actually. I'd better leave... but I'll see you tomorrow. We can go to the memorial together."

"I don't know," said Mary. She began to twirl her hair again, this time around her finger. The glossy red polish on the nail peaked through the chestnut brown curl. "I was thinking of skipping it."

"_Mary_..."

"Well where am I supposed to tell the parents I'm disappearing off to for hours on a Sunday morning, anyway?"

"I don't know... Church?"

"Agrippa's sake, Price, I need something that's at least _possible_. Preferably _likely_."

"Well, figure something out. Please, you have to come with me."

Mary sighed again, but her resistance was weak. She nodded and agreed, and Marlene gave her another quick hug before returning to the back of the shop. She waved to Mr. MacDonald, and slipped into the loo—for employees only, but they never minded for Marlene—not bothering to lock the door, because she had apparated before it clicked shut.

* * *

A short, familiar walk from the town of Ford, the McKinnons' house sat tucked away amongst trees and shrubbery and roads to other places. It seemed centuries since Marlene had stepped from the muddy brown road onto the grey flagstone path up to the front porch—to the forest green front door in its stone archway, the half-moon amber glass window overhead casting the welcome mat in a strange light and hinting that the house may have entered the twentieth century—the seventies, even.

Marlene wiped her boots on the mat underfoot, but she was procrastinating, really, because she didn't know how to face the McKinnons now. If she hadn't already lingered on the porch for a whole minute, and if the embarrassment of fleeing and being caught were not such a strong deterrent, Marlene might not have mustered the courage to knock on the door at all. But then she did, and it was all right, because Audrey opened the door.

"I'm late, I'm sorry..."

"No, you're perfect, thank you," said Audrey, very quickly pulling Marlene inside. She closed the door by magic, and then steered Marlene through the entry way—made narrow by the staircase that ran along the wall to their right—and into the dining room. As they entered, Audrey stepped on something red and plastic: Marlene couldn't see what, but it made a loud _crack_ sound beneath her shoe. She bit her lip, apparently to hold back a curse and hollered: "Donald McKinnon, for the last time, pick up your toys! Sorry—" Audrey added to Marlene, who dismissed it graciously. Donald trotted out from one of the bedrooms, face half hidden behind a crop of dark blonde hair, and gathered up the wreck of the toy in question, only stopping for a moment to smile at Marlene before disappearing back into the other room.

The whole house seemed quieter than usual, and it felt stiller, too; Adam didn't jog through the corridors, throwing a quaffle at the walls, for one thing, and Felicity wasn't telling him to stop it, and Mrs. McKinnon wasn't moving through the rooms, rapidly dictating something important-sounding to a pursuing quill and parchment. Only Frances McKinnon made an appearance, sitting on the stairs with a book open on her lap, and after she said her "Hello," to Marlene, she resumed her reading at once. Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon were nowhere to be seen. Audrey did not explain.

"Adam graced us with his presence at breakfast," she said instead, leading the way up the steps, though Marlene knew the way perfectly well. "For about fifteen seconds, and then was off again once Felicity and Mum started a conversation."

"Audrey, I don't know what you think _I_ can do," Marlene began. "He's upset..."

"I don't expect you to do anything, dear," said Audrey tenderly. "Just find out if he's going to the memorial tomorrow... and, well, if he isn't, then I suppose I do want you to do _one _thing."

"Convince him to go."

"That's right. You see, I don't want a scene tomorrow morning when we're all setting off. That's the sort of business that sticks with a family—if he didn't go..." They reached the second floor, and Adam's bedroom door was mere steps. "Shall I announce you?"

Marlene smiled. "Better not."

"Right. And _thank-you_."

"'Course." Audrey descended the staircase, and Marlene wished she at least had the procrastination aid of a doormat this time. She sighed deeply, stepped over to her friend's door, and knocked. He didn't answer. "Adam?"

She heard the confusion in his voice when he replied, muffled through the door: "Who's that?"

Inexplicably, the sound of his voice came as something of a relief, and Marlene smiled. "Zip up, McKinnon, I'm coming in."

Still, she was additionally relieved when her warning proved unnecessary, because Adam, though reclining on his bed, held a book, which was propped up on his stomach.

"Hello," she said as she came into the room and dropped her bag on the floor.

"What are you doing here?" He sat up and set aside the book, but otherwise failed to react with any discernable emotion.

"I came to visit Donald. He misses me so."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Right."

Adam's room looked the same as ever. She walked with the comfort of acquaintance to the desk and sat down on the chair, draping her arm over the back to face her friend on the bed. The posters were all the same, the LP sleeves that lined the entire perimeter of the room along the ceiling, his old, frayed Gryffindor scarf stuck on the wall above the desk with a red pin... scarcely any of the white walls beneath were visible through all the—_stuff, _she didn't know what else to call the assortment of things adorning them. And then, as she thought about it, the familiarity of the room lost its comfort and became something sad, like an old, lost toy she'd found but couldn't quite locate the feeling once associated with it.

"Audrey asked me to check up on you, y'know," Marlene said, looking away from the walls and at their owner. "'Thought you should know. I'm actually a spy."

This seemed to surprise Adam, and Marlene was glad, at least, that she'd dispelled the nonchalance of before. "What're they worried about?" he asked. "I haven't done anything."

"You haven't locked yourself away from everyone and gone on mysterious walks at all hours?"

"Well, if you put it that way." He crossed his arms over his chest, and Marlene could see him pulling away from her. "I'm supposed to be cheerful now, am I? And you're supposed to cheer me up? Is that it?"

"No, that's not it."

"Then what is it?"

"I just—I just figured you might want some company."

"Well, I don't." He looked sullenly down at his blue and green plaid coverlet. Marlene nodded.

"Okay, then." She didn't move, though, and she didn't think that he expected her to. "I'm so, _so_ sorry, Adam," she added a minute later. Adam closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, and when he opened his eyes again, he did so to look at Marlene. "So—" he began coarsely, "what did you bring me?"

Marlene smiled as she hopped off the chair to retrieve her bag. She went over to the record player on the dresser by the door and withdrew from her bag the three records, which she set down beside the player, while she removed the vinyl already set and returned it to its jacket. "So, first on our agenda is one of my mum's," she told him as she worked. "And it's so bloody good that even the fact that they're mum's can't ruin them."

"Why would that ruin them?"

"Whenever she was sad about a bloke, she'd get sloshed and play them so loud the whole flat shook." Marlene shrugged.

The music filled the room and Marlene turned back to Adam, who was watching her. "This isn't even a sad song," he pointed out after a few measures. Marlene sat down at the foot of his bed, tucking her feet underneath her, and she shook her head.

"Well, you've got to listen for it."

They listened for a while, not saying anything, until Adam asked: "Did Audrey write to you, then? To get you over?"

Marlene explained about meeting her at the pub. "And now she's worried that you won't go to the memorial tomorrow, so she wants me to convince you to go."

"I'll go if they want me to," said Adam. "But I don't see any point in it. It won't mean anything to anyone there, or me, or Sarah."

"What about your family?"

"I didn't think they'd care, but I reckon they do if Audrey mentioned it."

"Of course they care," said Marlene. "You thought your mum wouldn't mind about your not going?"

"Why should she? _I_ don't." Then his expression changed; lines appeared across his forehead, his face contorted in concern. "Is that wrong? Why don't I feel like I—owe it to her, or something? I don't know, I..." He gathered urgency, "I feel like she's alive, most of the time. I _know_ she's not. I force myself to remember that she's gone. But I haven't seen her body—it's like she's just left the room. I'm trying to convince myself that she's really not coming back, but I've done that so many times, it's—even that doesn't sting anymore, and it's just nothing." Marlene went to turn the record over, and Adam concluded: "Doesn't it make you want to—go live somewhere else? Go get a house and live like a muggle or something?"

"No," said Marlene. "I understand that—that's what Mary said, but no, not for me. Maybe because I _do_ live with a muggle, you know? It just..." she shrugged, "makes me want to kill death eaters." The thought sounded far more gruesome when voiced, but Adam took it well. He actually looked amused when she turned around and faced him again, the b-side humming along.

"That's why we're mates, Price."

"The fact that that didn't frighten you is why we're mates, actually." She sat down on the bed again, this time next to Adam at the head. She adjusted one of the pillows so that it cushioned her back against the headboard.

"Do you mean it?" he asked. "About the death eaters?"

"I don't know. I think so."

Adam mimicked her position with the other pillow. His socks ended up several inches beyond the toes of her boots. "How is anything going to be normal again?"

"It—I don't know."

"D'you suppose it will?"

"Mostly, yeah."

"_How_?"

Marlene shrugged.

"How do you know, then?"

"Oh. I don't know. It's not a very good story for today."

"You don't want to tell it?"

"No." Adam accepted this, and Marlene was grateful. She patted his hand, in between their bodies, gently. "You don't have to think about things going back to normal yet, though. And until they do..."

"I know."

"Good."

"Thank you."

"Yeah. And, you know..."

But Audrey McKinnon interrupted them, knocking on the door but not waiting for a reply before she opened it. Marlene thought she would only arouse more suspicion by moving from her position, but, at any rate, Audrey didn't seem terribly shocked. "You'll stay for supper, won't you, Marlene?" she pressed, probably assuming (and correctly) that Adam would be compelled to play social with his family so long as his guest was there.

"Yes, Aud, thank-you, bye," said Adam. Marlene made a face at him.

"I don't want to trouble your family..."

"No trouble, no trouble," said Audrey.

"But really, I..."

Audrey half closed the door, but then opened it again and stuck her head through; "Do _you_ eat meat, Marlene?"

"I... very much so."

"Right."

"Killer," said Adam, when his sister had gone. Marlene kicked him. Then she hopped off the bed. "Where are you going?"

"To help with supper."

Adam groaned. "You don't have to do that."

"I'm still going to. C'mon."

His protests fell on deaf ears, and, dragging his feet, Adam followed her out of the room, downstairs through to the kitchen. Audrey was alone there, searching through one of the cabinets, and, balancing on her toes as she was, she nearly toppled over when she saw Adam there.

"We're going to help," said Marlene.

"Oh, that's not necessary..."

"See, Price?"

"Then give us the tedious tasks, and I'll make Adam do them."

They were assigned the potatoes. Marlene washed and peeled half a dozen of them, then Adam, using his wand, sliced them into thin, even circles. Then, Adam found Marlene's arrangement of the slices in the white china casserole dish unsatisfactory, and his own placement of them in long rows was, indeed, more aesthetically pleasing, though Marlene maintained it did not matter how they _looked_. Audrey unconvincingly assured her that she hadn't done _terribly_, although she did not stop Adam from fixing them.

While Audrey assumed the lions' share of the work with the roast, Marlene labored to chop garlic ("Don't scoff, McKinnon—the most food preparation we do in the Price household is paying the bloke who drops it off..."), and Adam sautéed onions and stirred the cheese sauce on the stove, gloatingly managing both tasks at once.

They were thus occupied when Felicity—Adam's oldest sister—entered the kitchen. She was a tall, willowy witch with light red hair and the same blend of blue, green, and brown eyes as her younger brother. The gold band on her left ring finger was an addition Marlene had not yet seen, but on previous summer days, when she had been a more frequent visitor to the McKinnons, she had known Felicity well, though never to the same degree as Audrey or Sarah or the little ones. As a McKinnon, Felicity was generally good-natured, but as the eldest, she tended still to affect the authority she'd wielded in years gone by.

Today, she certainly seemed the worse for the situation, coming into the room with the air of Professor McGonagall approaching rowdy students in the corridor.

"Aud, if you needed help, you could've asked me," she said quietly. "I hope we don't need to make the guests work to get supper on the table."

Audrey blushed, but Adam spoke up quickly: "Marlene volunteered us, actually," he said, and Felicity visibly started.

"Marlene? I didn't..." She blushed, too, and Marlene realized what had happened. Felicity hadn't recognized her.

"Oh yes, all my hair's gone," she said, abandoning the garlic. "Existential crisis. Just sort of chopped it." Adam raised a curious eyebrow, and Marlene lightly finished: "It was very dramatic."

A short, uncomfortable pause, and then Audrey inquired about Felicity's husband. "He went on the walk with Mum and the children," the oldest sister replied.

"Didn't Dad go?" Audrey asked.

"No, he had to stop by the office."

"On a Saturday?"

Felicity shrugged. "Let me help, then. Mum'll want supper when they get back."

"You can fix the salad," Audrey told her. "Or slice the bread. And we'd better hurry along with those potatoes, Adam."

"_Had we_?"

"No lip from you, brother."

Marlene found no way to botch the setting of the table, and she'd just finished, when Mrs. McKinnon, Felicity's husband, Prateek, and the three youngest McKinnons returned from their walk. Mrs. McKinnon looked exhausted but functioning. Her greying brown hair was set in a long, shiny plait, and she wore black mourning robes. On entering the dining room, the witch lacked the strength to be surprised at Marlene's setting the dishes on the table, but she managed a weak smile and inquiry as to her guest's well-being.

Supper was ready shortly thereafter, and when Mr. McKinnon—wearier in appearance even than his wife—arrived, they sat down to eat.

* * *

"What is this?"

"The Kinks, of course."

"I don't like it."

"I don't like _you_."

Adam rolled his eyes again, Marlene sat down at the desk again, it was almost nine o'clock. Supper had gone—tolerably well, and then Marlene had managed to keep Adam out with his family for ages by cleaning the kitchen with Felicity and Prateek, and making coffee for Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon, and suggesting they accompany Donald and Frances to the market to fetch ice cream. In reality, Adam had offered very little resistance—nothing beyond a perfunctory "Do we have to?" and then, when all was said and done and they might have retreated to his room to listen to records again, he voluntarily joined his siblings in the sitting room to chat about—well, anything but Sarah.

That was when Marlene had planned on making her escape, but Adam sent her a pleading look, and she relented and joined the McKinnon children. She remained alert for the hour or so spent there for the indication that she was intruding or that she ought to leave, but as self-conscious as she was, caught no sign, and so stayed until Frances went to bed, and Adam said: "All right, then, let's have a go at the rest of those records."

Which brought them back to the room, Marlene at the desk, Adam on the bed, and the Kinks on the record player.

"You really need to get your head out of the sixties, Price," he said after a song or two.

"Never. Anyway..." She rested her chin on the top of her hands, "this is 1970. Or '71?"

Adam dropped his head onto a pillow and closed his eyes; Marlene tried to focus on the music, and they were quiet for a time. "I've got to sort this out," Adam said eventually.

"What d'you mean?"

"What to do next. How to get on—go back to Hogwarts, work up the momentum to be worried about potions assignments. Quidditch matches. N.E.W.T.s. I haven't even been properly sad yet, and I don't want to be, but if I'm not, I don't know how I'm meant to go on and do the rest. But if I _am_ I don't know how I'm meant to go on and do the rest either. I don't know how to do anything right now—I haven't spoken with my mum or dad about it properly, I haven't gone to her flat, I haven't been able to do anything except sit in here or walk around by myself because... well I don't know why, I just _can't_." Marlene got up to switch off the music, but Adam interrupted her: "No, don't." He'd opened his eyes when he'd heard her rise, perhaps, because he looked at her when she turned to face him. "Just—just sit for a minute?" Marlene nodded. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and Adam closed his eyes again, massaging the bridge of between his eyes. "Now... tell me that everything is going to be okay, all right?"

Every inch of her ached, and as such it was a tremendous effort, finding the words and beginning: "Sarah loved you so much, and you loved her. That will never, _ever_ go away, I promise, not even when you—when you sort out how you want to be normal again, not at all. So—no listen to me. Everything is going to be okay." Her voice strained. "All right?"

Adam swallowed. "All right."

* * *

_He's dead. He's someone that you barely know. He's a signature at the bottom of a page. He's a lot of stories. He's a whole person and you don't even know him._

It didn't help at all, repeating these phrases to herself like a mantra. It made things worse, even, because it destroyed the small hope that Lily could somehow formulate sentences around the feelings and thereby control them.

She wanted desperately to be rid of them, too. That fact was bad enough—it made her feel weak and cruel, but she lay in the dark in the spare bed set up in Donna's room, and there was nothing she could do about those feelings. They wouldn't bring Sam back; they wouldn't restore Tilly Figg or Sarah McKinnon or a bright perspective on the world, and she could not rest her head on her mum's shoulder and feel _okay_, so she wanted the ache to be gone.

Something was missing, though, and Lily could not quite figure out what it might be. _He's gone. He's gone. He's gone. They're all gone. They're all gone. They're all dead._

She thought it over and over, burned the images of the words themselves into her brain, in some bizarre attempt to make herself cry and exorcise _the feeling_. It was guilt, too. Sam wasn't hers. Others—James and Adam and so many others—had lost much more than she had. The eighty seven witches and wizards had lost their _lives, _for Merlin's sake. She felt guilty for her own, pathetic sense of loss.

She just wanted to go home. She just wanted to curl up on the sofa; she wanted her mum to kiss her on the top of the head and tell her everything would be all right. She wanted warmth and love and unquestioning comfort. These were very selfish thoughts, she supposed, climbing out of bed. That she could even entertain these thoughts now shamed her—and Donna, asleep across the room, could never feel that warmth and love and unquestioning comfort again. But she couldn't help it. She just couldn't.

Lily changed her clothes, leaving her pajamas in a little pile on her bed and exchanging them for brown trousers, a green blouse, and a pair of boots. She pulled on her coat and gloves and hat and extracted her wallet from her luggage, tucking it into her front coat pocket, where it sat with a few receipts from last year's Christmas shopping.

She wrote the explanatory note and left it on her bed, just in case Donna woke in her absence (it was almost eleven—the Shacklebolts had all gone to bed early in anticipation of the early ceremony tomorrow). Then, quietly as possible, she made her way outside. The autumn air stung her cheeks—it touched the space behind her ears and made her lightheaded. She walked quickly down the road, pulling her coat tight around her middle, and, when she was a short distance from the house, in a pool of darkness beyond the streetlamps, Lily closed her eyes and apparated. When she opened them again, a new street stretched out before her.

She hadn't gone home, though. This was Camden.

The dark little alleyway in which she'd appeared was not empty, but the two intoxicated women who stumbled through took it for granted that their unexpected companion had surprised them due to their own inattention, rather than the fact that she had materialized out of thin air. Lily slipped quickly past them, starting toward the high street.

She didn't really know why she chose this place. She could reason why she selected muggle London... why, tonight, she should choose to surround herself with people who didn't _know_. She knew she could not go home, too, and she had needed to go _somewhere_. But why she chose this particular spot... Lily didn't even question it until she had practically reached her destination, and then she was climbing the steps into the pub.

The Lantern had changed little in the months separating it from Lily—the sign out front seemed different, but not irksomely so. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed like the same surreal, psychedelic song floating beneath the general hum of what seemed to be the same group of muggle clientele. Had they remained here all this time, happily unaware of the world tumbling forward in darkened alleyways, tucked away in an unvisited countryside?

She sat at the bar this time, rather than the table she had occupied with James over the summer.

While she waited for the bartender to finish up with a group of girls down at the other end of the counter, Lily made up one of those impossible scenarios which one invents when secretly hoping it will occur. If James Potter were to show up, drawn back here from that other lifetime, he'd sink into the seat beside her and, without glancing at her, make a crack that took her completely by surprise. He would ask her what she was doing here, fidgeting a bit with his spectacles, and she would swear from the sheer surprise of seeing him.

They wouldn't flirt, of course. They'd be miserable. They'd talk about how bloody depressed they were, and they'd exchange news of their respective living situations. She'd ask about his mother. He would tell her. She could practically see him in his dark blue shirt and black coat (the muggle clothing seemed improbable, but then again it was _her _invented scenario, wasn't it? She could dress him however she liked). They would talk about Sam.

"I don't know what to say," she'd tell him.

"I'm at a bit of a loss myself," he'd reply.

It wasn't _totally_ impossible, as far as it went with impossible scenarios which one invents when secretly hoping they will occur. They _had _come to the Lantern together, after all, and that did nicely to explain why she thought of him at all. (Never mind that she'd once come here with Dursley and Petunia, too, and she produced no idle fantasy about running into them). They had come here just before the Week of the Demands, before the first M.F.P. deaths. It made _sense_. He _could _be here, couldn't he?

Her more rational self remembered that James was at home with his family and friends and would, in all likelihood, remain there, considering what had just happened. Anyway, she wasn't entirely sure that she would _want _to see him just now. She hadcome here to escape the magical world, hadn't she? But she didwish that she'd spoken to him, just once, while they were still at Hogwarts. She wished she hadn't cowered in the library and shouted at Colista Black, but that she'd faced James and just—just faced him, because that was as close as she could get to facing Sam and extolling this feeling. She wished she'd said she was sorry.

The bartender was suddenly free, and Lily half waved him down before removing her hat and gloves and placing them on the counter. At this point, she rather realized that she didn't much feel like drinking and ordered a coke. The bloke at the bar made a joke about it, and Lily—rather to her own surprise—responded... even smiled as she did so, for the chatter of the patrons, the song she almost recognized, the wireless that reported football scores, and the distinctly non-magical menu worked the effect that stepping into the muggle world always had upon Lily. A small part of her began to believe that she had dreamt magic up: that this was the whole of her existence, and the rest was merely a trick she played upon herself. An impossible scenario which one invents when secretly hoping it will happen. In the Lantern, her grief was the sham; she was a very ordinary seventeen year old girl. She would be studying for her exams in English and Mathematics and History and ordinary (_real)_ things like that... considering a university education and complaining about—whatever muggles were complaining about these days.

She'd be out for a drink on a Saturday night, perhaps with mates or a boyfriend or something, and she would laugh at the bartender's joke at her drink choice.

She could see herself there, in that life. Terrible things happened in the muggle world, too—there were wars and deaths and tragedies. How did she know—as she did, with complete certainty—that the Lily in that other life would not sit in a Camden tavern with a broken heart for people she barely knew? What was the difference?

"All alone, are you?"

He wasn't bad looking, the bloke who posed this question to Lily, when she was a few sips into her coke. He was half a decade too old for her, but he wasn't _bad _looking.

His cheeks were flushed from drink, and he didn't seem to be hitting on her, exactly, when he asked the question. He had a friendly little crinkle across his forehead, and he leaned over the counter, angled only slightly toward her, so that his interest might really have been in the drink he had just requested—something called a _Batty Betty_. The only ingredient Lily noted was whisky.

Lily was, of course, alone, but the other Lily in the other life would not have been. The Lily who belonged here would have arrived with those hypothetical mates and that hypothetical boyfriend, whom Lily spontaneously named Nicholas.

"Afraid not," she said, not rudely but in a tone that lacked any invitation. "My boyfriend's stepped out for a cig."

Nicholas smoked—bad habit, that. Lily hoped he'd quit.

"Doesn't he know those things are dangerous?" asked the man, still waiting for his drink. He sounded like a Londoner. Nicholas was Welsh.

"It calms his nerves. Nick's very nervous." Whatever did Nick have to be nervous about, anyway?

"Cancer isn't supposed to be gentle on the nerves, either."

Coolly, because she really didn't care anymore: "My dad died of it." She returned to her drink. The bloke—she never did get his name—caught the hint; when he had his Batty Betty, he returned to his mates, and Lily ordered a beer.

Nicholas was going to be a doctor. Nicholas was a bit obsessive about the combing of his hair. He liked card games, but he was awfully competitive. He was sweet. He was politically conscious. He had rubbish taste in music and excellent taste in films. He was tall and blue eyed and sensible. Very sensible. He was as far from the romantic hero she had once thought suited to her. He wasn't Luke. He wasn't Robbie Castle. He wasn't Mr. Darcy. He most certainly wasn't James Potter.

Nick was simple, doting, and Nick didn't make her ache like this. _He's dead, he's dead, they're all dead, he's dead._

Nick wasn't _possible_.

Her imaginary mates were probably rubbish, too.

"You're drinking alone?" asked James Potter, leaning over the counter.

The truth was, she had run away from him on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, but she'd regretted it immediately, and maybe she'd been trying to make it all up by coming here, to the Lantern. Maybe she'd been looking for him.

Which was all very nice, but it didn't explain why in Merlin's name he'd actually _shown up_.

"Bloody _hell_, Potter!"

James calmly took possession of the seat beside hers. She'd nearly toppled off it.

"Lily Evans, what _would_ your mother say if she saw you here?"

"Not to speak to strange men, I expect," she replied incredulously.

_Absolutely _ridiculous. This whole situation was _absolutely_ ridiculous.

"But _I'm_ not a stranger," James reminded her. In a detached sort of way, Lily recognized that his voice, though vaguely teasing, lacked any humor or fun or joy. No surprise there, but all the same...

"Doesn't mean you're not strange," she said.

"You think you're clever." James ordered a vodka tonic.

"Agrippa's sake, Potter, what are you doing here anyway?" Lily asked, further recovering.

James turned to face her full on, one elbow resting on the same spot of the counter where the other bloke had placed his own minutes earlier. James was paler than usual, his hair looked just slightly more disheveled, and faint dark circles had formed under his eyes, although his spectacles partially obscured those. Anyway, they made the shadowy traces of sleeplessness a degree subtler.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"I didn't mean that," Lily contended. "You startled me, that's all."

She tried to remember the clever things she'd said in that _Impossible Scenario, _but she had the feeling he'd failed to set her up somehow. "How are you?" she asked quietly, taking a measured sip of her drink.

"Fantastic." (Very sarcastic).

"Are you—are you alone?" She glanced around, half expecting Sirius or Remus or Peter to pop up out of thin air.

"Yes." He too cast an eye about the room: "Are _you_?"

Lily nodded. "I sort of snuck out at Donna's. Couldn't sleep."

"Me as well. Sirius wanted to come, but I didn't really feel like talking. Or getting smashed, for that matter. And it would have come to one of those eventually."

"So why did you come here?"

He turned and leaned with both elbows on the edge of the bar now, shrugging noncommittally. "Some bird recommended it."

"Well she has good taste," said Lily, and then she also shifted to sit in profile to him. "Are you going tomorrow?"

"To the—thing? Mhm. You?"

"With the Shacklebolts, yes."

"That's... good. How are they getting on, then?"

"Oh, all right, I suppose. I..."

"What?"

"Nothing, I guess."

"No, what?"

"I just... feel a bit out of place there." Lily shrugged. "They're all family, and Donna's aunt is in town, and I just... I'm not sure I belong there. Oh, they're very gracious and all that, it's not uncomfortable, it's just..." She shrugged. Not how it was _supposed _to be.

"You could go to your own house, couldn't you?"

"I'd have to lie to my mum. She doesn't know about—you know... death eaters and what-not."

"You _could _tell her."

"There's just no point I suppose."

After that, Lily and James worked on their drinks in silence. The lack of conversation caused little discomfort, but persisted largely because they felt how little there was to be said. After all, they had both come out to be alone amongst muggles. This fact Lily remembered just as she emptied her glass.

"I'm sorry," she stammered suddenly; "You came out to be alone, and I'm... here. I'm sorry..."

"You were here first..." James pointed out, bemused.

"Yes, but I don't want anything else to drink anyway, and..." She had already set down the glass and begun to replace the gloves on her hands; her hat she stuffed into a pocket as she slid off the bar stool, "...it's getting late; I—I don't want Donna to worry."

"Yes, but..." (She didn't cut him off as he'd rather expected) "...I mean, of course, if you _want _to leave..."

"I'd better, yeah. I'll—probably... I'll see you tomorrow though?"

"Mhm."

"Okay." She touched his shoulder in some abstractly reassuring way and added: "Goodnight."

The gloved hand that had made contact slid down the length of his arm while he murmured his reply, and then it disappeared into her pocket with the cap. Over his shoulder, he watched her walk to the door and, when she was gone, emptied his glass.

She'd gone again. Disappeared, run away, whatever. She was always doing that now. Since—since ages, it seemed, they hadn't stood together in the same room and spoken directly. She was always slipping past him, just before he could figure out what they were supposed to say to each other.

He wasn't supposed to care, of course, because he'd come here to be alone, but that had inexplicably lost its appeal.

Or maybe he'd gone looking for Lily, like he always was, because he hadn't been surprised to see her. Well, not very. When he'd spotted the red hair at the bar, he'd known that it must be Lily, and he'd thought _well, of course_, and his stomach had sort of turned, but not because he was surprised—just because it always did. And he'd spoken to her like he always did, and she'd finished her drink and left, like _she _always did, and it was all very typical, for such a strange scene.

Perhaps he ought to go sit and feel bitter with Sirius. Whatever Lily had said, it wasn't very late yet, not even eleven thirty, and they could sit up for hours still before he had to pretend to go to sleep. If it came to it, he could probably pass out on whisky, although with his luck he'd probably just get sick and then lie in bed while the room spun around him.

"James?"

Lily had returned. She walked right up to him. It wasn't typical at all.

He turned on his seat as she approached. "Hullo..."

She was so pale—shockingly white, tonight, except for minor flushes in her cheeks—from the cold outside, probably. Being so ashen, the red in her cheeks and hair and the green of her eyes and the black lashes and the pink of her lips—which were pinched and frowning—seemed surreally bright, unnaturally contrasted. She looked not at him, but at the empty glass on the counter, when she said: "Do you want to go for a walk?"

He didn't even have to think about it. "Yes."

Out on the road, the air felt chillier than James remembered from his brief journey through it to the Lantern; he wished he'd had the foresight to bring gloves as Lily had. They took a few steps in silence, but it seemed to him silly avoiding the subject that naturally occupied them both.

"Sam's the real reason I came here," he said, startling Lily for a second time that evening. "It was one of the only good places I could think of that I'd never gone to with him. I couldn't just go to the Leaky Cauldron... it would be full of people... talking about it, you know? And anyway it'd only have reminded me of Frank and Alice's wedding. That was the last... I mean, we went back to Hogwarts just a few days later..." Lily's expression turned unreadable. "I went to his house today. Sirius and I both went. To help sort through his belongings."

"How was it?"

James shrugged. He related a few insignificant details, but left out the Adele confrontation entirely. "It's one of those places, though," he went on, with difficulty, "that you can't go back to without feeling like you're ten years old again."

"You spent much time there growing up?"

"Yeah. When Sam left Hogwarts, but before I went, I spent almost all my time there. For a while, anyway. But then, y'know, when I started school, we didn't really hang around there. I don't know, I always felt so—cooped up there. You get used to being on your own when you're at school, y'know? It's hard to just, go back to having relatives tell you what to do."

"Well there are teachers who tell you what to do at Hogwarts," Lily pointed out, but of course James smirked and replied:

"Yeah, but I don't listen to _them_."

"Naturally."

It seemed to James that Lily was waiting for something from him. She waited patiently, walked in silence, didn't press him for details, she just walked along until he knew what he wanted to say. "When I was little," he began, without really understanding why _this _of all things, should come to mind: "I was... small. Short and... scrawny, y'know? I mean you remember, probably..." (a half hearted smile that Lily mirrored), "...Not that I ever had any trouble holding my own, mind you, but—I mean, other kids... if they didn't know me, they sort of thought I was... sort of a... a..."

"Wimp?"

James snorted. "That's the one, yeah. I was, too, most likely—I was shrimpy, and most of my mates were elderly women... except Sam, I mean. When I was... eight or nine, he'd just left Hogwarts, and he missed it, you could tell, and I used to ask him about it—just different things. He told me about Hufflepuff and his mates there, and so I asked him what house he thought I'd be in." James smiled again; "He sends me this look, as if I couldn't be any thicker, and says—bit proudly, now—'_Gryffindor_, _idiot.'_ That was the answer I'd been hoping for, of course... my dad was a Gryffindor, and he used to tell stories... but I didn't really believe it, because—like I said, I was about a foot tall and weighed next to nothing, and in my mind, Gryffindors were big, tall... lions... or, you know: my dad; so I asked him—Sam—why..." James left the story there for several seconds.

"What did he say?" Lily eventually prompted as they passed under a streetlamp.

"Well, Sam's very dramatic," said James. "He recited a bit of the song about it. The bit about Gryffindor..." He trailed off again, but Lily already knew the rest.

"Where dwell the brave at heart," she muttered, and James met her eye properly again: not the jumpy glances he'd cast in her direction throughout the story, but directly. Lily smiled and shrugged. "I think that might've been the first thing you ever said to me."

He didn't know what to do with that, and for the time being, neither of them had the emotional wherewithal to sort out what her statement might mean. But James continued to observe her closely for a few seconds; "He liked you," the wizard said at length. "He really did, you know."

Lily nodded. "I know. I don't properly know _why_, but..." She sighed. "I don't suppose _you_ do?"

He shook his head.

"How's your mother?" Lily asked after a time.

"Holding up," James replied, almost casually, for he labored to keep his tone impassive. "We've barely spoken about the whole thing, to be honest. She's in and out of the house arranging things for this—ceremony tomorrow. But my aunt won't see her..." (off Lily's puzzled expression, he elaborated) "...It's Sam's mother. She blames Mum for Sam joining M.F.P. in the first place. Mum was always the big rebel in her family, you know..." He spoke more and more rapidly, "So as far as my aunt's concerned, it's my mum's fault that Sam was in that room at all. So Mum's anxious about that—can't sit still—and she's spent most of the day visiting relatives of other M.F.P. members... trying to set up protection if they need it, or if they'll take it... seeing if they need anything, I don't know. At any rate, it's kept her busy since this all happened, and I suppose that's a relief."

"What do you mean?"

"It keeps her occupied... distracts her. From feeling guilty for all of them. Like she can make it up or something..." He glanced at Lily only to find that her expression had changed considerably; she was looking at him, dismayed, and before he could say anything, she whispered, as if stumbling upon a frightening realization:

"_You _blame her..."

He meant to defend himself, but for whatever reason, words failed him at first, and when he did manage to speak, the reply came less forcefully than he intended. "I _don't_. She—she blames herself! I _don't_," he added more confidently. "Sam's... Sam was an adult. He was a member because he believed in it. They all were. That's it. Not because of Mum or anyone else."

Lily nodded slowly. She didn't believe him.

Eyes to the pavement, the witch tugged on James's sleeve, much to his confusion, until he gleaned that she was guiding him to the curb. They'd strolled down to a quieter end of the road, where there was little danger of a car pulling up and smashing anyone's feet, and so Lily, drawing her coat close around her, sat down beside the street. James followed.

From a pocket—not the one with the hat—she drew something out... something that turned out to be a box of cigarettes. _Benson and Hedges_, said the label. She offered one to James, and he arched an eyebrow.

"I thought you disapproved."

"Deeply." She did not elaborate, but removed her gloves again. She took a cigarette and after she'd lit her own with a match, handed the packet to him. James struggled a bit with the matches, being rather out of practice with the muggle devices, and Lily ended up lighting the thing for him. Then she looked out at the parked car across the street and watched it in silence.

The road was dark, as most of the shops at this end of it were closed. Only a few puddles of light from the streetlamps and the occasional beam of a car's headlights interrupted the blackness. Then, when James exhaled, the currents of white smoke, puffy in the cool air, shrouded the landscape.

Half of James's cigarette had shriveled into ash at his feet before either of them spoke. "I'm so, so sorry," Lily said hoarsely.

James tapped the end of his smoke. "It's not as if it's _your _fault," he said indifferently. When she remained quiet, he glanced at her: "Well, it's _not_."

Lily smoked her cigarette in miserable silence. She didn't dare look at him. She felt as she had in the Head offices, holding that crumpled letter of Sam's between her fingers. But when James spoke again, she had to face him, for his voice broke: "I still can't believe it. I can't believe this is real."

"Yeah."

"How could this—how could it happen?" He seemed to want something of her, and once upon a time, Lily might have had something encouraging to say... that it had happened to them because they were brave and because they fought for something. The truth remained, though, that they had died, not in battle, but with no chance to defend themselves. They were victims, not soldiers.

"I don't know," she said. She could not tell him, after all, that she had been wrong, all those months ago, when she had believed so fervently that there was purpose to everything. Things like this—there was no purpose in this. Letting go of that ideal was—it was far, far easier than she had ever anticipated. She hadn't even noticed until now, and yet all that hope seemed a distant memory. But she wasn't afraid. "It's—it's unfair."

"It doesn't make _sense._"

"No." Then—"I'm sorry I didn't... at school, I'm sorry I wasn't really _there_."

James tapped his cigarette lightly. A car started somewhere down the road. Voices from the pub and other buildings floated through the chilly air and reminded of Nicholas and a world that was not.

"You're right," said James. His eyes glistened. "About my mum."

"I didn't mean it," Lily said quickly. "I shouldn't have said it. I don't know what got into me." She'd been thinking of her own mum.

"No, you're right. I do—I do blame her. That's fucked up, right? Aunt Adele blames her—her whole family blames her. I think the Ministry might even suspect she might've been... involved or something, I don't know..."

"But..."

"I don't understand it any more than that. I can't—be in the same room as her, it's that bad. She tried to tell me about what hap—what she saw, and I couldn't stand to listen to it. It's not her fault. It's _not_. I _know _that, but it's—I can't convince myself, y'know? When I first heard, I couldn't even look at _Sirius_. Just because he's related to..." His hands shook. He dropped the cigarette and stomped it out. "I _know _it's not their fault... it's the death eaters. It's... Voldemort and the death eaters, but it doesn't _help_ hating them. Y'know?" Again, he looked at her, as if for an answer.

Lily's jaw was set firmly; her eyes remained fixed on the darkened car across the way. _He's dead, he's dead, they're all dead. _The hand with the cigarette quivered almost imperceptibly.

On Platform Nine and Three Quarters, the day before, James had tried to speak with her—she knew it. He'd been coming toward her, and she'd turned away... she'd practically fled him, for Merlin's sake, just because she hadn't wanted to fail. She couldn't fix anything, she didn't have it in her to feel hopeful or sound hopeful, and she had no way to comfort him—to tell him how _sorry _she was, so she'd run away.

Now, still, she didn't have anything nice to say. So instead she tried, with everything in her, to give him the one thought that was keeping her sane: "This—this thing—war, or whatever you want to call it..." (Nothing in her icy voice indicated that she was crying, but James discovered that she was) "...It's about me." She found the rest of the sentence, there. She found that part that was missing when she'd been forming the words in her mind in the dark of Donna's room. "It's about muggleborns. Sam... Sarah, all of them, died for something that didn't have anything to do with them. For _us_—for the muggleborns and half-bloods and muggles and me. I don't—I can't say that the—the death eaters aren't going to kill anyone else for our sake, but I'm—I'm going to do something about it. I'm not going to watch people die without—without doingsomething... I _have _to fight. I don't know how, but I have to, and I'm going to."

She dropped the end of the cigarette to the pavement beneath her feet and trampled it with the toe of her boot. Then she glanced up at James. He watched the withered paper on the ground. At first, she had no idea if she had helped or not, but then he looked up at her and sort of smiled.

"Mind if I join you?"

Lily matched his expression. She reached over and took one of his hands, interlacing her fingers with his and holding on very tightly. It was funny, how being so inexpressibly sad and angry worked like intoxication... you could sort of do or say anything, and you didn't really think about how it might turn out the next day. For now, Lily wanted to hold James's hand, and it didn't seem strange at all. "I'm counting on it," she said roughly.

It was so cold, but for some time, they didn't move from their spot on the edge of the pavement. James's bare hand shook but felt strangely warm.

"Hey," he said eventually. Lily looked inquisitively at him, and James raised an eyebrow. "Trust me?"

"Not remotely."

"Well, all right." With his free hand, he pushed back the hair falling around the side of her face closest to him and tucked it behind her ear. He leaned forward, hesitated, and for a moment, Lily thought—but then he kissed her cheek. She scarcely registered it and had only just begun to recognize the bite of evening air when he moved away, and then he was getting up and helping her to her feet. "Come on, then."

"Where...?"

He still held her hand. They were going to apparate—she guessed that a moment before it happened, and though she never consciously closed her eyes, when it was all over, she found herself opening them, blinking up in the glow of an orange street lamp. They stood in front of a house, and not even the fact that they had wildly, irresponsibly apparated into the open like that could fetter the emotion that swelled up within Lily as she comprehended where James had brought them. He'd taken her home.

All the windows in the Evans house were dark—of course Mrs. Evans would be in bed by now, sleeping alone up there—but the porch light burned on, illuminating the walkway up to the front door.

They couldn't go inside, of course. As far as her mother knew, Lily was supposed to be safely away in a castle in the country, not drinking in London pubs, or sleeping on a spare bed at a mate's house, or going to memorial services because there was a war. There wasn't supposed to be a war at all, for all Mrs. Evans knew. It wasn't remotely enough to stand there on the porch, and it hurt very, very badly to find herself so close, unable to move any closer. But it hurt a lot less.

Lily meant to ask James how he'd known that at this moment, more than anything, she'd wanted to be right here. If she _had_ asked, James would have said that the guess required little imagination, and that a few days earlier, he'd felt exactly the same way about his own house. But Lily never got around to asking. Instead, she leaned her head against James's shoulder and looked on with him at the house.

Rather later, she would attempt to pinpoint an exact moment when it happened, and she never had much luck with that—maybe it was months earlier, when he appeared on her front porch in his stupid hat, or on the platform on that wretched September 1st, or maybe it was long ago, in some unrecognizable, ever-changing form, but whenever she thought about the matter in the months and years to come, she knew with absolute certainty that it happened no later than this moment. Possibly Lily did not fall in love with James Potter _that night_, but, she would later conclude, there was no time after it that she did not love him.

"'Wish you could go inside," James said regretfully.

Too overcome to respond properly, Lily only managed to say: "W-wildly irresponsible, apparating out in the open like that." James still stared at the house, but the corners of his lips twitched, and Lily supposed that he caught her meaning. She would have had to stand on her toes to kiss his cheek, so, reluctant as she was to move against the cold, she pressed her lips to his shoulder, and then turned back to the house.

Soon enough there would be time for fighting wars. For now, this might do.

Half an hour later, Lily curled up under the blankets of the bed in Donna's room and closed her eyes. The quiet and the dark of the bedroom made her conscious of every inch of her body—she thought she could feel her own heartbeat. _He's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead, they're all dead, they're all dead, and_— (this the part that she knew instinctively, even if James denied it, as she'd known he would)—_it's your fault._

There was a light in the kitchen when James returned to his own home that night. The soft glow from the crack under the door guided him across the darkened hall, and, since it seemed most probable that Sirius had come out for a snack, James decided to join his friend there. However, it was his mother, not Sirius, seated at the kitchen table when he entered.

Grace Potter slouched back in her chair, a crystal goblet of red wine set on the table in front of her. When she looked up, her face fell into full light. With her hair pushed back away from her face, the deep lines around her eyes and across her forehead appeared more pronounced. Her eyes seemed smaller somehow, puffy and red as they were, the only color in her sunken, tired face.

James sat down in the empty chair across from her.

"I have a headache," Mrs. Potter told him, closing her eyes as she spoke. When she opened them again, she assumed a businesslike tone and asked James if he had spoken to his father about their plans for the morning. "I have to go out in the morning to meet with Arabella again—Tilly's daughter, you know, make arrangements," she went on, when James said he hadn't. "I'm going to meet you and your father at the memorial. Is Sirius coming?"

"'Course. Why wouldn't he?"

"I imagine some of his family will be there," Mrs. Potter pressed on dispassionately. "It might be awkward."

This annoyed James. "Why would the Blacks be there?" he grumbled.

"Because it would look bad to be absent, of course. They're proud of their—their opinions, but they're not stupid. At least one of them will show up." She sipped her wine.

"Their _opinions_," James echoed bitterly. "That's rich." Mrs. Potter said nothing, and James wondered if he ought to leave her alone.

But that wasn't really it at all, was it? Lily had realized at once, so his mother must have noticed too, and he wished he could stop himself from feeling it, but as strongly as he rejected the thought, a small, despicable part of him believed...

_You blame her._

"How are you?" he asked.

"Alive," she countered dryly. James could not remember a time, in his whole life, when she had sounded like this... certainly never in a dialogue with _him_.

"It's not your fault," he said.

Mrs. Potter opened her mouth to reply, but then she took note of James's clothing. "Where have you been?" she demanded.

"I went for a walk."

"When? Just now?"

"Yeah."

"Alone?" Her voice rose dangerously. "Where?"

"Mum, it's..."

"Where did you go?"

"London, Merlin's sake..."

"_What _would possess you to do a stupid thing like that?"

"I didn't..."

"It's _dangerous, _James! Don't you realize... haven't you realized by _now _that there is a war? You can't just—just go gallivanting around at night like that! Something could have happened..."

"Mum, it was..."

"It was _not _safe, James! It was very, very foolish!" Her cheeks flushed scarlet in her anger. "I simply can't believe you could do something so—so irresponsible! So _stupid! _Now, of all times! Merlin's sake, don't you have any idea what's going _on _out there? What happened in Peverell Hall isn't all of it! Every week, almost, there's _something, _and the Ministry can't put anyone away for it... And _you_... don't you know what the child of people like your father and I...?"

"I'm _not _a child anymore," James snapped. "I'm seventeen. I'm an adult..."

"And Sam was older than that!" Mrs. Potter shouted. "Victor Vance was thirty six, and he's dead. I _saw _him, James. I _saw all of them." _Her voice broke down, and she continued._ "_Sitting there, in their chairs—all lined up, like—like _dolls_. They didn't fight... they _couldn't_. That's what no one's saying. Do you think they were just overwhelmed? Some of the best witches and wizards I know were in that room! They would have fought if they could, and I knew it the instant I walked into the hall... they couldn't because they were stunned..."

He didn't want to ask, but he needed to know. It was what no one was saying, "_How_?"

"Dementors," she said. "That's what I think. The Ministry won't admit it. Even the aurors... _no evidence_. But—but they just _sat there_, and I knew it... I knew it at once..."

"Mum..."

But this, at last, was what she had not said to him. This constituted the barrier between them: she had seen, been unable to express to him... she had wanted to protect him, maybe, from the unspeakable horror of what she witnessed and knew, but James was rather beyond protection, and so she pressed on, speaking over him: "...The room was so cold. Anyone who—who knows could have felt it. Moody knows it. Alex knows it. Their last moments... they were... they were petrified. Every one of them was there—every single person who was supposed to be there sat in that room... except me."

"It's not your fault, Mum..."

"Of course it is. Half of those people _I_ recruited. They're dead because of _my_ cause..."

"It was their cause too!"

"Naturally, after I got through with them," Mrs. Potter said bitterly. "They didn't stand a chance, not really. They trusted us so completely. And we _knew_... after July..."

"You can't blame yourself, Mum," James insisted. He could not comprehend his own certainty, or from where he drew the words that followed, but he spoke sincerely; "You can't do that. It's not fair to them... they believed in something that's... that's not just yours."

"They didn't have to die for it."

"But they did, all right? And in another year, I'd probably have been there, too, so it's as... just as much an accident that I'm here as you are."

"Don't say..."

"I'm not just going to give up and hide because of what happened to M.F.P., Mum. Sam would want us to fight, wouldn't he? They all would—not just for some _greater good_ business, but because if they died, they would want us to make sure they were the last ones who had to die for this."

Maybe all the fight had drained from Mrs. Potter though. She'd been at it for so long. She emptied her goblet. "But they won't be, James."

"Well..." James shrugged. He was younger, after all, and stood a chance. "Not with that attitude."

"I need you to be safe," was the most his mother could muster. "I need you to be safe for me. No stupid risks, all right?"

James stood up. "All right." _"Stupid_" was such a vague term, after all. "You should go to bed, if you can. C'mon, we have to be up early tomorrow." He helped her to her feet and then walked with her out of the kitchen, up the stairs. He didn't take her to her door, for they stopped at the corridor that led to his.

With the continued air of weariness, just slightly lessened, Mrs. Potter kissed his cheek. "Goodnight, James."

"Goodnight. 'Love you, Mum."

"Love you, too."

It was a stupid thing to add, too, but a few days ago, he wouldn't have thought twice about saying it—he'd been frightened into bargaining with the universe for his mother's safety, and it only made sense to tell her now and hope she understood a little bit of what it had been like, before he'd heard her voice on the wireless: "I'm really glad you're alive."

The smile she offered was weak, but she ruffled his hair affectionately like she used to, when he was smaller, and then she went to bed.

* * *

As she had many, many times in her life, Marlene woke to the sound of static. She half expected it, sometimes, because she so often fell asleep to a record and then found herself stirring in the middle of the night, long after the music had ended. So, slowly and comfortably at first, she drifted into consciousness in a darkened room, reluctant to move from the comfort of the bed: the bed that was so decidedly not that of the dormitory at Hogwarts, nor of her mum's flat...

And then Marlene's eyes flew open and she shot up, realizing where she was.

"_Shit_."

Adam's room. This was definitely Adam's room.

Adam himself still slept, for the moment anyway, as Marlene multitasked, simultaneously looking for a clock and trying to remember how they had fallen asleep. They'd been talking—she'd checked the time at two, no, two-thirty-four, she remembered the two, three, four, and they'd kept talking and at some point—well, she must have nodded off, but she couldn't remember it... She couldn't remember Adam falling asleep either.

The clock was on the nightstand on the other side of the bed—Adam's side, and so, as carefully as she could, Marlene climbed off the bed and snuck around to see. Six minutes past five.

"_Shit_," she whispered again and began searching for her shoes and jacket. She'd just managed to tiptoe across the room to the desk, where she'd left them, when Adam stirred.

"Price?" he inquired groggily. He fumbled about, located his wand on the night stand, and waved it once, lighting the room. They both winced, and Marlene turned back toward him.

"We fell asleep," she whispered—although if their talking hadn't kept the rest of the house up, she didn't know that this would disturb them. She pulled her shoes on. "I have to go home."

Adam sat up slowly. "Will your mum be angry?" His voice sounded scratchy and sluggish, like he was still half asleep.

"Hopefully she hasn't noticed."

"What time...?"

"Five." She slipped her arms into her jacket and gathered up her bag before moving toward the record player.

"_Five?_ Agrippa." Gaining some consciousness and standing up, "You _can_ stay, you know. It's the middle of the night, maybe you shouldn't..."

"No, no, I've got to go."

Her hands trembled, to her own confusion, and she struggled to fit the record back in its sleeve. Adam trudged over to assist her, but Marlene only quickened her pace, to avoid any contact between them.

"Price, it's all right, your mum will understand..."

"No, I know, it's fine, I just have to go."

"You can apparate from the road—sorry, the whole house is, you know, shielded." He stretched and yawned—it brought his t-shirt up above the waist of his trousers—and hadn't quite finished the latter before saying, "C'mon, I'll walk you out..."

"You don't have to..."

"I don't mind..."

"Really, it's not necessary." Marlene faced him, having collected her belongings and her nerves a little. "It's fine. I'll see you in a few hours."

"Right." He faded. It struck him again: the memorial, Sarah, why Marlene was there to begin with... She took that as her cue to leave, but she hadn't half turned before Adam pressed on: "Thank you for coming over, though."

"'Course."

"Really, though. I'm—I'm glad Audrey asked you."

Something about that relaxed Marlene. She nodded and smiled. "If there's anything I can do..."

"Yeah, sure." They stood a moment longer, not saying anything, because, well, it _was _five in the morning, and they _would _see each other in a few hours, and they had just about talked themselves out, hadn't they? But it was a nice moment, even if it had to end. Marlene slid her hands into her pockets, ready again to make her exit, when Adam—calmly, in a tone that absolutely begged for debate and deconstruction—said, "I love you, Price."

Of course, he must have meant it platonically. He must have meant it like that, like mates, yes—he'd called her "Price," and he was grateful, and they were best mates, weren't they? He looked at her warmly, not like he had on the Quidditch Pitch, months ago, when he'd last said those words to her, but just comfortably and affectionately, like he appreciated her presence in his life.

But, truthfully, every time Marlene imagined that scene on the Quidditch Pitch over in her head, it went very differently. She knew _why _she had said what she'd said. She understood herself well enough for that—she didn't even necessarily regret it, exactly. But if only she'd _known _at the time... and if _this_ Marlene were to play that scene, she would have told him that she loved him too. Here, now, of course, she knew that this _Adam_ must have meant it platonically, like mates, for a host of reasons. Marlene just could not quite remember what they were. She wasn't thinking straight.

She stepped forward and pressed her lips against his.

He was soft, warm, and, for a moment, still. Then, he responded, and Marlene pulled him closer.

There wasn't enough time. The kiss moved too quickly, deepening, growing more heated and needy at once. Their lips moved inelegantly, rushed, because in a minute, just another minute, _please_, they would have to wake up, open their eyes, realize, pay, atone, whatever, but before that, there was so much to communicate and experience. They couldn't possibly wrap up every missed opportunity and unvoiced thought, couldn't satisfy every curiosity, couldn't feel everything—not in this minute they'd stolen from the natural, proper, ordered progression of things, they couldn't, so theirs was a vain effort, like if she clung to him tightly enough or if he pressed deeper, more fervently against her, they might be able to make each other understand.

When Adam's relaxed his grip on the back of her shirt underneath her jacket, Marlene felt it slipping away. Something was about to happen—she was about to remember what she'd forgotten for the moment, and she resisted as long as she could, even as she fell back to the flats of her feet, let her lips fall away from his, she didn't open her eyes. He kissed the side of her mouth one last time, rested his forehead against hers; she struggled to catch her breath, not to remember the reasons...

His hands dropped, but he didn't move away, and she cupped his face between her hands for a few more seconds.

Then, at last, she opened her eyes, and the word that had eluded her—no, that she had forced from her mind—appeared in her brain, so that she had to move away.

_Prudence_.

Adam stared at her—not just that, he reached out for her hand, but she pulled it back.

"Marlene..."

"I have to go."

"Don't—just, wait a second..."

Miles had snogged Carlotta Meloni at that party last year. Ten months ago, just about. She'd cried over that.

She was already out the door, though, and sprinting down the stairs a second later. Adam followed.

"Marlene, wait a second, okay, listen, we have to..." It was like he was trying to shout and whisper at the same time, all while he'd had the wind knocked out of him, and she didn't want to hear any of it. The corridor, the front door, passed in a blur, and then she was stumbling out on the cold front porch, out on the short walkway to the road under the grey early morning sky, and she turned to see Adam still following her, with a pleading expression, wearing his socks on the dirty welcome mat. He opened his mouth to say something, but she closed her lids over tearful eyes and apparated.

She arrived in the corridor outside her own front door.

_Shit_.

She found the key in her bag and had the presence of mind to keep quiet as she let herself in. Both the lamp and the television were on, and Marlene realized why a moment later—her mother slept under a knit blanket on the sofa. Vivian stirred as Marlene came further into the room.

" Marlene?" She squinted when she managed to open her eyes and propped herself up. "What time is it, Sugar?" Marlene stood still and made no reply, as Vivian rose unsteadily, tottered over to the telly, and switched it off. This brought her closer to her daughter, and she caught a better look at the young witch's expression: "Marlene? What's wrong?"

She'd kissed Adam. She loved Adam. She really, _really _loved him, and now it was all—all ruined...

"I..." Marlene faltered; she was honestly crying now; "Mum, I've done something terrible."

Vivian was at her side in an instant. She wrapped her arms around Marlene's shoulders and steered her to the sofa. "Tell me, Marlene, tell me—are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?"

Marlene shook her head against her mother's shoulder. "No, no, I've just—I've made a mistake..." Vivian brushed the short, pale locks of hair from Marlene's tear-streaked face, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. Her thin, aging hands, with their lines and knots and dark red fingernails, were nonetheless soft as they moved across her cheek—soft like her voice, pleading gently that Marlene tell her what had happened.

Later, in about half an hour, Marlene _would _tell her what had happened. When Vivian once again disentangled herself to make some tea, the whole story would come tumbling out—almost all of it, from the Quidditch pitch in the spring, and when she'd read his letter about Prudence, and then, even earlier, Valentine's Day, maybe, when she'd almost been ready, _almost_, but not quite... and then she'd kissed him, because she loved him, she really did, but _God_, she'd ruined everything.

But in the meantime, before Marlene found the words to articulate any of that, all she could say was: "I lied to you, Mum. I said I was safe, but I'm not. I'm—I'm really, really not. This—this war, it's not almost over, I don't think. I think it's just getting started, and I'm right in the middle of it, because my parents aren't witch and wizard. That's what it's all about, all the fighting. Whether or not muggles and muggleborns are just as... good, I guess, as witches and wizards. And I'm not safe, not at all, and I'm..." She found it difficult to speak, choking on her tears, "I'm frightened—very frightened, that something's going to happen to me, or to my friends, or to you, because I really love you, Mum, and I don't know how I'm going to protect you from any of this."

Marlene's head moved up and down with Vivian's breathing as the girl cried, wetting her mother's shirt with tears; Vivian smoothed Marlene's hair back again and kissed her forehead.

"You don't have to protect me, Sugar," she whispered. "I have to protect _you_, yeah? That's my job. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Not ever. Understand?"

Marlene nodded. She didn't know how strongly she believed any of it—or her mother's continuing promises that everything would be okay, but just then, it was nice to hear.

(Sunday)

Kingsley already sat with the newspaper and a cup of coffee when Donna came down to the kitchen early Sunday morning.

"So I suppose you won't be going with usto the memorial," the witch said to her brother, in response to his cheerful _good morning_. "You'll have to help with security or some such rot?"

Her brother sighed. "_There's _the sunny disposition I've come to expect from you in the mornings."

Donna, apparently, used the preparation of toast as a shield against Kingsley's sarcasm. "Aunt Dahlia thinks Brice is too young to go. She wants to stay back with him—what do you think?"

"You disagree?" asked Kingsley, politic as ever.

"It's not exactly his first funeral."

"I don't think he remembers much of the last one, Donna."

"No," she agreed quietly. She stood with her back to him, so he strained to hear her. "He won't remember them at all, I suppose. Of course, that might be simpler for him, than it is for Isaiah and Bridget—half remembering..."

"But you think he should go?"

Donna hesitated. "Yes," she said eventually. "He won't remember Mum and Dad's, like you said, and he should see—"

When she failed to finish the thought: "See what?"

"I dunno—that people don't just... disappear. People remember them for things." She found a plate for her now completed toast and began to spread butter across it.

"I agree," said Kingsley. Donna glanced at him over her shoulder, surprised. "And, in the event that you're concerned about looking after all those children, I _will _be going with you this morning."

Donna scowled. "Isn't that just like the Ministry? Lax with security on a day like this..."

* * *

"This is embarrassing," Sirius admitted, examining a set of black dress robes which were only distinguished from the last by a silver fastening, as opposed to gold.

"My closet or your raiding it?" said James. He lay out on his bed, watching with obvious amusement as Sirius went through the articles in his wardrobe.

"Well, _both_... why _do_ you have so many clothes? I'll be honest—I didn't predict that."

"Mum's always buying me robes."

"You know, that's the part of being a disinherited vagabond that no one mentions: not only do you have to feed yourself, you've got to get clothes. That's quite a task for a growing boy."

"Mmm, and you're getting fat without Quidditch practice."

"Silencio, Skin n' Bones, I need _something_ to keep me warm this winter."

"Just wear your Hogwarts robes."

"They're not _dress _robes. I haven't got any black dress robes."

"Well, you might want to invest in some."

"Right." Sirius settled on a set with a thin leather chord that knotted at the throat. "'Reckon they'll be put to good use soon enough. What do you have in the _tie _department?"

* * *

Mary MacDonald never did anything halfway, and so when she opened the door to Marlene at about quarter to nine, pinning in emerald green earrings, she seemed to have stepped out of a fashion magazine, albeit a funeral-themed one: in a black wrap-around silk dress, the towering heels she had such a knack for walking in, with a cloak thrown over one shoulder, and a cream-colored headband luxuriating amongst satiny brown curls, she ought to have been the star of any memorial service.

"Go change," ordered Marlene, in much simpler dress.

"Why?" Mary gave her outfit a quick, self-conscious appraisal. "What's wrong with this?"

"You're making me look bad."

"Oh, darling, I _always _do that."

"Shut up."

"Here, come in, I'm almost ready." Mary led her guest through to her bedroom, where, having finished with the earrings, she began throwing things, including lipstick and her wand, into a handbag. "How was Adam? I went 'round your place about nine to see if you wanted some of the cake that Mum made, but you weren't home yet..."

Marlene sat down on Mary's bed and fidgeted with the bright green coverlet. "We kissed," she said listlessly.

Mary froze. "Excuse me, _what_?"

"Snogged maybe, I don't know."

"Wait. _Fuck. What?"_

"I know."

"But..."

"I _know_..."

"This is..."

"Absolutely."

"_Mother of God, _Marlene."

"I _know!_"

Mary sighed. She threw a few more items into her purse and then gestured for Marlene to join her. As her friend trudged across the room, Mary entwined her arm with Marlene's and said: "Well, all right, tell me all about it on the way."

They had just reached the front door when Mrs. MacDonald emerged from the kitchen and took note of the girls. "Where are you two off to at this hour?" she asked curiously, but without opposition.

Mary sighed and ushered Marlene through the door ahead of her. "_Church!"_

* * *

Aside from Hogwarts, Remus felt out of place when he found himself in large gatherings of witches and wizards. Whenever he'd gone to Quidditch matches with James, and when they'd all gone to the Ministry over the summer... even in Diagon Alley on a crowded day, a strange uneasiness crept up on him, though he'd never quite understood why. There were logical explanations, of course: most obviously, his lycanthropy, and the inescapable knowledge that, if any of those around him knew what he was, they would be at best disquieted, more likely repulsed—and _that_ didn't even compare to what they would say if they ever saw him on a bad night.

Yet this account for his discomfort did not satisfy Remus entirely. It just seemed to him _unnatural_ somehow, seeing all of those witches and wizards out in the open. And that feeling made even less sense to him, because he had grown up in the wizarding world. James and Sirius never indicated that they felt anything similar.

Remus's black dress robes had turned out to be too small, and in the rush of the morning, he'd been compelled to borrow his father's old ones, which were frayed at the wrists and too big around the shoulders. A cloak mostly concealed them, and he could therefore be grateful for a cold, grey morning (it might begin to rain at any moment), even as he and his father trudged through the muddy thicket toward Alston Glade.

Through the gaps between trees, he caught glimpses of other witches and wizards heading in the same direction, many carrying umbrellas, all dressed in black. That only unsettled Remus more—all of those people just appearing like that (they'd been _asked _not to apparate, to use the designated floos, request a portkey, or use muggle transportation, but of course people alwaysapparated), as if they were bugs, crawling out of the ground and now creeping unnoticed through the darkened corners of the landscape. Remus could understand keeping magic a secret—maybe he could, anyway—but he couldn't fathom so many people keeping that secret from so many others. That was what he found truly disconcerting, he speculated—that when all those witches and wizards were together, they all _knew_. They all knew what the others were, and no one whispered when they said words like _Hogwarts_, _muggle, magic, death eaters_...

(_Werewolf_, his brain, rather sardonically, substituted. No—they still whispered that.)

And that was part of what troubled him about this whole M.F.P. business. The thought would _not _leave him alone.

They neared the edge of the thicket—there was a kind of pale light coming from the glade up ahead, where the memorial would be held. It wasn't the actuallocation of the attack, of course, because Peverell Hall was too close to a muggle neighborhood. Alston Glade sat several miles off, buried in a shallow wood, which gave it the protection of physical remoteness, in addition to the dozens of spells Remus supposed the Ministry had cast for protection from muggles.

_Protection from muggles_—funny thought, that. But yes, that's what he'd been saying to himself—that thing that bothered him about the attack on Peverell Hall. All those witches and wizards, gathered together—and they must have had wands, and they wouldn't have gone down without a fight, he was sure of it. He'd met enough of them to know that.

They stepped out into the open air of the field, and there must have been two hundred people already there.

In the center of the clearing, there stood a white marble monolith, about waist-high, with an engraving that Remus supposed he would have to read later. Most of the witches and wizards there mingled idly around this, in a wide center aisle created between the memorial column and a circular formation of chairs around it. There must have been a dozen rows—some chairs occupied, some not—and yet Mr. Lupin could not contain the practical observation of: "There won't be enough seating."

Remus thought he wouldn't mind standing in the back. Sometimes, in crowds like this, he felt a bit claustrophobic.

The light that Remus had spied from the trees impressed more than the monument, however. It came from about a hundred white candles, levitating overhead, as they did in the Great Hall at school, except that the flames were pale—almost white, themselves—and there must have been an enchantment to keep them steady and lit in this wind.

Remus and his dad took seats almost as far from the center of the circle—and most of the others—as it was possible to be, near the aisle that cut through the chairs, leading to the monument itself. At least his father had come along, Remus thought; it would've been terrible coming here alone. When you were sitting on the periphery with someone else, you could sort of pretend it was a choice.

After a minute or two of people-watching, though, Remus _did_ spot someone he knew, namely James, who was surrounded by a group of adults that momentarily concealed his ever-present compatriot (namely Sirius). If James appeared less than thrilled to have loads of old people fussing over him, however, it was nothing to Sirius, who scowled deeply. A group of Potter family friends might not be the ideal crowd for a Black—even one like Sirius.

Then again, any situation requiring formal dress might not be ideal for Sirius.

Or Remus, for that matter, which accounted for his decision not to seek out his friends.

Said decision eventually became irrelevant, though, since Peter found him a few minutes later. His mother had chosen to stay home, and he clearly relished the immediately extended invitation to sit with the two Lupins.

"I heard some old lady say that there are eighty-seven of them," Peter told Remus and his father, looking up at the candles. "One for each, y'know?"

* * *

The Shacklebolts and Lily arrived five minutes late, by which time all of the chairs were occupied and still a large group had formed around the outer perimeter of the ring of chairs.

"'Can't see a thing, of course," Donna complained, hoisting up Brice and peering over the heads of the crowd to the best of her ability.

"It's _your _fault we're late," muttered Isaiah, who was in a sour mood over an argument about the fixing of his hair.

"Oh, _right_," said Bridget, "Mr. 45-Minutes-In-The-Bath..."

"Stop fighting," ordered Kingsley. "Come around here, there's a little more room to see..."

The service hadn't begun yet, but the Shacklebolts had just shuffled into the space Kingsley found for them before a wizard from the front called for everyone to take their seats please, as things were about to begin.

"'Would if we could," said Donna.

Kingsley arched an eyebrow. "_Perspective_, Donny."

"Is there a reason _you're _not holding Brice?"

"Of course. You're stronger"

"Well that's true."

"Just levitate him," Isaiah suggested.

"This is why I don't go out in public with you lot," sighed Donna. But then things really wereabout to begin, and the Shacklebolts—along with the other mourners—fell silent. There must have been a few hundred, and they blurred together, a mob of black underneath that bizarre white candlelight and silver sky. Lily wondered if she'd ever seen so many witches and wizards together at once, outside of Hogwarts; only one incident came to mind, and that day had ended in the lock up. That explained her wariness, anyway.

When stillness finally settled upon the crowd, the same wizard who had called for silence began to speak. He was an unremarkable middle-aged man in a black, pinstriped suit. "We gather here in the wake of a great tragedy," he began, and his voice had that odd, stretched sound that comes with magical magnification.

_Tragedy_, thought Lily, _is a funny word_. It sounded so accidental. Like a lot of unfortunate mishaps had assembled to make one big mess, and now Romeo and Juliet were dead but at least, thank Merlin, it was over with.

"But we are not here to discuss the tragedies of these deaths..." There it was again, _tragedies, plural, _"But rather to celebrate the lives of those who have left us..."

"Who is that wizard, anyway?" Lily whispered to Donna, who shrugged.

"Some Ministry ponce who wants his name in the paper?"

If Donna was correct, the wizard likely accomplished his goal that morning, for a series of flashes from throughout the crowd indicated the presence of cameras. However, an older wizard standing nearby took no pleasure in Donna's cynicism and sent her a scathing look, so the two witches became quiet again.

"...In a short while, we will hear from some family and friends of the eighty-seven brave witches and wizards we have gathered to remember, but first, a few words from the esteemed wizard who requires no introduction—Order of Merlin First Class, Headmaster of Hogwarts School, Albus Dumbledore..."

The familiar figure of Albus Dumbledore, silver-bearded and bespectacled as ever, made his way from a chair to the other wizard's side, and Lily realized something...

"Agrippa's sake, he's _still _wearing purple..."

"I don't think he owns any other color," Donna muttered as Dumbledore began to speak... about M.F.P., presumably, but Lily didn't really take note, because, suddenly, she found herself overcome with the urge to laugh. She endeavored to smother the giggles in the palm of her hand, Donna stared incredulously, and the wizard who had glared at them before tried to will her demise by the power of his eyesight alone. It made no difference.

"If you don't stop laughing this _instant_, Lily Evans, I am going to burn every book in your dormitory," Donna continued to whisper furiously.

"I can't bloody help it! Do you know..." She gasped for breath, "Do you know that the last thing I wrote to Sam was all—all about M-M-Meloni versus Mumps!"

Donna raised an eyebrow. "That's not funny, Lily, what are you...?"

Dumbledore was going off on _generosity of spirit _and _contributions to the good of the magical community..._

"No, it's not, it's awful. It's so, so awful, oh my _Merlin_, but can you imagine? The absolute _last _thing I wrote him about—before... b-before he was _murdered_ was—was this—this d-d-d-dramatic account of—of a—a popularity contest! Between _Carlotta _and _Shelley!_"

"You are beyond mental."

"I _know_," Lily giggled, "I know, but..." Before she had any idea what was happening, the emotion bubbling up inside of her that had found no other release besides the manic laughter she had tried and failed to suppress, changed direction entirely. She was already crying from this inexplicable mirth, until suddenly she wasn't, and she was just crying.

"_Agrippa's sake_," groaned Donna.

"_Girls_," murmured Isaiah. Both his sisters swatted him, and then Donna set Brice down and instructed Kingsley to look after him, while she navigated Lily away from the rest of the group.

"Blimey, get a hold of yourself, Evans!"

"I can't!" Lily sobbed, a little louder than she intended, and Donna patted her on the shoulder uncomfortably. "Oh, go back to the ceremony, I'll be along in a minute."

"You're bloody mad."

"I know, I know..."

Donna started to leave, but Lily waved her back, and as she came over again, Lily pulled her into a hug. Donna looked as though she preferred the laughing. "What are you...?"

"Thank you for taking me home with you this weekend," she whimpered. Donna rolled her eyes.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, as I'm never speaking to you again after today. Oh, all right, there, there, calm down, you're welcome, Lily... are you _drunk_?"

Lily released her friend and shooed her back to the gathering, and as Donna rejoined her family, Lily dug around in the pocket of her cloak for something to wipe her eyes with. She ought to remember to bring tissue with her more often—her mother always did.

She wasn't drunk, just overwhelmed, and frankly, as humiliating as it was (people from the back of the crowd, who had stood near her, kept shooting bewildered looks in her direction), she felt positively relieved. It was the first time since this whole thing happened that she'd managed to feel _anything _that wasn't eighty percent anger.

In the end, she used her sleeve to dry her face, and when her breathing slowed to a more natural rate and she'd mostly curbed the hiccoughs, Lily returned to the Shacklebolts—just in time to see Dumbledore reclaiming his seat, and Mrs. Potter coming to stand in the center of the circle, beside the monument.

Some distance away, Marlene sat with Mary—having arrived in time to actually find seats—and at every instant failed not toscan the crowd for the McKinnons.

"Stop looking," Mary advised in an undertone, and she was right of course, because what if she found them? What if she made eye contact with him? _What if Prudence was there?_

She recognized James Potter's mum, standing in profile to them just now as she spoke about M.F.P. "The witches and wizards we are here to honor were my family," she said, and her voice quaked, so that Marlene believed it. Her literal family—James, anyway—sat in the second or third row of chairs, slightly visible across the circle from where Marlene sat. He stared off into space, and his expression was, to Marlene, unreadable.

The memorial service really _did_ help, Marlene thought, as many a handkerchief appeared throughout the crowd. It made the violent deaths of eighty-seven people feel very—not normal, exactly, but maybe common. The Ministry of Magic was officially acknowledging it. Everyone was getting together to be sad. They were all going to talk about how awful it was, and then, later, they would all talk about how awful it had been, and it was all very official. Not so jarring. The process made sense. She didn't mind it.

Sirius did, though.

Impatient by nature, he found it tedious, listening to the seemingly endless queue of people that took the floor after Grace Potter returned to her seat. He wouldn't call it _damaging _or anything like that, probably, but it just didn't strike him as terribly necessary. He liked action, and this decided lack of it irritated him.

He recognized this as illogical, in that his sitting through a ceremony this morning did not impact his ability to act whatsoever. Indeed, the months of school extending before him hindered action more than sitting there—beside James, for James—did. Nonetheless, when there was nothing to do but sit and _think _and _know_ that people you hated, who had done something so horrific, were walking around completely free (living safely, comfortably, in luxury, even), and when nothing came to distract you from that fact, both patience and logic faded somewhat.

Dorcas Meadowes took the floor for a few moments. Sister-in-law of Victor Vance. Caradoc Dearborn spoke, too, and a lot of people that Sirius didn't know. There was a wizard with a thick French accent, a witch who spoke only German and required a translator, and a ten-year-old girl whose mother had been killed. And then there were others still, and Sirius lost track. There was a _Daily Prophet_ wizard (two seats down from Alex Potter) who kept snapping pictures. The morning dragged on.

Then, without much warning, the service seemed to be drawing to a close.

The bloke who had introduced Dumbledore rose from his chair in the front row and resumed the position of speaker beside the marble monument. Perhaps nervous for addressing so many people, he appeared effectively unmoved by the proceedings, and though he spoke of a great sense of loss, Sirius detected little. Of course, emotion might be hard to convey in a pre-made, magically magnified speech. More pictures for the _Prophet _reporter.

"We will conclude today's ceremony," said the wizard, "with the dedication of the monument, honoring the dead. The plaque reads..." He cleared his throat, "..._In memory of the fallen, the witches and wizards who lost their lives on the second of November, nineteen hundred and seventy-six. They remain with us, beacons of peace, honor, bravery."_

The wizard turned away from the monument and walked over to the chairs. He didn't return to his own seat, but rather held out his hand and helped a witch there, in the front row, to her feet. Emmeline Vance appeared almost bored as she rose, and the wizard continued to speak.

"As a gift from a generous donor, we are able to commemorate each of the victims of this... this terrible tragedy, with individual markers—plaques inscribed with the names of the fallen—Ms. Vance, if you will..."

The witch raised her wand and gave it a quick, undramatic wave. In the grass encircling the marble monument, there appeared a series of bronze markers—not very large, for there were eighty-seven of them—that must have been concealed there the entire time. Perhaps Emmeline lacked the appropriate gusto (she returned at once to her seat), or perhaps the spectacle of it all was ill-conceived, as only those in the first few rows could clearly see what had happened, but the wizard hastened to let everyone know that something very impressive had just occurred. "These memorials carry the names of each witch and wizard lost to us this week, as well as a personalized message, written by the families of the departed... it is _truly _moving..." And there _were _tears in the wizard's eyes as he said it; he never seemed insincere, at least.

"Who is this bloke anyway?" James asked of his mother, as the wizard wrapped up the proceedings. Mrs. Potter rolled her eyes.

"Some D.M.L.E. chap who practically begged to do it," she said. "His name's Fudge, if you can believe it."

The crowd only thickened as the ceremony ended, for everyone converged upon the monument at once. Sirius and the Potters were fortunate to be seated so close to the front, as they were able to make it to the plaques—to read Sam's name, and the little message ("A kind and loyal heart," Caradoc's doing, according to Mrs. Potter) before things became too messy.

The newspaper wizard who had been so close to them now approached Mrs. Potter, pushing his away around a few young witches cramming to see the memorial plaques, and gave her a solemn bow.

"My deepest regrets, Mrs. Potter."

"Thank-you." She tried to move away, but the wizard pressed on.

"Is there anything you might like to share with our readers?"

"No, thank-you."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Very well." He snapped another picture of the family and moved away.

* * *

Jack Lathe looked away from the great mass of people surrounding the memorial; he took in the rest of the glade, scanned the trees, kept his eyes moving constantly—a habit when one was supposed to be guarding an event like this. As such, he was perfectly aware that Alastor Moody approached him from the west, before the Head Auror announced his presence with a growling, "_Lathe_."

"Mr. Moody," Lathe replied. He glanced at his boss, and the older wizard had a long, thin indent on his face—a new scar Lathe hadn't seen yet. Moody had been late to the memorial: he'd been on assignment, and that scar must have been part of the gift bag. Lathe chose not to comment, however. Moody, unlike the younger, more light-hearted aurors in the department, didn't go on about his scars. They were casual incidents for him. "_Peace, honor, bravery_. Tell the truth, sir—did _you_ come up with that?"

Moody ignored the impertinence—another auror-bred habit, no doubt—and said instead: "It makes 'em feel better about the thing."

"That's a little sentimental for you, sir."

"You would have Cornelius Fudge up there, telling them all exactly how it happened?" The older wizard sighed.

"I don't know," admitted Lathe. "It doesn't seem right to go on about peace and honor and bravery, knowing what they did..."

"It wasn't there fault." This he said very sternly; that tone was a warning, and one worth heeding.

"I know that," said Lathe quickly. "I'm not—but we can't really hide it forever, can we? Eventually they'll want to know."

Moody ignored this, too. "He told us," he said bleakly.

"What do you mean?"

"He told us," Moody repeated. "In July. He told us this was coming. 'Just like he promised."

Sarcastically: "Very polite, he is."

"But maybe it means he's predictable." Moody was good at that—finding the strategic advantages in horrific situations. It could come across as coldness, if you didn't know better—even if you did, maybe, because Lathe understood, or thought he did, and he still resented Moody's absolute calculation.

For a long while, they were both quiet, and then Lathe broke the silence: "I don't think I can do this anymore." The Head Auror looked at him, but he didn't seem surprised.

"You can't quit," he pointed out. "Not now."

"Then reassign me," said Lathe. "Put me on... security detail. I'll trail the Minister. I'll trail the _muggle_ Minister, I don't care. But I don't want to walk into anymore Peverell Halls. I don't want to kill anymore if it doesn't make any difference."

"Who says it doesn't make a difference?"

"The bloody noble fallen, that's who. This isn't what I wanted to do. This isn't why I became an auror."

"You're good at it, though."

"I don't want to be good at it."

"'Not your choice."

Lathe looked at him, almost pleading now. "I won't do this anymore," he said. "Find something else for me to do."

On another day, Moody would have barked that Lathe didn't get to pick and choose, but today, he was only quiet as he turned his stare back at the mourners in black. "We'll talk," he muttered.

* * *

With everyone crowding the memorial and the plaques, Lily decided against making the trip herself. Maybe in a little while, if it cleared, but for now, she disconnected from the assembly and wandered away across the field. She walked for a minute or two, and then the ground began to slope downward, inclining gently until the tree line, a dozen yards on. Lily paused, braced against the light but cold wind, and looked out at the wood, vividly green beneath the still closed silver sky. Then, she sat down on the grass.

Out there, somewhere in the vastness, far away probably, but Merlin knew where, there was a wizard—the wizard who had killed Sam, widowed Emmeline Vance, brought them all together in Alston Glade, and now there was a hunk of marble and a lot of bronze plaques to commemorate him. Maybe he was proud of himself.

She'd said his name in the pub two days ago. Voldemort. Just like that, without a flicker of fear... without even recognizing that she _should _be afraid. Even now, trying to picture him (she didn't know what he looked like, she realized... there were a lot of rumors about pale skin and red eyes, but she'd never seen his face, had she?), Lily could not find it within herself to dread him or what he could do to her. He could kill her, like he'd killed Sam, and though she wanted very much to live, and the idea surely bothered her, it could not terrify her. This, she thought, was fearlessness.

The witch looked back over her shoulder at the others; she was further from the group than she'd expected. They were all a bulk of black robes, except for one, who made his way towards her.

"What are you doing out here, Evans?" James called, when close enough. "Hiding?"

"Not very well, I guess," said Lily. She watched him approach and then sit down beside her. "How are you?"

"Well—I think my picture's going to be in _The Prophet, _as they got about fifty of me with Mum and Dad. It's about time, too... my face in the papers, I mean."

"Give the people what they want."

"Exactly, yes."

Lily smiled. They weren't touching now—harsh light of day and all that, but she felt perfectly comfortable, and she thought he might too. "Are you going back to the Shacklebolts?" he asked presently.

Lily shook her head. "I don't think so. I think I want to go back to Hogwarts tomorrow."

"Classes don't begun until Thursday..."

"I know, but... I just think it's about time."

"Will they let you?"

"I don't see why not. Other students stayed at the castle, didn't they?"

"I suppose." After a brief pause, James shifted his body and now half faced her, a determined, intense spark in his eye that only added to the multiplicity of emotions playing on her just then. If she could only quiet them all and feel nothing: if only the sight of James in his element again, amongst all those grown-up, familiar witches and wizards did not bring her back to another day, and an introduction to Sam in his maroon fedora, and the naïve cheerfulness of card games in a lock-up. She averted her stare out to the trees again, because that was easier, until he began speaking again: "There _is_ something I wanted to say to you."

"Okay?"

"I think you were wrong, last night—what you said about the war."

"I don't..."

"I know it's about you," he interrupted. "About muggleborns, I know that, but all those people in M.F.P. were a part of it too. That was the whole point of them, y'know—being a part of it, and so am I and so is Sirius and Remus and Pete and my parents and all of us. What they... what he wants and the Death Eaters want... that's wrong. It's not just wrong for you—it's wrong for everyone. So it's got everything to do with us."

"I didn't mean..."

"I know." James sounded calm; he even smiled a little. Determined, intense. "I know you didn't mean that it's not our concern or anything like that. You meant that—that people like Sam shouldn't have had to die. The Death Eaters don't have any problem with his blood status. But no one should have to die for this, and—and whatever else happens in this thing, it's not your fault."

That was what he had been trying to say this whole time, he thought. Since she'd handed him that letter in the Head offices and known, before he'd been willing to believe, that Sam was dead, he had felt as if she had killed him. As if her predicting it had made it true. As if her existence, being at the heart of Sam's cause, had meant that she was to blame. And there was something else—

"I said—I told you I didn't know why Sam liked you, but that wasn't true. He told me at Frank and Alice's wedding..." It stung to go back there in his mind, to the dim light of the pub and the feeling of faint intoxication and sheer contentment, but she'd held his hand the night before, and she'd understand, and he wanted to say it anyway. "He said you loved everything. He _claimed _he could tell right away, I don't know if that's true, but he said you looked at the world and saw all the things to like, and you had a 'good energy...' which is a really stupid, really Sam thing to say, but... well, there you have it."

Lily dropped her gaze. "That's—you know, I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about me."

James exhaled heavily. "Well, are you counting the time I said you'd be half cute if your spots went away?"

Things were light again. "'Course not," said Lily, "That's in a league of its own."

"Ahh, good." How he managed to make the next statement was beyond Lily, as he did not take his eyes off her at all, but noted: "The others are coming."

The others in question turned out to be Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Marlene, who soon joined them on the lawn. Sirius dropped to the grass first, just beside Lily, and said: "You two should have children. Can you imagine the madness of the hair? Bright red and sticking up in all directions. Chaos."

Lily and James both chose to ignore this, the former instead greeting Marlene and inquiring of her: "Is Mary here?"

"Mhm, looking at the memorial." She sat down to Sirius's right, as Remus and Peter selected spots beside James. "I guess that was a nice ceremony."

The others only mumbled vaguely in response. The six of them then sat in silence until Remus spoke up: "It really is a war, isn't it?" he said darkly. "I never really thought of it like that before. Not honestly. A battle or a cause, maybe, but a war…" he trailed off. "I never really _got it_."

"Neither did I," said James.

"No," agreed Marlene.

Peter shook his head.

Sirius said nothing, and Lily thought he must understand why she too remained silent. It was different for them. Long ago, they had been forced to choose or accept their side in this war. From almost the moment she knew that such a thing as magic existed, she had known there was conflict. And Sev had said it didn't matter, being born a witch to muggles, and that had been comforting, but she'd known it wasn't quite true, because it mattered to Petunia. And soon, it mattered to some classmates at school; she couldn't remember a magical world that was not battling over her very existence.

And Sirius—Sirius's childhood had not been the others' childhoods. Perhaps they could remember a world that was undivided. Even Remus, robbed of his innocence, had not grown in a home of curses upon mudbloods and blood traitors. Perhaps he and the others had been better protected. Marlene had an enthusiastic mother, a best mate who came along with her to Hogwarts, and the safety of a Gryffindor dorm that didn't mind her at all. But Sirius, with his family at the heart of the war, and he, finding his way on the other side of the lines—almost alone—was made forcibly conscious of his choice to be there. It was a choice made perhaps flippantly, perhaps for the friendship of someone he hadn't even really known yet, perhaps out of blind rebellion, or perhaps because Sirius was made of better stuff, but made and reinforced in a bitter inner conflict that had surely left its scars.

James, Remus, Peter, and Marlene had never had their hearts divided as such, and they hadn't known the war till they saw the battlefield. Then again, maybe they now knew better than anyone.

Lily wound her arm through Sirius's, an odd display of solidary that she hoped he recognized. "Do you lot want to go back?" she said. "I spotted Frank and Alice earlier, and I'd like to say hello."

Sighing, Sirius rose and helped her to her feet. "All right," said Marlene, "but I'm leaving in a minute..." Off Lily's raised eyebrow, she sent her an _I'll explain later _sort of shake-of-the-head and brushed the grass off her cloak.

"Do you reckon there'll be a lot of these sorts of things?" asked Peter as they made their way back.

"Sure," said Sirius. "I'd worry about buying my own dress robes, but Prongs has about sixty of 'em..."

"Don't be dark, Sirius," Remus reprimanded.

"I'm not. He _literally _owns sixty dress robes..."

"It's not dark, it's realistic," said Marlene dourly. "'Can't do anything about that, can we?"

James glanced at Lily, and she was looking up at him too. She sent him a grim, acknowledging smile, and he nodded his head. They didn't say anything else, but seemed, for the moment, to understand one another.

(The Lantern, Camden, Eight Months Later)

"To the Order and mad old Dumbledore?" Lily echoed her boyfriend's mock toast from before, and James matched her smile, knocking his glass against hers, before adding: "And fighting."

The alcohol played only a small role in James's lightheadedness after he drained the glass, for the heat of the tavern in July and the general eventfulness of the day contributed, and he decided against another scotch and soda.

"Unless you've had enough of that by now," Lily teased, resting the back of her head against his chest. "Fighting, I mean."

"Ah, what's a near death experience here and there between old friends?"

"Mmm, personally, I don't see how people study for N.E.W.T.s without at least _one_ hanging over their head."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Keeps life interesting."

"Exactly, yes." But he did not feel half so flippant as he let on, and James pressed a kiss on the top of Lily's head. She replied by setting down her now empty glass and wrapping her arms around his middle. "'Least we've got the chance now, though—with the Order and everything," he added seriously. Lily tensed.

"'Told you we would. Of course, there were some close calls there, so no more stupid risks there, yeah?"

"You first."

"_Stupid _is such a vague term though..."

"Mmm, well, let's work on a definition then, shall we, Snaps?"

"Mhm," she murmured indistinctly against his shirt.

"Don't fall asleep there," he said, as she relaxed against him. "We're meeting the others in half an hour."

"Bit early for supper, isn't it?"

"Marlene and Adam couldn't make it any later." James regretted having mentioned it, though, because Lily sighed and sat up again, effectively disentangling herself from him.

"Shall we start walking over, then?"

"Yeah, all right."

They scooted out of the booth. Lily waved politely to the bartender, and, as they made their way to the door, she took James's hand, and said: "Y'know something?"

"Hmm?"

"I sort of love you."

"Really? Good."

Lily rolled her eyes, as he dropped her hand, only to lay his arm around her shoulders. "I also hate you, though."

James grinned. "That's a pretty common reaction there, Love." Then he opened the door, and they stepped out onto the pavement.

* * *

**A/N**

Aaaand we're out.

Love,

Jules


End file.
